The reticent Sydney post-punk canon welcomes another modulated and disaffected rekkid to its midst. ‘Post Pink’ is doing a small amount of ketamine while holding a conversation and realising the only way to get better at rolling cigarettes is to practice. If most of the post-ponk kicking around nowadays is reminiscent of brake lights and the red incandescence of traffic, then this post-ponk is faced the other way, staring into all the haggard faces behind the wheel. Frogs in a bowl of soup, the pleasant warmth of an exhaust pipe, it’s a restless kind-of night. Post-pink defs got some of that assured innercity latecapital steeze of exek or eternal dust or the lewers, occasionally giving a hungover body maintenance or winded negative gears. The feel here above all is one of restraint, investing in the reliability of a maillard reaction, letting bark form properly, knowing these things take time. These joints don’t reflect but refract, enfolding the dreary and frayed into uneasy mid-tempo vignettes.