So you think they look and sound like a Toronto-based carbon copy of the Montrealian Arcaders? Well, maybe, but the latter have been starving their followers of new material recently, so those of us who like this kind of David Byrne-inspired eccentricity have to take our pleasure where we can.
This, in its oddly compelling wackiness, seems fairly typical:
I have Alexis Petridis' review in today's Guardian to thank for this latest musical discovery. The band seem to like performing in porn cinemas and churches: the other night they were at St. Leonard's Shoreditch (in aid of a worthy charity), where coincidentally many of my ancestors were baptised (they'd be turning in their unmarked graves).
Incidentally, Petridis seems intent on keeping up this week's Guardian habit of throwaway non-PC insults. The other day we had Tony Sewell telling us that mothers were unable to provide their sons with 'tough love' and that black boys were becoming too 'feminised'. Today's review describes the audience as 'an unlikely alliance of gawky dufflecoat-clad indie boys and their bespectacled girlfriends, older gentlemen with shaved heads and moustaches whose girlfriends are noticeable by their absence...' (my emphasis) How coy, Alexis. Ah, I've just noticed that the last phrase has been excised from the online version...