Fresh from the twisted machinations and fertile imagination of Cumbrian-born, London-dwelling artist and seer Natalie Sharp, Trifle is a gallery of grotesquery not recommended for either the nervous of disposition or lactose intolerant. Whether chronicling the drama and drudgery of the night bus, inhabiting a magical fantasy landscape, or delving deep and dark into her own psyche for inspiration, Sharp's tales and travelogues arrive at a unique environ equally rich in the caustic and the cosmic. Lurking somewhere between the eldritch diva manifestations of Diamanda Galas and the wry reflections of Victoria Wood, yet equally driven by a magpie spirit and conceptual chutzpah redolent of Leigh Bowery and an acidic wit damaged by John Cooper Clarke, Natalie Sharp's brainchild here engineers a collision between the high-maintenance and the kitchen sink that's a feverish spectacle to behold. Along with her co-conspirators Philip Winter (Wrangler/Tuung) and Will Kwerk, Sharp decamped to the splendid isolation of the otherworldly Bodmin Moor studio of Benge (John Foxx And The Maths/Wrangler) to sculpt these serenades, surrounded by vintage analog equipment and sci-fi paperbacks. There, a unique and deliriously disconcerting confection took shape, equally informed by post-punk angularities and electronic experimentation -- as on the opening clarion call "Home" or the salacious "Knicker Elastic" -- not to mention torch song visions and choral reverie, as on the ethereal "Dribble Wizard