Simian Mobile Disco - Hustler

Knowing the Simian in Simian Mobile Disco refers to the same band who wafted into our lives on the subtle autumn air of The Wisp all those years ago is like looking down at the raven haired seductress, half-clad in an Anne Summers' nurses outfit, grinding against you at a stag do and thinking, "but.. didn't you teach my little sister to read?" They hinted at it on their technicolour second album but really, they didn't prepare you for this.

Hustler drops in with a bassline heavy enough to crush your kid brother and dripping with so much glorious sleaze you'll need to wash your hands twice after pressing play. It bumps and bleeps with an almost pornographic air, dousing the room in deep red strobe lighting and turning even the most formal parents' evening into a den of carnal debauchery.

Which, of course, in the current moral climate is totally not on. Protect your wholesome family values. Down with sleaze. Down with Simian Mobile Disco and the wanton acts of pleasure they stand for. Gosh.



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