Thirteen years ago, The Pastels ambled out of Glasgow with a charmingly awkward pop shimmy and some of the most out-of-tune vox to grace vinyl. They’re back.
An almost unbearably tense black comedy of eerily quiet streets, bad decisions, and chance encounters that turn out to be connected in bizarre, unexpected ways.
Before the New York hardcore sound came to be regarded as a permanent piss stain on popular culture, The Mob were among the loudest and fastest of the crew.
A mixture of Kiss, Ru Paul, and Pansy Division. A bunch of guys in drag playing, you know, rock, with obscene lyrics about felching, fist-fucking, and anal sex.