(Mercury) A fine line divides pull-the-plug wretchedness from transcendent art. The Witches Titties work both sides of that seam, jumping back and forth between them like it's a deranged schoolyard game. Imagine if the Germs in all their "don't look away!" confrontational glory had sired a litter of offspring with the pre-stardom incarnation of Gossip. No day-care center would touch them! But entrusted to the care of maiden aunt Diamanda Galás, they grow plump and strong, howling scales and cranking up their amps in the nursery. In the evenings, adorned in full slap and fantastic costumes, these feral children huddle around an aging Magnavox and watch Ken Russell's The Devils till their heads swim. Won't you please love them?