Dracula Zombie USA – The Summer Jam

I don’t care if you like the name or not, Dracula Zombie USA is as close to Aphex Twin and Lightning Bolt’s lovechild as you’re likely to get, especially if that lovechild loves The Go! Team and LCD Soundsystem. Hah, I got you there. You can’t possibly resist the combo of Lightning Bolt, Aphex Twin, The Go! Team, and LCD Soundsystem – that’s the kind of stuff that impressionable indie kid dreams are made of. Well dream on no more, impressionable indie kid, because Dracula Zombie USA is that dream crystallized, and your friends don’t even know about them yet.

“The Summer Jam” is chockity-chock full of the stuff that makes DZUSA so fantastic. It features sequences of frenzied, skittering drums and drilling bass that Mr. Richard David James would sample for his own frenzied, skittering sequences. It features a throbbing, crunchy, violently loud and violently catchy chorus. It features wicked chantable lyrics. It features just about everything you’d like to hear in a song, only mashed together and fed through your speakers at an unbelievably hyper pace. Basically, it’s three minutes of noisy, manic, joy-inducing fun.

When a group sings about leading an army of bears against a legion of monsters (check out “Bear Island” on DZUSA’s website, it’s a winner), or admits that several of their songs are about dreams that the singer had, you know they aren’t afraid to have as much hopped-up fun as they possibly can. Take a break from the dramatics and let DZUSA tell you completely harmless, completely enjoyable musical tales. Remember: Aphex + Lightning Bolt + Go! Team + LCD. Hah, got you again.

Thee More Shallows – Freshman Thesis

A smart little band called Thee More Shallows is grabbing some well-deserved and positive attention from the perpetually critical indie/undie world. And by perpetually critical indie/undie world, I mean the handful of amateur music journalism websites, webzines, weblogs, and any other publication with the prefix “web” that I visit. I can see Thee More Shallows soon being splattered across the frontpages of the haughtiest, most self-important sources of independent arts commentary. And by commentary I of course mean useless, masturbatory babble. Don’t worry, though, these guys are actually good.

“Freshman Thesis” comes from Thee More Shallows’ latest release, More Deep Cuts, which is falling into a small number of lucky, rejoicing hands. The song’s primary section is a chambery, bedroomy, minimal, but genius composition colored beautifully by a haunting violin, simple guitar work, restrained cymbal tapping, and trembling vocals. The violin’s enough to pull you in, but with every listen, you catch a new twinkling layer beneath the song’s face that seems to have magically appeared. This carries on until a little before the four-minute mark, when things get noisy, and then get noisier, and then just get beautifully noisy. With a riff that Lightning Bolt’s Brian Gibson would get all giddy about, the song is taken to its breaking point. One climbing keyboard drone, several layers of noise, and one long continuation of that poignant violin line later the song fizzles out and you’re already hitting the repeat button.

So if you’ve listened to “Freshman Thesis,” I say “Welcome to Thee More Shallows! You can pick your jaw up now.” If this is one MP3 you skipped because my review was overdone, I say “Fine, more undiscovered goodness for me.”

Salim Nourallah – Beautiful Noise

The best pop music relies on the immediacy of the moment, that strange Kierkegaardian instance of indeterminate reality where there are no relations and everything is untrue. After all, the beast is simplistic by nature, designed to be repetitive, even recursive in its form; it makes sense that pop – in offering a constant, memorable context rooted in the abstract – would lodge itself into the vagaries of the here and now, offering a firm anchor by which to recall otherwise fleeting memories. It’s the same conceit that Hornsby and his ilk made a career out of; most people have a soundtrack for their lives and can only relate those moments to what was on their respective stereos at the time. However, concepts like subtlety and intricacy are often lost in pop’s frantic grab for the present tense; occasionally, a songwriter will go so far as to promote the idea that things like “atmosphere,” “texture,” and “lyrics” are inconsequential in comparison to a good hook, which is a notion that is both dangerous and just a little bit silly. After all, do we need another round of one-off pop starlets produced by the Matrix? No, no we do not.

