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Vinyl LP pressing. Docking alongside the Mothership Frond, with its insignia emblazoned with the legend We're Your Friends, Man, you can hear a smattering of Hendrixonian guitar wafting through the cavernous recess of this vessel. You can hear a Love-like strum, a melancholy verse/chorus; you can hear proper songs with uplifting guitar salvos releasing the pressure on the thinking man's pontifications on growing old, putting things in order and the sense of wonder of how we all got here. This is The Bevis Frond's umpteenth mission, like Dark Star troopers they know the drill and in epic soundtrack proportions they clock in with just under 90 minutes of grown up angst, a semi-autobiographical romp from the director who has an eye for this; nothing short of a genius auteur. To the point, on the money; it's dramatic, plucking at the heart strings, spilling one liners, milking the past and crafting something completely new.