From time immemorial these four musicians have stood at the gateway of nonsense begging for peanuts. Spending most of their time trapped in force fields and vortices, occasionally they’re released to stalk the streets of Leeds. Then you might hear the plaintive cry of Sam’s tuba, the mournful crow of Dean’s ukulele, the excited jazzy croaking of Bob’s piano or the purr of Matty’s drums.
This band is riotously odd; jolly and engaging but peculiar too. There’s a calypso about land hermit crabs, a celebration of David Attenborough, a lament at the passing of dinosaurs.