They make for an obdurate couple, do The Ropes: they claim to hail from Antarctica’s Halley Research Station, whilst the standout from their newly released ‘pay what you like’ Post-entertainment LP is entitled Hey Faggot. And though the beyond unorthodox boy/ girl duo haven’t baptised it thus in corroboration of a reticent homophobia or anything, it makes for an irrefutably traumatised listen – a little like the Gainsbourg weird-out Charlotte For Ever had Serge a predilection for sordidly incestuous ulterior motives and such. Instead, the overriding message of Hey Faggot is that “no one’s in love” – a timely reminder of the individual’s ultimate irrelevance, even on Valentine’s Day of all days – which is swept up in a compellingly vile swell of ramshackle acoustics and wayward cymbals. Like a rickety tug buffeted about by a restive ocean, it’s absolutely ruinous. “Do I find the devil in everything/ Or does the devil find me?” Sharon Shy ominously sighs as though a cadaverous PJ Harvey, ahead of a hellish denouement during which she recurs “I fall and hit my head” as though concussed, having been shoved down a darkened stairwell by a supposed loved one. Terrifying, in that most sadistically intriguing of senses.