I saw Meat Muppets a year ago, just after founding brother Cris Kirkwood had rejoined the band from an 11-year heroin/prison sabbatical. Onstage, he squirmed and writhed his way through the set, his body consumed by the kind of constant involuntary convulsions that could only stem from a lifetime of the most brutal narcotic punishment imaginable. Occasionally gurgling the odd unintelligible sound into his mic or even less frequently, putting finger to bass, Cris was somewhere else entirely. It was perfect. This is what you wanted from them; a total train wreck of country-blues from three of the most grizzled punk-rock reprobates in existence. For this, their second album with Cris back in the fray, the band seem to have attempted something of a Keef-esque blood transfusion. ‘Go To Your Head’ is as smoky-smooth a campfire call as you’re ever going to get. ‘SKA’ is crooning black-hearted psych-grunge that swerves and buckles with beleaguered stealth. While it’s not the glorious shambles we were hoping for, there’s a feeling that no matter what rehabilitation they go through, thankfully they’ll never lose those magic battle scars.