Four bodies averaging 19 years, swaddled in ill-fitting jeans, t-shirts, with short back 'n sides. You wouldn't expect much would you? I certainly didn't when I saw them walk on to Whelan's stage a while back and was thus ill prepared for the onslaught of charm, wit, and mature musings all delivered by a gnarled velvet rope voice. I also recall being shocked at the heaving capacity of the crowd considering they hadn't even released a single. Isn't the hinterweb great? A downloading of every available demo then ensued. Upon hearing this definitive album for the first time, I was a little saddened that the production had smoothed over their gravelly garage sound somewhat, but none of the evocative storytelling has been lost. Stripped tales of police beatings, scum ridden streets, prostitution, alcopops, and asking girls to dance all regaled poetically amid a backdrop of cacophonic guitars, slick basslines, a barrage of drum beats, and northern swagger. The Yorkshire band are in danger of suffering a backlash due to overexposure, helped nicely along by an orgy of gushing reviews such as this, but I defy anyone not to move to floor filler 'Dancing Shoes', or be moved by the melancholic strains of 'Riot Van'. This is a compelling and impressive work in which punk has been mixed with melodic rock to perfection. Imagine what insights they'll purvey in their advancing years when they've outgrown the Sheffield snapshot and graduate to worldwide ponderings. And even if this is the best we'll ever hear from the four piece, no matter; this album still far surpasses the capabilities of most bands.

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