"Supremely hungover, red-eyed-and-can't-quite-be-arsed but utterly life-affirming bedroom/loner-pop masterpiece from the Itchy Bugger. Songs that somehow combine punk concision and psychedelic whimsy... lusher and more intricately arranged than on the first LP, even as they double down on the DIY, drug-scrambled weirdness, and that unmistakably private, nocturnal, kitchen-creeping, don't-wake-the-flatmates vibe... oh yeah and still with that same sad-sack fucking drum-machine beat on every song. The careening post-punk riffage contributed to Heavy Metal and Diät is here repurposed into something more textured and introspective and jangling and dazed, making you recall The Moles, Pip Proud, Alastair Galbraith, subtly out early '90s Flying Nun gems like David Kilgour's Here Comes The Cars (1991) as well as things like Television Personalities, Razorcuts, Solid Space, and all those long hot summers that passed you by..."

Low Company, 2020