Yes, Metal is my business and business is good. But nestled alongside Carcass, Emperor and At the Gates in the list of my five favourite bands of all time is Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine. Even during their brush with fifteen minutes of fame back in the nineties (they rugby tackled Phillip Schofield at a Smash Hits poll winners party) Carter were never fashionable or hip. They were indie for the freaks, geeks and well-read. Articulate and acidic, they were kings of the South London themed pun. As Grunge killed Metal, Britpop was the death knell for Carter's quirky electro punk. 

A fevered fanbase in faded and ill-fitting Thirty Something t-shirt’s has kept the (impossible) dream alive and Jim bob and Fruitbat free of day jobs. We have had solo carriers, books, reunions, various final-ever shows and now this, Jim Bob's finest moment. After years of seeming to be slightly embraced by his position as a folk hero for a small but fevered demographic, he has now embraced all that made Carter great. 

“Pop-up” is a protest album like no other. It is social commentary by way of cutting satire. Each track is a complete tale, shining its exaggerated light on the absurdities and evils of modern life. Jim Bob is mad as hell, but instead of screaming his indignities over blazing electric punk, he instead takes a sardonic and even passive aggressive approach. Every song is livid, but presents that rage in a reserved manner peppered with perfect put-downs. It is a wondrously good record that manages to be both nostalgic and relevant. Superb.