Self-importance might be the epitome of prog but this ponderously labours in the completely po-faced parlour possessing none of the faint whimsy, fey grandeur or mystical allusions of Pink Floyd, personality of say Jean Michel Jarre or sleight of hand, insight (!) or sheer insane (apparent) perception and admirably ridiculous theatricality of King Crimson or even ELP. Weighed down with delusions of splendour, or so assured of it’s sagacity it’s simply purely patronising, this is pockmarked with paltry banalities and pre-teen philosophy addressing socio-political and economic declines such as ‘You praise your supersonic plane, sure you’ll need it / But there’s no safe place where you can fly to’ on Hey Man or the pathetic scratch at fat-cats that is the laughably trite ‘I heard about him, a bank CEO / He must be a kind of superman / He earns five hundred times more than I / He says he really feels no shame to it’ (with accidental self-awareness Knowing All I Do Is Worth Nothing) and with an average song length of just under eight minutes this has all the excitement, urgency and sense of portent as an out of date Christmas TV guide. So if lyrics aren’t exactly your tour de force – their asinine innocence make Genesis’ Land of Confusion appear a Cohen-esque epiphany - perhaps it would be slightly more appeasing if the music didn’t sound like an outtake from a Will Ferrell lampoon or something from Blake’s 7 or Tomorrow’s World circa 1983 done by the Young Gods as a joke for some light relief or to relinquish a contract. The climate’s sure in a parlous state – economic, social, political and whatever else but this somnambulant sermon can scarcely change key or tempo in the manner of it’s genre, and thus their progressive status merely equates to tedium not adroit lunacy. If the world’s gonna be flooded like a Crue backstage area in 1987 then this damp squib isn’t something to stem the slightest trickle never mind anything resembling a tide.