If The Wicker Man's Lord Summerisle walked among us and needed some entertainment for his next fiery get-together, The Spook of the Thirteenth Lock would fit the bill perfectly. But he could find himself in a bidding war, because if Bernard Dunne was looking for a house band for his Bród Club, the Dublin quintet would deserve to be top of the list too.

Such is the contrary nature of a trilingual, genre-raiding gang of misfits who live up to the chills implicit in their name but who can also deliver plenty of smiles. They're kindred spirits of both Horslips and Kyuss - often in the same song.

There may be too many tracks here, but being fearless devotees of the if-it-feels-good-play-it philosophy has served the Spook well. If you hear a more downright peculiar home grown album this year it might well coincide with a parting of the Irish Sea.

A wild ride with one big question at the end of it: just how colourful is the crowd at one of their gigs?

Harry Guerin