The Fall, that’ll be the North you southern jessies, emerge the The Wind-Up Birds, under their collective arm a second album ‘Poor Music’ is imminent via Sturdy and from it on early release comes ‘The Gristle’.
Hard as nails and pissing attitude, its arrives tailored in the kind of panic attacking art gouged agit angst that releases once upon at time heading out of sound houses such as Marquis Cha Cha and Art Goes Pop were fire glazed in though here kissed with the kind of finger poking truculence and wiring cockiness that demands immediate attention as it freewheels into the same edgy territories oft veered into by the likes of David Cronenberg’s Wife and Johnny Foreigner – which kinda makes it essential then.
