The Mekons go camping. Being the Mekons, they can't spend too much time
around grass and stones without thinking of Brian Jones, and bomber jets on
practice runs inevitably interrupt their idyllic hike through gorse and
brambles. So the result is less a celebration of nature than a rumination on
decay, with opener "Dark, Dark, Dark" setting a grim tone that carries
through the album, echoed as needed by Susie Honeyman's mournful fiddle.
"Cockermouth" (it's a quaint British market town), the standout track, finds
some defiant joy in staring all this death in the face without blinking.