Contemporary insolvency. Death in Vegas have finally shed their seemingly subjective nouveau-riche complex. Hitherto their transgression has been a victory of unqualified pragmatic ambivalence over subjective quadrophenia. They've refused to relinquish their cromagnon croneyism but still managed to dispassionately dissect the more contorted aspects of their frivolous libido. If The Contino Sessions is anything to go by their franchised diaspora has been scattered and even paralelled by a self-confessed migraine of dissipated youth. But what did you expect?