Whoa hay! Whuh. Sic Alps keep churning like charred butter, a little slit in the cap on top of the cat revealing the tricks from the sleeves you can't keep down. Again and again, they slap your wrists and elbows like the laughing hyena's panting tongue. But for all the little teasers and pleasers we've had since 2011's Napa Asylum, via the seven inchers and extended plays, it's durn near time for a newborn long player, ain't it? Sho' is! Wouldn't ya have... (read more)

Artists in this story: Sic Alps