The Fall hit their stride in a big way with album #4. Here, they’ve connected even more deeply with the repetitive rhythms and searing guitar duels that would keep them in good stead for the next two decades. The backbeat is beefed up further with the addition of a second drummer (Karl Burns), giving their rhythms a hint of hazard; there are moments during “Jawbone and the Air-Rifle” and “Mere Pseud Mag. Ed.” where the whole operation feels in danger of collapsing in a mighty, screeching heap. By the skin of their jagged teeth, they make it through in one piece. And when they settle into a slow-burning groove as on the epic-length “Winter” or one of their signature songs, “Hip Priest,” the feeling is deliciously skin-crawling. This sound has an obvious effect on MES. This album is him at his most fearless, spitting out Proustian stories of wandering down a street (“Winter”), a strange tale of a hunter lost in a cemetery (“Jawbone and the Air-Rifle”), and a meandering, strangely poignant ode to the country where most of this LP was recorded (“Iceland”). Like the music surrounding them, his lyrics are rich with detail and incident, humor and anger.