But occasionally, we are gifted with songwriters who are more principled than that, composers and musicians who understand that pop – in all its myriad forms – is more art than formula. These artists balance instant gratification with thoughtful structures built on carefully constructed frameworks, delving into both catchy melodies and the minutiae of sound with equal zeal. The very best have always been very good at this sort of work; these are the albums that never leave the changer, becoming permanent fixtures because every new spin reveals lovely little details that we never noticed before (usually because we were too busy singing along in loud, embarrassingly off-key voices).

Happily, Salim Nourallah is possessed of such talents, and he uses them to stunning effect on his second full-length release, Beautiful Noise. The album is at once marvelously complex without sacrificing immediate appeal, intricate and subtle and wonderfully pretty all at once. Every aspect of this album absolutely shines, from the careful production, to the sterling songwriting, and to the affectingly simple poeticism of Nourallah’s lyrics. And, perhaps most importantly, Beautiful Noise works as an artistically cohesive statement, a self-contained reflection exploring the uncertainty and doubt inherent to any given moment, and their relationship to love in all its various guises.

The album begins with the title track, a melancholy little ditty sprinkled with some delicate percussion and light synth-work overlaid on top of carefully plucked guitars. The track also serves to introduce one of the main thematic points of the album, namely doubt; this is made plainly evident as Nourallah plaintively sings “We could’ve been anyone / anything.” Such lyrics might have seemed juvenile in the hands of a lesser songsmith; however, Nourallah turns these lines into a mature reflection on wasted life, made particularly touching as his narrator seemingly addresses his own child, where he sees “the newness of life / still uncorrupted by / what [he’s] become.”

That last sentiment is especially poignant in light of the two tracks that follow, “The World is Full of People Who Want to Hurt You” and “Never Say Never.” In the former, the narrator promises his child that he “won’t let them hurt you” over a brisk pop beat owing equally to the Beatles and Tom Petty; the latter is a heartrending celebration of a child’s survival, filled with gentle pianos and swelling strings, at once warily optimistic and joyously restrained. Both tracks work remarkably well together as a set piece examining the fears felt by every parent, and the feeling of futility that inevitably makes itself known as the parent realizes that they will never be able to fully protect their child, no matter how hard they try. This is heady stuff, to be certain, and it’s territory that is rarely explored by many other songwriters. It’s to Nourallah’s credit that he expresses these rather complex emotions within the somewhat limiting confines of the 4/4 pop song.

These tracks are immediately followed by an marvelous trifecta portraying three different aspects of romantic love. The upbeat “Montreal” is a wonderfully bubbly blast of sunny 70s pop, detailing the excitement of young lovers on their way to “somewhere good”. The narrator himself promises his lover that “I give to you everything I have to hold / To love you until we’re old.” However, this bright and cheerful sentiment is immediately brought down by the following song “The Apartment,” a rueful rumination on better times past and love lost. The narrator – like many of us – seems to tie in the memories of his love to the places they’ve been, wrapping it all up in the context of the production work of the respective songs; while “Montreal” is all bouncy beats and buoyant instrumental work, “The Apartment” moves at a much more measured pace, adorned with a deliberately strummed guitar and softly swooning, nearly melodramatic strings.

“1st Love” acts as both a final musing on love and as a segue into the album’s other major premise: uncertainty and facing down one’s own mortality. The narrator recounts a memory of his father advising him to never “marry your 1st love,” but that his “1st love will be [his] last” right before he passes away. The song itself does a notable job of affecting a nostalgic mood, more reflective than it is emotional; however, the strings swell at just the right moment, as Nourallah asks “did she hold your hand / as tears fell on your wedding band,” and adding additional weight to his words as he sings “I’m afraid of dying / nothing could be worse.”

