The gates of Birchville Cat Motel crack, creak wide, and crash, unleashing a gush of soul-fried bleakness and love-damage stained with a defiantly metallic pose. Thats "METALLIC... as in, has the surface qualities of metal" not "METAL... as in, has the surface qualities of Metallica"... step back you fucking freaks. Although the broken bricks of BCM are still plain to see amid the burning wreck and ruin, 'Stillborn Plague Angels' represents the first fully formed sentence in a new chapter of Campbell Kneale's ongoing tome of star-spangled, psychedelic, noise-OM. Cholesterol-shaving guitar peeks over the trench to survey an adrenalised landscape of endless roaring catastrophy... Everything louder than everything else!