Currently petrifying View fans on our indie rock tour, Southend’s skinniest goth ghouls get down to the grizzly business of selling records. Drooling and thrashing like Dracula in a blood bank, Faris hollers all manner of granny-frightening obscenities over a turbo-charged garage riff, culminating in a breakdown where you can actually hear what he’s saying. Meanwhile, in the dank dungeon behind him, the band demolish their instruments in pursuit of that elusive third chord. Gulp. Weirdly wonderful.