The Sandwitches are a band straight out of a David Lynch film, according to their press release. Wide eyed beauties, hardened against the cold San Francisco air, voices bellowing like the capricious winds, sometimes low and meandering, sometimes high and haunting.

In one respect this is true. You either love David Lynch's work or, like me, just don't get it. The same is the case with The Sandwitches; I just don't get it.

Their strange warbling ('Miggy' is just this side of cats screeching) will either having you reaching for the stop button, or cranking the volume up. Personally, I found it a chore listening to this album. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that I force myself to listen to every album at least four times before putting them aside and playing them again over a week later before I write a review, I wouldn't have listened to it the whole way through even once.

Its weird folk vibe rattles through all 9 songs (48 min, 19 sec) and I was hoping that I could take something positive away from the experience. Sadly I was no nearer to liking this album on eight play through as I was the first time around.

There is no common ground here. This is the musical equivalent of Marmite. Having said that if you're a fan then you'll love it.

3

Nick Smithson