Apparently it’s illegal to print that this album makes the reviewer want to jump on the head of French-born US twee hipster Mr Jay until bits of cephalic matter tumble out. So let’s just stick to the album, eh? The effect this record has, with its remedial drumming, crappy store-bought synth presets and faux-sensitive, third-form lyrics, is as pleasant as unnecessary eye surgery. The music is a strange mix of bargain-bin synth pop (Midge Ure), plastic ’50s rock revivalism (Dire Straits) and shambolic twee (Television Personalities) but tied with lyrics
such as “Sometimes we gallop over moonbeams/Giddy-up horsey/Giddy-up” (‘Gallop’), it’s enough to make you dust your hob-nailed boots.