Holy Fuck, Crocodiles

The Toronto-based Holy Fuck transcends its look-we've-got-"fuck"-in-our-name handle by giving instrumental electro-rock a major kick in the arse. Just its genre—experimental electronica—implies either the coming of a pretentious and formless noise cloud or the likelihood of a drooly shoe-gazing sesh.

The fucksters avoid both, though, pushing their ramshackle synths and monster beats toward a catchy, danceable catharsis. The four-piece features two dudes leaning over tables heaping with keyboards and various wired-up noisemakers, and two dudes rocking the living hell out of good ol' bass guitar and drums. Songs like the rising "Super Inuit" seem to soundtrack some kind of wild workout room in the sky where it's cool to play krautrock instead of Olivia Newton John

Also on the bill is the San Diego duo Crocodiles, a noise-pop outfit that's oozing with fresh online buzz. The band members wear circa-1965 Lou Reed shades and have major Jesus and Mary Chain tendencies—catchy melodies drenched in dingy and swirling guitar squalls aimed at burning a cigarette hole in the California dream.

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Elliott Johnston