"There’s little cohesion here bar the spit and gristle of lunatic flair and unhinged airs"
The Peep Tempel continues to unhinge. The unbridled viscosity of these tracks is channelled through vitriolic liberation (Vicki The Butcher), Wires-esque abrasion with David Fields-esque delivery (Big Fish) and tempered, headache-subduing punk (Untitled). The songs get longer but no less barbed and ridiculous – the Mark E Smith slur of Don’t You Love Me Joan?; the Mclusky-as-coiled-contemplation of Civil Defiance; the cacophonous slide of The Opera Of Lester Moore. There’s little cohesion here bar the spit and gristle of lunatic flair and unhinged airs – but that’s what makes these Tales well worth telling.