Arks open with a tight, jagged song that stutters from place to place like an angry drunk. He knows where he's going, he's going there fast, but he ricochets from wall to wall as he makes too heavy strides down the alley. This is the International, so stay right! Stay right! This is arty punk rock under the influence of Gang of Four and Iggy and the Stooges. They tell you that your car's on fire, my dear, with some real menace. Arks are also prone to heading into a Sonic Youth direction, particularly on "Customs" and the superb "Maginot", but they strip the guitars of the feedback wash and leave them with the bare essentials, which along with the intelligent drumming underpinned by juddering bass lines, gives the band's sound a hard, staccato bite that's not without a certain degree of warmth. Does any of that make sense to you? No? Who cares! They claim to be stochastic, which I had to look up in the dictionary. This is the International! Lemon! Lemon! Callow, sordid! SOLD!