A drunk artist, completely folked up in the head.
'In the Countryside' is messy – muddy, if you will - getting flatulent bass-heavy guitars all over your heart in the chorus, whilst a drunk little march of acoustic, vocal harmonies and plump drums peddle you on during the verse. There's something a little unsettling about this first impression of Mr. Ferree; it's a great summer number that thrusts a smile onto your face and leaves you with the feeling that you've never been this happy for years, but are strangely sore around the anus... It would be better digested by your mind if you were on the verge of a mental breakdown, however.
'Dogkillers!' stomps out all feelings of the above (except for perhaps the feeling of wanting a little psychopathic episode in a public place), with a sort of Led Zeppelin air, mixed with the swagger and banter of the Now Scene...And just when you're all flustered and pooped out on some stranger's floor that smells of your own sweat, you'll reach for the whiskey, won't you? Oh yes. But it's really spiked dog piss, and that's when things get weird.
'Leaving the Nest' is the work of a cracked genius that cares not for keeping things trimmed and neat, or for having sound levels of bass etc where they should be. The luscious stringed instruments dip in and out of the whole picture, as 100 year old pianos ('Private Honeymoon') are bashed out with musty passion and acoustic guitars are strutted over with perky rhythms and jangles ('The Desert').
It's hard to critically dent the shell of such a compact, complimentary, cunningly brilliant offering. Of course, there will always be in an album consisting of ten songs, a few that are not to a personal taste. The most notable of tracks that highlights this is 'Hollywood Sign'; the distorted harmonica and the chirpy-chappy dance rhythm might be the bees knees to some, but to others that are a wee bit agitated with this cockney (bees) knees up that has been lasting since The Libertines sooted faces wooed the music industry aristocracy, this song might hold some less than fond memories.
Play this greatly loved, lazy, sometimes erratic piece of patchwork and you'll wake up next to a horse dressed in your mother's old clothes... You won't mind, as long as you can keep the photographic evidence for yourself to take out on a rainy day and lick.