Here’s a little something appealingly odd and strangely off the wall, sneaked out on the Miracle Pond imprint where you can grab it cheap while you purchase your must have Polypores tape. There’s just 40 of these left, well 39 to be more precise, given I bagged one while rescuing an aforementioned Polypores treat, Prufrock feature Dolly Dolly and Steve, it gets creepy when I tell that Steve is the musical one and that the accompanying Dolly Dolly is a poet who may well be, but keep it to yourself as we don’t want to freak out the kids with the floppy fringes, a dolly dolly (of course we are messing with your heads, its that chap from the extended Buried Treasure collective). Whatever the case, surrealism and deep psychosis’ aside, Prufrock occupy a genre free wilderness, like where om earth do you place this, if indeed safe little musical tick boxes are your chosen bag. ‘Liquorice Fish’ features four curiously abstract accounts, its stagecraft borne partly of musical hall and theatre is absorbed in dream like streams of narrative consciousness, opening cut ‘Chip Shop’, much like a sea side promenade Church sermon is peculiarised by cut up realities and Lear-ish abstract, it’s all very puzzling and welcoming so, though squirmed in a hallucinogenic distraction that recalls the off the wall narrative of Dalmatian Rex and the Eigentones. The criminally brief and eccentric ‘liquorice Fish’ is better still, its dinked medieval musing and theatrical tethering sitting somewhere a brief monologue scribed by either Vivian Stanshall and Keith Michell. Somewhere else, ‘LDN Pleasures’ provides something of a Dylan Thomas-esque monologue on the joys and sorrows of a casual about your way capital life while the parting ‘Staircases’, incidentally the lengthiest track here, is moored to a waltzing sinister chamber chill that’s not unlike the punctuating piano scapes used to adore old silent black n’ white films, the narrative / prose jagged and twisted seemingly having the effect of a sliding carpet underfoot, has you constantly displaced in your attempt to make safe sense of the darkening imagery rising like industrial smog conspiring to spirit you away.

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