Curses is not a drat, a damn, a bugger, or a shit. It's not an oath to be tossed out idly, nor does it take the names of Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha or Lord Xenu in vain. No, Curses is a spell, a summoning. Fourteen pocket-sized, acidic incantations that trip off the tongue and scatter all manner of charms, jinxes and hexes around your person, your living quarters, your friends and your work colleagues. Songs about cats, Tories and the skeletons of tiny children. Guitars that jerk and spark like cattle prods refashioned into impromptu ECT electrodes. Basslines that impact like a deft flurry of feet, like being kicked to death by the cast of Riverdance. Drums that march, bound and turn on the head of a platinum pin. Two heads that sound like they've sprouted from the same neck, thrashing a collective mane, screaming as they hurtle round the Moebius curve of some lyrical enigma. All fashioned into a single, gleaming CD. A CD that will henceforth be referred to in speech and written word as "the debut album by Cardiff's Future Of The Left".