"Faithful Unlawful," Silver Daggers
Part of last year's Not Not Fun Records 7" Singles Club, "Faithful Unlawful" provides a dirty introduction to these Los Angeles skronkcore monsters, whose Load debut drops in April. Borbetomagus-friendly saxes slowly unfold like a fine complement to mid-'00s doom drone. When the band finally joins in, it's typical no-wave boogie down to the Lydia Lunch yelps—'cept the cowbell-happy drummer has probably listened to one too many Refused records, the bass player plucks with Mike Watt precision, and everyone plays this traditionally "innocent" music like a total badass rock star. Hear it: myspace.com/silverdaggers.
Seemingly one sweet Moog-tainted 51-second dollop of Melt Banana pudding burned onto vinyl three times in quick succession (for maximum obnoxiousness), this offering from these London-based no-wave Numbers-crunchers is actually one brilliant four-minute slab of extreme Devo—choking on its own cheekiness with lots of free-noise breakdowns and a fake Vines coda. The "fuck you, Dad" spawn of Duran Duran's "Too Much Information," courtesy of young 'n' modern minds polluted by Sparks and Wikipedia. Hear it: myspace.com/infancy.
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"Song X," Microwaves
Gnarlier and sloppier than the version that made their Crucial Blast debut LP, "Song X" by Pittsburgh noisebangers Microwaves would be yet another undersexed raid on Arab on Radar's metal-on-metal no-wave wail, were it not wheedled out by some dudes who probably own more than one Voivod record. They also claim to have "a familiarity with Ralph Records insanity," and the atonal goo-goo at the fadeout is just the perfect amount. Hear it: myspace.com/rampagerecordings.
"Catastrophie," Femme Covert
Their MySpace page claims "new wave/punk/electro," but Femme Covert from "Dogdick, North Carolina" are only like the Dance Disaster Movement if you take out the dance and the movement. (They spelled catastrophe wrong, for fuck's sake.) They flop about like spazzy DNA fans hate-fucking some Casios on this fantastic neo-noizer update of Jad Fair-style splatter-tantrums—hard-core hooting over a dopey synth, lo-fi drum machines crunching into oblivion, and a one-second drum solo that kicks everything into chaos. Hear it: myspace.com/femmecovert.