Ye Olde Maids stalk the furthest perimeters of pop, their poltergeist pretty, weather made-up faces cloaked in witch-like shadow, hunched over and hurting in sinful sanctury far from the homes they left shamed and smouldering. “Cocoa Cherubs” is an unearthly ember glowing with utmost malice and wonder from the gnarled, gut-rotted innards of the woods they’ve made their den, the girls – cross-eyed angelic – rubbing hands together in hunt of sky-lighting, luminous problem-page boyfriend sacrifice apparitions in tribute to some don’t-give-a-fuck, glue gone God that promised them parentless motorcycle paradise and left them in the wretched wilderness where they’ve become stranger, stronger and scarier.

Ye Olde Maids – Cocoa Cherub