A while back I had an argument with my wife and spent a winter afternoon angrily driving around Wythenshawe’s rabbit warren of industrial estates with Babyfather’s 2016 BBF CD on repeat like some Passat-driving Travis Bickle. Not the best situation, but the album soaked in deep — and with much thought it’s probably not too wild to say it’s up there with James Ferraro’s Skid Row as far as capturing that futile, wound-up and beat-down feeling that hangs over a large city.
Ten years later, four new tracks. That dog is still barking.
Roman Candle Magazine 