VINYL FORMAT. Here lies nothing beyond what the guitarmy ranks were expecting: Mogwai's curtain-raising single, preceding the forthcoming full-length Mr Beast, is as arrestingly beautiful as the dawning sun over hills full of nobody, nothing but a single oak tree silhouetted against a wash of oranges and pinks, clouds of amber; as serene as the moon's reflection in a still, tropical sea, fireflies from the nearby white-sand shore dancing themselves dizzy about the only lantern on board the smallest fishing vessel. It's exactly right and effectively precise: every minor lurch, every subtle fret board stretch, is calculated; these Scottish masters of the emotive, of an affecting and all-consuming wall of sound, have skillfully predicted every tingle that runs from your elbow to fingernails and back, then down past the knees to the toes, freezing you, statuesque. They command the listener's feelings as if they - as if we - were but puppets on strings. -drownedinsound.com