I am not comforted by the assurance that ‘there are spiders inside us all’. I am hauntingly aware that we eat around eight in our lifetime. To make matters worse, this is repeated several times, as I gulp and shiver my way through track one. On the upside Carl Hodgett has a lazy drawl of a voice, stuck somewhere between Kings of Leon, Pearl Jam, and Radiohead. The kind of voice that insists on head swaying, and gentle musings. The inflection of drums, slices in nicely to otherwise slow melodies, adding a tribal glimmer to most tracks. And the sound of Hodgett drawing out notes is pure, audible ecstasy. Mid-way through track two and I want to go backpacking. I want to sit round a spitting fire on the beach, and amateurishly strum my guitar. The sound quality of ‘unplugged' is deliciously intimate. It demands low lighting and dubious substances. Track three, ‘Heart attack’; soulful, jolty, words slotting in between drum beats seamlessly, me – caught up, eyes half closed. The lure is tangible from the first sleepy word. Each track replaces the next as my firm favourite. I dare him to outdo himself, and he does, easily, flair building on established flair. A criticism arises, I am cynical even in love; certain songs have a tendency to linger too long, when a shorter lifespan would ensure quality over quantity. But how fickle I am, my fingertips loyally tapping to the start of ‘Shake’. It does fall victim to said criticism, but also culminates said compliments. What a conundrum. For ‘Comes, smiles, and leaves’ I expect a rather tongue in cheek parable about dirty pandas. Instead, the tone is solemn, and full of remorse. The drums attack you half way in, as we see remorse travel to fury. I can’t make out all of the words in this one, and it seems a tad hapdash. ‘The Oaktree’ is beautiful and back to form. I get the impression that after the aggression of the previous track, Carl Hodgett has been subscribed a strong dose of sedatives, not available over the counter. This song is all sunshine, and tweeting birds, and recovering in rehab. ‘Make TVs dance’ is a minor relapse, but with all the promise of a full recovery. In summary then, a dark, uncompromising journey, which tantalises numerous body parts into ungainly bopping, in need of some minor editing. Oh how satisfaction eludes reach, by mere millimetres. 8/10 Website: www.myspace.com/drawmestories