The latter half of the album takes this rather dark theme and runs with it, and the music grows noisier and darker in response; the guitars are more present in these songs, the vocals are compressed to sound a little more distant, and the melodies generally keep to the minor keys. Of particularly note are the songs “All Waste the Days” and “The Other Side.” The former almost sounds like Radiohead, as harrowing guitar figures weave between a slinky bassline and a drum pattern that’s nearly danceable; the latter employs judicious use of scraping textures and jazzy synth patches, interlaced with guitar lines ripped straight from old 60s spy movies. And although it’s difficult to pick out highlights from an album that is so consistently strong, these two tracks stand out as being heads and shoulders above the rest, as they showcase a relentlessly experimental bent that is often not fully utilized in the other songs.

Admittedly, Beautiful Noise doesn’t introduce anything new to the table; however, it still remains an absolutely remarkable album, fully realized and almost flawless in its execution. Nourallah, in capturing little moments so vividly, has created a nearly perfect soundtrack for all the fleeting, strangely ephemeral instances that flit through everyone’s life, from the mundane to the near-miraculous; more importantly, he’s accomplished the extraordinary feat of turning what seem to be deeply personal sentiments into the universal.

Sure, his voice bears a passing resemblance to Jeff Tweedy’s smoke-stained rasp, but his vocals owe just as much to Petty, and his knack for arrangements is both unique and astonishingly creative. Furthermore, I can’t stress enough that there isn’t a single weak moment on the album; the disc doesn’t disappoint from beginning to end, containing immediately arresting hooks and offering enough complexity to reward repeat listens. If there is any justice in the world, then Beautiful Noise will be gracing every critic’s year-end list; I would hazard to say that no record collection will be complete without it.

Boyracer – Insults & Insights

The mighty Rhino Records is set to release a luscious five-CD box set entitled Children of Nuggets sometime this fall. The highly anticipated compilation will feature rock and roll bands from the 70s through the 90s highly influenced by the legendary original Nuggets collection of 60s garage standards. Leeds’ Boyracer isn’t slated to be featured on Children of Nuggets, but given these guys’ resume, which includes a colossal number of releases and nearly 15 years of garage punk gems, they would certainly make a logical choice.

On Insults & Insights, Boyracer takes the best parts of the adjectives “twee,” “punk,” and “pop” and serves up a 25-minute sugar-induced buzz. The album is the aural equivalent of mainlining nine pixie sticks, a box of Butterfinger BBs, two Sparks (the new caffeinated alcohol beverage that’s popular among truckers and third-shift factory workers), and running around your room in circles like a dog trying to escape a laundry basket.

All in all, this album is a pleasant reminder of the pure joy, immediacy, and lack of pretension that’s at the heart of all great three-chord rock and roll. The topics (when they are decipherable) on Insults & Insights range from such weighty permanent teenager-related subject matters as getting drunk, girls, and growing up, and they are filtered through a series of out-of-tune guitars, garbage-pail-pounding drums, and a krunked-up vocals. While the raw innocence may seem forced and childish by lesser artists (especially ones who are at least in their thirties), it feels completely authentic in Boyracer’s music.

The highlights of Insults & Insights include the Beatles-crossed-with-Buzzcocks opener “Louise,” the pristinely catchy “The Sadness in You,” and the instrumental power-pop bliss of “Roubideaux.” Other high points on Insults & Insights include the strange folk-punk of “Second Fiddle,” the XTC-meets-Husker Du melody of “I Love Accents,” and the all-out noise freakout of “Tell Me What You Want.”

Opening with a guitar strum that sounds like none other than the first few seconds of “Dueling Banjos,” “Louise” evolves into a buzzsaw version of Rubber Soul-era Beatles. “The Sadness in You,” with its adorable boy/girl harmonies and fuzzy guitar reminiscent of any number of 60s psychedelic garage rockers from the Seeds to the Magic Mushroom, effortlessly merges the two worlds of beer-guzzling anarchy and candyland psychedelia that’s at the core of the best punk-inspired pop music. Clocking in at under 1:30, “Roubideaux” is another hyperactive pop blast, but with enough echo and lack of vocals to nearly qualify as a lost 60s surf-instrumental classic.

There really are no bad moments on Insults & Insights. It’s just 25 minutes of sweet cavity-causing garage-punk joy.

Calm Murder – Two Sides of the Suicide King

The last split from Engineer had its ups and downs, and Two Sides of the Suicide King follows suit. Catalyst and Calm Murder share this eight-song split, but the latter band reigns supreme.

