The music of Lend me your underbelly cannot easily be put under the specifics of a certain genre, but is characterised by a sentiment of melancholy and urgency, which tries to unroot daily reality, to place it in a more real perspective, each track on Giant Tadpoles Among Us carries a sort of phototropic slant; set on a giddy diagonal by the field recording confetti (cascades of sucked in words crafted from reversed conversation, wooden scrapes and impact tacked together into an organic typewriter mechanism) that swirls around and blots out large chunks of stereo space, leaving the guitars and voices to rise and swerve toward the sun along jaunty (but unavoidable) routes. The arrangements are pliable, comprised of a compositional bamboo that arches and diverges without snapping the pieces into dissociative ambient fragments, and even with the other rhythms and tonal activity that crumples against the bowed and bent totem core, I see each of this nine tracks as songs; boxed up constructions of beat and melody into which I read a loose, yet undoubtedly coherent, desire to communicate.