"Baxter finds him pitting his strangled, downcast vocals against rudimentary drum beats and synths"
The fourth album from late-Blockhead Ian Dury’s son Baxter finds him pitting his strangled, downcast vocals against rudimentary drum beats and synths reminiscent of super-early Depeche Mode, like a drunk uncle holding court at a blue light disco. Luckily the morose and vaguely self-deprecating lyrical introspection of tracks like Pleasure, Palm Trees, Other Men’s Girls and Wintery Kisses is routinely well-couched and transcends the base nature of the music, plus it’s cool that he’s still trying to eschew his father’s substantial shadow in search of his own voice.