The wheels keep on turning, the cycles keep on working, the tumble down and around world of music is as always full of hope masked by bygone brilliance. Punk has been dead so many times now, I still wonder when it was alive, if at all. Punk though, is Buddhist. It just re-incarnates…but it doesn't wear the togas.

Seafood have been stating their claim over the last few years for the possession of that illustrious post-punk spirit, and they do try so hard. Cloaking is, as always, reminiscent of Sonic Youth but, as always, full of modern age sharpness and clarity. This particular molotov cocktail fizzes refreshingly on the palette with its stabbing guitars, the lemony zest of a catchy, angry chorus, under the safe turquoise umbrella of cutting rhythm's and a tight-as-Kate-Moss's-bra-on-Vanessa-Feltz sound. It does though have the bitter after taste of realising your listening to One Armed Scissor played by a slightly more credible Feeder. This is not too bad a thing. The song is good and I liked it, I may listen to it again and I'm sure in a live situation the passion of the delivery would be enough to allow this song to rock my world for a moment. On record though, I just can't help but get a sense of déjà vu that gently reminds me of the generic nature of a reasonable post-punk workout.