Oddfish what’s this? Wit? Compassion? Intelligence? An ability to fillet out the essentials and present them on a silver salver? We foppish continentals thought that Poundland had sunk under the weight of N.F. esquire’s bottom and had found itself enchained in a subterranean world run by Paul Merson clones; where banjo music from insurance adverts is piped into the ether at the first signs of trouble. Luckily, it seems, there are cracks where the light gets in. A four track EP, thus, chronicling daily life in a humdrum town in the North West. On mouth, one of Ray Davis’s Two Sisters giving the Muswell Hillbilly his comeuppance and fare home with four extracts of Real Life. No whimsical, soap-bubble psychedelia here. And lo! Someone finally calling out the issue of calling out musicians from the glum, tracksuited battalions of the Madchester Regiment. Sing Hosanna! Wobbly suburban electronic grumbling accompanies the diction, invading your space like an old maid with her flask at a Lancashire League match. Deliah’s teamed up with Daphne; softness and and white noise cominatcha, albeit on a casio. And, oh yeah. That bird noise on Skellington has come back for an encore. It’s been warbling outside of your bedsit for the last 25 years, reminding you that time isn’t after us. Didn’t you notice?
