God, this album starts well.
So well, you’d be excused for thinking the title-track opener was a forgotten cut that may have fallen off Doolittle or Surfer Rosa with that trademark fuzz, indie-beat and off-kilter vocal delivery with anger and aggression that infects the mind and causes a nostalgic smile. Baal’s Back certainly has a great bunch of shouting from Mr Francis and sharp guitar harmonics too, yet the rest of the album lacks that, well, dangerous spark. Having no Kim, perhaps, can account for that. More like a Frank Black solo with music that sounds like The Pixies, rather than that jolt of electric fear and wonder you know so well, and should demand. Still, it’s better than a swift kick to the nuts.