Catalyst opens the split with dark, plain metal riffs in the dragging “Kiss You Goodbye.” Likewise, the guitar riffing doesn’t have enough edge to make an impression on the following songs. It reminds me of some of the older Underoath material, but less intense and catchy. The poor-sounding production is one factor for this disappointment. Cymbal crashes, for example, sound like banging on garbage cans. Mike Mead’s screaming gives the band some points, as he goes from gutteral to clean in the same breath. The band’s last song is the best display of these guys’ metallic hardcore, the anthemic “This Heart Won’t Heal on it’s Own.”

There’s not much wrong with Calm Murder besides the lame moniker. These guys tear through their four-song portion of caustic metalcore similar to Converge. Calm Murder infuses more melodic elements into its sound; however, the desperate Jacob Bannon-style screaming is not compromised. From the two-minute blur of “These Hearts Don’t Have Names” to the thrilling rush of “This Day Love Died,” it’s clear these guys are more than a carbon copy of their influences. They can segue clean guitars and calmly spoken words seamlessly before returning to heavy form.

Although Engineer Records’ roster has varying standards, this particular release contains enough reason too avoid the used bin. Calm Murder is a faithful relative to the Jane Doe-era Converge you know and love.

Brian Setzer – Rockabilly Riot! Vol. One

Browsing the aisles of your friendly neighborhood Tower megastore, it’s easy to feel as if more half-hearted tributes and opportunistic covers comps saturate the market than works by the original artists to whom radio-rotation fixtures supposedly pay such breathless homage. Even in cases where one can put aside the glow and gleam of surefire financial gains, it’s a bizarre state of nostalgia, more than occasionally nostalgia partly for nostalgia’s sake. Far from the scope of a Library of Congress outing or the attentive, often-respectful documentary style of an Alan Lomax anthology, it can resemble so much wallpaper on the wall. But the early rock revivalist and guitar-slinger Brian Setzer manages to somewhat miraculously side-step many of these pratfalls on his latest Surfdog collection, a 23-song set paying tribute to the vintage rockabilly of early- to mid-1950s Sun Records.

How does the man and his cohorts do it? Well, mostly by reprising the trajectory of his own musical career through the rumblings of rockabilly and early rock ‘n roll, which he faithfully recreates on the 59-minute disc. Far from sounding like a reductive primer on the genre, the first volume of the presumably multi-disc Rockabilly Riot! really fleshes out the argument that rockabilly was one of the more vital pop mutations of genre-forms American musicians have created in the last 50 years. On display in the carefully selected set are all the colors and contexts that made/make rockabilly such a vital sound. There’s high-octane early rock (the raucous “Peroxide Blonde in a Hopped Up Model Ford,” the album-opening “Red Hot”), country and western romps (“Just Because,” “Glad All Over”), blues (“Rock N’ Roll Ruby”), and soul-infused R&B-rock (“Mona Lisa,” the Fats Domino flair of “Lonely Weekends”), not to mention enough hot-rod mannerisms and strutting to make Mr. Link Wray look downright sedated.

Setzer and company seem to pull off the material, quite simply, because they display an unusual respect for the worlds in which it was created and the sonic furnaces in which it was forged. The liner notes (from Setzer) carefully detail the attention the musicians paid to period details, from the understated flourishes of original drum lines and acoustic guitar rhythms to the style of rockabilly piano to the use of an old Gretsch duo-jet guitar pumped through a tiny amp. Anyone who speaks so passionately about the need to avoid canned echo or digital effects clearly has some respect for the original material, but Setzer takes that respect a step further, really injecting the songs with a period flair that’s tough to trace merely through the specifics of production. In short, he nails the rough-and-tumble energy and 90-proof swagger of the form, and that’s often a sound that would do the Reverend Horton Heat, no stranger himself to the adrenaline of rockabilly, as well as an electric blues aficionado like George Thorogood proud.

