When a singer describes their backing band as "the best lineup I've ever had", one can usually dismiss this as mere gush. But when the singer is Mark E Smith, who regards musicians with all the sentiment of a rottweiler eyeing a butcher's counter, it's worth pausing to wonder. Now intact for two consecutive albums, this incarnation of the Fall is the most stable in 15 years, with good reason: it's a ferocious unit, propulsive, choppy and playful. They're thrillingly rumbustious on Cowboy George, which opens with a galloping dustbowl guitar chased by flailing drums, like Ennio Morricone on speed, before collapsing in a haze. YFOC/Slippy Floor is even more disjointed, its restless collage closing with some unsuspecting soul reading out their telephone number. If that seems insensitive, there's compensation in Chino and Weather Report 2, in which Smith reflects on his hospitalisation last year with a broken hip.