AT WHAT might have been a make-or-break juncture for the group, the searing groove of guitars and unrelenting pummel of octo-drummer Cooper confirms a full bill of fire-breathing health.

THE INCLUSION of a sample from preaching political dinosaur Dr Ian Paisley was replaced at the last minute. Therapy? created a chaotic anthem for those who worship at the altar of rock.

THIS cello-led take on the 1983 Husker Du track wallows in wicked desire, relating the almost sympathetic rape and murder of the title character. Grisly stuff.

BLEARY-EYED delirium and paranoid distraction are celebrated with the arms-in-the-air chorus 'I think I've gone insane/I can't remember my own name '. The burnt-out realisation of inevitable death proves Andy Cairns isn't a man acquainted with the happy pills.

A MID-TEMPO metallic indictment of American culture before it became de rigeur for bands to do so; this critique of absurdities reminds that despair at American foreign policy is no new notion.

OPENING WITH the declaration 'Masturbation saved my life' continues the ever-present identification with the grimy underbelly of everyday existence and explains why some fans are reluctant to shake the band's hands after shows.

THE STATIC opening bars kick into gear with a chaotic yelp, the driven riff and affirming lyrics confirming an unwillingness to dwell on the past.

PERHAPS THE prime example of the band's early genre-melding sensibilities. Murky movie samples, McKeegan's propulsive low end, Ewing's techno-inflected kit molestation and needling guitar give an unrelenting stomper that defies categorisation.

'TROUBLEGUM''S opener sets the tone for the album - self-deprecating and with a dark sense of humour. The chorus, delivered with the obsessive rage of a serial killer and the words 'I'm gonna get drunk/Come round and fuck you up ', raises the suspicion that Cairns might not be joking.

ACCOMPANIED BY the video in which a damsel caresses the decapitated band back into action by reconnecting their heads to their bodies.

THIS 'BABYTEETH' opener - a stark, brooding abnormality - is one of the boldest statements of non-compliance ever committed to record.

GUARANTEED TO kick-start the pit with its pogo intro and spring-loaded guitar riffery, this ode to trumped expectation offers a typically twisted consolation to those resigned to life in loserville.

RAILING AGAINST the inadequacies of an alienating Irish literary heritage, this is the only song that is guaranteed to result in a room of people united in a chant of 'James Joyce is fucking my sister '.

CONFIRMING THAT the band are masters of their craft, a quirky, inexplicable optimism drizzles a song that contains the bleak line, 'All you optimists can kiss my ass, cos the future is relentlessly bleak, nature has the last laugh '. Cheer up, Irish bloke!

ABRASIVE BASS and Neil Cooper's bombastic assault on the skins conspire to produce a song that boots the life back into 'the wretched corpse of rock 'n' roll '.

THE SONG that launched the band into the nation's conscience, into the charts and onto an unlikely appearance on 'Top Of The Pops'. An adrenalised rush that encapsulates the frantic thrill of unrequited love.

THE IMPOSING injection of jagged guitars and piledriving disco beat provide a taut and pulsing backdrop for the lyrical affirmation that the group aren't prepared to 'take it lying down '. Pure, vintage Therapy?.

WITH A dambusting riff and lyrics that ooze film noir paranoia, a bug-eyed Cairns weaves tales of urban alienation and misanthropy which assure us that 'Happy people have no stories'. Presumably Therapy? have a truckload of them.

OPENING WITH a stomping disco beat, Cairns is at his most bloodshot in this razor-edged, highly-strung imposition of amphetamine psychosis.

SCUZZY GUITARS, tumbling drums and unbridled insolence underpin this uppercut against careerist musicians and sleek music business executives.