The disc also provides a mostly unprecedented evaluation of the influences behind a specific musician by the musician himself. Rather than getting bio-pic canned ruminations on the importance to Setzer of blah-blah-blah, the musician himself peels back the foundation to give listeners and fans a look at his roots, and it’s an interesting spectacle. Setzer played more than a passing role in the late-90s resurgence of swing, but much of his career has been dedicated to reviving the venom and sway of rockabilly, and this collection really serves as a useful kind of corollary to that mission. On it, we see Setzer paying tribute to the Perkins and Cashes of the Sun era but also showing by example how much this strange American music defined him as a musician.

The music on this disc isn’t Setzer’s own – and many recordings will, possibly consciously, drive you to seek out the originals – but his guitar tries to convince you otherwise. And that, alone, is worth a trip in the rumble seat down memory lane.

Jamie Lidell – Multiply

Don’t listen to the filing cards at your local record stores: Jamie Lidell’s Multiply is not an electronic album. Spurred by his fruitful collaboration with Christian Vogel in the undeniably fun Super Collider, Lidell has crafted an album of straight soul and funk tracks that very often reference his experimental past. When he does break into his past, it only fuels the fire, adding unheard-of twists and shouts to a genre that, despite its excellence, has progressed very little since the mid-80s.

On an album absolutely full of surprises (it’s on freakin’ Warp records, after all), Lidell’s uncompromised vocal performance stands out. He sheds the heavily treated vocals of the Super Collider albums and sings these tracks straight, like any great soul man. Make no mistake: Pharrel would burn his Bentleys to sound this strong. Lidell showcases a surprisingly strong voice throughout the album, handling smooth Motown ballads (“Game of Fools”) and gut-shot, Thriller-inspired pop-funk with equal aplomb. For anyone who thinks Lidell’s tributes to the past are unbecoming coming from a skinny white guy who recently appeared on the cover of “The Wire” in a cardigan and some silly sunglasses, drop your reservations: There’s nary a hint of irony or mockery on Multiply.

Your enjoyment of this disc, then, hinges almost totally on your enjoyment of 60s- and 70s-era soul and funk tracks. I can’t stress this enough. This is not electronic music dressed up in soul flourishes. These are gritty, courageous tributes to the great R&B records of years past. A lack of song credits suggest that most, if not all, of the instruments on Multiply are synthesized, but they sure don’t sound it. Pianos echo in warm pools of organ fills, and the drums fill up entire rooms, reverberating with the authority and muscle of a road-tested house band. The title track, the album’s poppiest, eats up a staccato guitar rhythm. The bass shines throughout the album, making this not only a great summer car album, but one primed for remixes and samples.

When Lidell does mix his blue-eyed past with his red-eyed present, the results are so enticing you wish he’d try it more often. “When I Come Back Around” uses a choppy, snapping drum kit to fuel Lidell’s more furious vocal take. And “The City” eclipses even that impressive take, letting a violent bass drum rip through a distant Lidell vocal, and eventually droning out the singer completely for a digital-funk coda that ranks as one of this year’s best music moments.

Fans of typical Warp Records artists should stay for away from this disc, unless they’re trying to expand their horizons. Lidell is seemingly dead serious about his turn as a soul man, and Multiply is not just the year’s most adventurous album, it’s one of its most melodic, soulful, and engaging as well.

The Y Equals – Consume Regurgitate Resume

Traversing the boundaries of post-hardcore comes unsigned act The Y Equals. On the band’s second full-length, the Texan boys bust out 10 tracks recorded live in a studio. The band’s vocal style encompasses singing and screaming, with dense, melodic guitars that roughly place them somewhere in between the last two Hopesfall releases.

Early on, the record’s balance of vocals favor screaming, but later this is reversed to closer resemble bands like Beloved. This effort was recorded in a single day, and the garage-style recording may not flatter everyone. “For Madmen Only!!!” and “Unreliable Narrator” have screaming with a static-like effect that’s just overkill. For whatever reason, that screaming tone isn’t consistent for long; “If the Titanic Could Sink” sees improved screaming via removing the earache of an effect.

