I don’t know if this album is the sound of Dean Blunt high as hell trying to write guitar songs about people who piss him off but if not I can’t imagine that particular album would be much different from this one. I love how little neurosis is on display here—this is slow disgust, up close to the mic, with no real aesthetic in play, just a lack of fucks. Guitars, strings, free time = sublime.

– Sasha Frere-Jones