It’s like stage hypnotism. Those first few swings of the pendulum seeming about as threatening as a damp kitten under general anaesthetic, you confident in your unshiftable immunity against attempts by entertainment ‘professionals’ (read ‘charlatans’) to take control of your senses, and so on. You are rocksteady, you are cynical, you are above it all. Until BANG! Your body betrays you, your sensibility breaks for the shadows and falls flat on its face and what remains is submerged into a vast warping bubble of unfamiliarity and – WHIZZ / KAPOW – you’re fighting off anonymous talons and claws, not to mention gyrating thunderously to a filthy beat that you can’t for the life of you remember where it came from. Welcome to Wolf & Cub’s vessel.
The title track opens the record with almost 7 minutes of claustrophobic, threatening bass-heavy repetition, cracked into submission by a relentless snare beat and surging effects pedal manipulation. It’s all very blunt, it’s all unforgiving and above all else it’s really quite ‘XTRMNTR’. If indifference or resistance is what you greet the track with, you’ll have lost your house in a round of poker by the end. It is very persuasive. This is not future-rock though, not really. It doesn’t get far past the end of the 70s, it’s simply music with intent played intensely. Battery by riff, and by firm dance beat.
From the Spiritualized-esque weightless feedback strewn soundscape of ‘Hammond’ at the lightest end and the howling Hendrix/Zeppelin riff-off of ‘Seeds Of Doubt’ at the other, to the bold Public Image Limited and Gang Of Four funk rhythms of disco-slaying ‘This Mess’ this is a record that never loosens its grip, bullying your pulse into obedience. And through its shifting points of reference it retains a keenness that albums by the likes of The Rapture and Radio 4 just can’t seem to quite sustain. Now, when I click my fingers you will wake up as if nothing ever happened. But you’ll still be tapping your feet.