The late eighties wasn�t the ideal time for Mark & The No-Marks� deranged hybrid of English folk, free jazz and ghost puppetry, but there never has been an ideal time. Exclamation Mark, dressed up in his ridiculous David Crosby-esque green cape, refused to pander to contemporary fashions and trends, and even seem to resent any acclaim or approval, as if it was a sign that he was doing something wrong. This may explain why he hated this live favourite, scornfully introducing it at shows as �our sell-out�.

I chose the track not only because it�s the only thing that was ever officially released (along with its b-side, an utterly spastic reworking of the Monkees� Theme called �March of the No-Marks� replete with Tube station announcements- �this is the Bakerloo line service to Elephant & Castle�- and girls yelling, �Mark NO! No MARK!!!� at the singer) but it is also by far the best thing they ever did. And it was still far, far from sell-out material (it barely sold any). It is the only No-Mark record you need to hear. All of their less grating eccentricities are here, the schizophrenic dialogues, the lyrical obsessions with pylons and German bunkers, the shoddy jazz drumming, the demonic chanting, the cackling, the mewing (!), but this time it�s all held together by an ace nagging riff, and a supremely warped and swashbuckling chorus where an increasingly unhinged mark sneers, �it�s cooool not to care, sooo cooool not to care�� before he eventually loses all sense entirely and barks breathlessly, �NOT NOT, it�s not sooo care! COOL!!!�

Mark of course was incensed that their label released it as a single and vowed never to �bow to the pound� again. And as a result retired to his studio cave, muttering that their forthcoming album, �a didactic concept album about animal reincarnation� would be their most progressive work yet. And disastrous. If the rumours are true �My Family Are Other Animals� was abandoned after a record company executive visited the studio, described the tapes as �utter utter shit�, and then tried to throttle Mark with a microphone cable.

Up fer listening to some snotty American teens brag about how utterly monged they all are?!... Lord, just writing that there sentence makes me want to clutch my head and groan� �well exactly, so how does no strike you?� Fair, it strikes me as fair. But hear me out. You see, these drug-addled Wailers set their braggings against a backdrop of the crankiest, mankiest rock�n�roll the wrong side of the Sonics. �Is that the tape disintegrating?�, �Do I hear the wallpaper of heaven being torn down?� No, you don�t, that�s the music. �And is that the �Satisfaction� riff honk-honking like an ocean liner in a storm?� Aye yes captain, like the truest garage rockers they filch their riffs from the big leaguers (listen to that other meisterwerk �Psychotic Reaction�). It�s a genre that favours execution over original ideas, and man the Wailers execute that �Satisfaction� riff alright. Yes, sir, by the end there�s black smoke billowing out like burning plastic. ��And I can hear a�a wicked organ swirling around in the cacophony. It sounds really big, like it was recorded in a church, you know like that Belle & Sebastian track� �Lazy Line Painter Jane�?� �well, yeah� I suppose�

�Still these lyrics though�? I cannae bear kids, ANYONE, recounting their drunken, drugged, whatever, adventures out on the town. ESPECIALLY when every other word is �crazy�. I thought psychedelic drugs were meant to expand your mind?� Well, yeah, I agree, but like when you listen to any other drug-addled teen, your brain just switches them off after a time, �out runnin� around/seein� every crazy sight� ma na na na ma na ma ma!� At least until the chorus, when the kids notice you drifting, and jolt your slumbering brain by bellowing in your ear, �HEY! We gotta be� OUT OF OUR TREE!!! OUT OF OUR TREE!�� Yes, yes, it certainly sounds like it.