Press release :
You know that feeling you get when you think you've lost your keys? Well, try to imagine it, but as a kind of guilty pleasure. Imagine if Peter Cook hadn't spent the last years of his life getting laggered, but had bought a sampler and hung out in South London with a bunch of no-marks working in a greasy spoon and making bizarre musical cut-ups in their spare time. Then subtract Peter Cook. Getting there? Imagine that Abba had got into acid and group masturbation. Imagine if monkeys ruled the earth. Imagine if B movies were the main feature. Imagine if shop lifting made a noise. Imagine if Heinz alphabet soup had a 27th letter. Imagine if Colonel Gaddafi had employed the Art Ensemble of Chicago and KLF to write a new national anthem. Imagine if your mum was a way better dancer than you. Imagine if you were a complete and utter fucking truckle but still got all the magazine covers. You know what I'm talking about? Yes, it's the world as we almost know it - the cracks in the sidewalk bigger than the sidewalk, the angle and focus all wrong, the moon coming up at dawn. It's Pest, baby, and it's the most compellingly enjoyable chunk of weirdness you'll hear until… well, until their album's out next year. Origami with eggs, french letters with words in - the Truth is Out There. It's just wrong…