In our spare time in between being spent building miniature replicas of the skyline populating London’s Thames waterfront out of piles of CD’s whilst writing a detailed monograph on the merits of the Nicaraguan nose flute in popular music, we do like to relax, ponder and cobble together lists of fantasy pop bands. We mention this because we’ve oft found ourselves musing on an alternative time line where Siouxsie Sioux had somewhere in ’76 taken a left turn and instead of hooking up with Severin and the Pistols anarchic circus, instead found herself in cahoots with the Au Pairs and Delta 5 as her backing band. Enter stage left Bent who hail from Brisbane, a trio who we suspect may well have been sneaking looks over our shoulder at said cobbled lists for ‘skeleton man’ is possessed of a bloodline that can trace its way back to ‘join hands’ gouged as it is in a edgy and twisted shadow cloaked psychosis while ‘where’s the fire’ is oozed in all manner of early fracturing Bauhaus-ian grooving and the kind of playful scab picking impishness that imagines Clare Grogan’s darker twin press ganged into katastrophy wife. Talking of Kat Bjelland, the fraying and unravelling ‘sock holes’ – incidentally the best thing here, creeps with glooming discontent like a  prowling babes in toyland.

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