Oh the delirium, you don't understand. Lisa's clenched throat vocal-fry offering expression over octaves. Claire's vocal bulk is so fantastic it deserves a million nose-scrunches, Faye's resplendent neon vocal rays signposting to heaven and Heaven, Lisa's streetwise vocal-fry remains chewy and savoury, whilst the moderately miraculous survival of an expressionless Lee solo and H's metamorphosis into a microwaved Bob Downe can't even complicate the abandon. In fact, it's a hectically syncretic evocation of volcanic proportions.