Yawn. About as exciting as their native New Zealand, surely a band can recognise when they have overstayed their welcome. Once tolerable, perhaps even listenable, in the era that music forgot. Now, producing albums that sound as if they really, really, couldn’t care less. Not even a hint of vibrancy, or at least an attempt to sound contemporary, rather the Finns provide enough depression to make a clown greet. It’s startlingly mundane, an homage to boredom, to days when you would rather tear off your ears than listen to another second of this.
