Sparse art-noise-post-punk that's gruelling in its utter reluctance to take your concerns or preconceptions into account. The thin, trebly guitars suggest Wire, This Heat or Sonic Youth, but iterations of those bands who aren't trying to explore, experiment or impress but merely attempting to goad and annoy. The vocals sound like the fella's come to the dry end of a vomiting bout, while song structures are set to 'plod' and frequently leave you at a mystified dead end. Occasionally a scrabbly bout of speed breaks out, but only, it seems, to showcase just how stupid much of punk sounds if you don't use distortion and just hear it for what it actually is. The nagging, prodding and sneering failure to comply is, of course, thoroughly infuriating, but perhaps the most annoying thing of all is that '375 Images Of Angels' somehow ends up being curiously wonderful despite all its efforts to the contrary. Huh?