Mischevious, triumphant, sardonic, melancholy, artful — it takes a lot of superlatives to get down to the core of this punk-dub journey to the center of early-Thatcher disillusionment. The kind of record where a song about trying to find solace in consumerism (“Spend, Spend, Spend”) is immediately followed by one about the joys of not paying for things (“Shoplifting”), so you know it’s great.