When you hear a band described as moody post punk revival with proto-goth leanings and a somewhat radical vegan, animal rights based political agenda, youre generally either in or out. Such a confluence of galvanizing and, lets face it, sanctimoniously mopey elements arent an open invitation to the merely curious. Yet, somehow, the Prids manage to maintain an engaging musical persona. While they make no bones about their socio-political beliefs and affiliations, the Prids is not a message band. Sure, the lyrics are occasionally pointed, but they dont bludgeon you with the smug stick; you can actually listen without hearing word one about foie gras or beakless chickens. On the sonic side, the Prids are definitively on the darker end of the post-punk inflected indie spectrum, with minor-key melodies, moody atmospherics, and a penchant for poetic indulgence in the vein of William Blake and his Romantic cohorts. Balancing all this beguiling darkness is an undercurrent of ecstatic electro-pop that owes a lot to the New Romantics of the early 80s, including occasional sojourns into the world of synth-pop.