You probably wouldn't trust Therapy to babysit your little sisters and brothers. And you'd be right. They're that kind of band - psychotic dog-trashcore noise terrorists who rip ears and emotions right apart, usually in the one band-breath. Therapy come to us from Larne, but this is straight out of Hüsker Dü's Minneapolis via Rapemen's Washington and Pixie's planet sound. It's also got touches of grunging Ted and extreme Sonic Youth. And one other thing: it should be rather huge.

With Irish pop currently chasing its tail in raggle-taggle/jangle guitar circles, Therapy (and Fatima Mansions and Whipping Boy) shine like beautiful archlights in a hailstorm. Something, like 'Dancin' With Manson' for instance, has the same evil ring as 'James Joyce Is Fuckin' My Sister' (sadly left off Baby Teeth), but has so much blood, sweat and energy that it's impossible to sit still while it revolves around your room. And while it's over-easy to lose sight of Therapy in a hall of gore and horror adjectives, they do actually secrete tunes by the bagfull behind the wall of noise.

On Baby Teeth, Andy's voices are buried way deep in something like a very typical Steve Albini 'shit-mix', the prime-focus taken by Fyfe's enormous snare and Micky's epilepticly-fingered bass. 'Meat Abstract' and 'Punishment Kiss' you already know, but 'Animal Bones' and 'Loser Cop' even out-do them here. This is brutal, graphic, noise-pop with no compromise.

With Jane's Addiction and The Red Chili Peppers finally eating into American pop's mainstream, who knows but Therapy might well be the sound of a chaotic nineties chartshow. Right now.