Southern England’s PFS have been trickling out releases for about six years now, but this is their first non-holiday release in nearly five years, a teaser for the two-years-in-the-making sophomore album hopefully to see the light of day later this year. Talk about sophomore slumps! Luckily, they fire on all cylinders on this jingle-jangle creampuff, easily digested with a sweet aftertaste. With guitars (and fireworks ablaze), they make a left-turn midway through that could use a rethink, but the wall-of-guitars flash and dreamy harmonies sound like there’s more than a trio at work here.
Its fascination with Echo & The Bunnymen notwithstanding, the non-LP flip is a million miles away, a muslin-gauzed exercise in hallucinatory dream states that takes a bit to wake up, but then puts the petal to the metal and swervedrives its way into your skull like an earwig on a mission. I’d’ve flipped this over to the plug side myself. Now bring on the album, m’dears.