Psychobuildings steal some disco signposts and flip them backwards so you think you're on your way to a strobe-lit dancefloor but instead you wake up in a poppy field a few hours later with only vague memories of sequenced synth stabs and someone doing a sick Robert Smith via Joe Strummer croon, and about three cubic tons of weed smoke hovering like a storm cloud over everything.
Might as well just go back to sleep and let the storm keep rolling through. Dancing is also a possibility.
Given what seems to be Psychobuilding's Small Black-associated propensity to land sweet posts on Stereogum and Pitchfork and the like, it's safe to say the group's in it to win it, so why not root them to the finish line? The tunes are sharp:
