“Somewhere in the swamp of mediocrity that is Glasgow, there grows a flower. A flower that smells of such sweet madness that its scent can drive a sane man over the edge into the garden of excessive aural pleasure. Today’s flower goes by the name of Mummy Short Arms.

Random snippets of conversation decorate the melody – a melody that is so cleverly conventional that it seems quite at odds with what comes with it – as words born of drink and drug fuelled rants spin out of control and ricochet against the boundaries of common sense. It’s Captain Beefheart out drinking Deacon Blue before shooting some smack and pressing the record button. It’s right down the middle of the road and way out there simultaneously.

Imagination, it would seem, is back in fashion.”
Bluesbunny