On Confess his tired, joyless music and moribund, hackneyed and hankey lyricism suggests a man whose concept of romanticism would go nicely with a Nairn cracker and dab of quince jelly.

Another eleven baseless mehs that belong nowhere else than on a blog that no one reads.

This new material represents not only their most heinous effort to date; it might in fact be among the most appalling things to ever exist, empirically speaking.