With a name pilfered from one of the more absurd episodes of Chris Morris's Brass Eye, Shatner's Bassoon have always worn their pranksterism on their sleeves. Following in the tradition of outfits such as Mr. Bungle, Naked City and The Cardiacs, they've developed a fiendishly complex electric music that knowingly slams together elements of jazz, prog, metal and other genres, in the process creating something that is simultaneously confrontational and tongue-in-cheek. It's always seemed as if they were doing their best to keep a straight face and only just managing it. But, with this new album – their first in three years – it looks like they mean business. Sure, there's plenty of trickery and unpredictability, particularly in the familiar jerky rhythms and stop-start anti-riffage, but here the barely-suppressed anarchic humour that characterised earlier efforts has been overridden by a steely seriousness and urgent ugliness. When their virtuosity blasts through, it's as shocking as a smack in the chops – with saxophonist Ollie Dover unleashing some profoundly unpleasant honk-ups that eschew the usual skronk-by-numbers and go rooting for something best left buried. Go carefully with this one.