“A Radio Song…” is the definite black sheep of the album. Then again, it’s so bad that it could be a parody, especially considering its title. The song contains three minutes of flat whining and depressed acoustic guitar that goes nowhere.

“Sittin’ and Lookin’” provides a much-needed three-point turn from that misstep. Not only is the guitar more catchy, its less sloppy than previous cuts. The melodic beginning quickly relates itself to A-Types-era Hopesfall with its intertwining chords. Songs like “Worry About Next Time Next Time” and “Best of the One Liners” continue the latter melodic trend. These songs would especially benefit from cleaner production, because the mixing is a touch too dirty.

I hear plenty of potential in Consume Regurgitate Resume, but whether it’s convincing enough to gain label support is debatable. The package design doesn’t scream self-released, nor is it professional looking. On this effort, presentation flaws include not having track names on the back, half-assed lyrics in the liners, and a generic cover that neglects to even include the band name.

As for what’s inside, the actual music sounds competent considering the band recorded without frills. The Y Equals should avoid future live recordings like this, as too many raw moments cry out for cleaner production. The end result of this self-released affair is fairly solid, but I need to see improvements next time to become a fan.

Wolf Parade – S/T EP

Previously known to many Americans only as a hotbed for secession-minded Cannucks, Montreal has long boasted a cheery Euro-collegiate ambiance, a favorable exchange rate, and a number world-class strip clubs (always excellent combination, in my book). Perhaps responding in desperation to the protracted NHL lockout, in the last year Montreal has brought us Arcade Fire, Et Sans, and the demise of the formerly ascendant The Unicorns. Yes, Montreal is the new New York; first happening, then hyped, and, finally, ripe for a first-class backlash. Now from this dizzyingly hyped Québec-iasance, comes this week’s heirs, Wolf Parade, and the band’s self-titled EP.

Due out in September, Wolf Parade’s full-length debut Apologies to Queen Mary, is sure to have “Disco Sheets” placed prominently. Paced at the type of jangly, dance-punk tempo that Franz Ferdinand employed to set pre-teen hearts aflutter, “Disco Sheets” nonetheless sounds like a world-beater: its instantly recognizable and nuanced indie rock in the instantly palatable vein of Arcade Fire.

Hand-clapping and stomping its way to stardom on “Disco Sheets,” Wolf Parade is lead by Dan Boeckner, who is steadfastly a member of the new breed of frontman. In a generation of indie bands whose leaders invariably end up embracing the stilted and dry emotive patterns of David Byrne or Beck, Boeckner offers us no surprises, offering a lyrical style something like a more eloquent Modest Mouse.

It’s Wolf Parade’s music that carries the synth-heavy “Shine a Light” and the shuffling minor-key chants of “Lousy Pictures.” Like its Montreal forebears, Wolf Parade seems to have already learned buzz means little without chops. Though the band’s forthcoming debut has already been granted a place in the hearts of indie fans from here to Alberta, Wolf Parade’s teaser EP suggests the guys might soon escape the Montreal band du jour label.

Desert City Soundtrack – Perfect Addiction

At one time, Desert City Soundtrack was easily the most aggressive band on Deep Elm’s roster. By combining somber elements of bands like The Black Heart Procession with post-hardcore throat-shredding not unlike Portraits of Past or early Fugazi, it was a destructive tour de force to be reckoned with. If you ever caught the band live, you really know what I’m talking about. With the release of Perfect Addiction, all of that is about to change. After an unfortunate but amicable departure, former drummer Caitlin Love has been replaced with Brian “Nightdog” Wright, thus changing the dynamic of the band but not rendering it any less vibrant. In a way, the new Desert City Soundtrack is even more dramatic than ever before.

Perfect Addiction finds the band reigning in its hardcore elements and strengthening its songwriting chops. This is the sound of a more mature Desert City Soundtrack, one that owes more debt to bands like Codeine or Palace than Portraits of Past. Gone are the scream-a-rific climaxes of earlier songs such as “What to Do in Case of Fire” or “These Games We Play.” Instead, what is left is more similar to songs like “Casket” or “My Hell” from Funeral Car. Wright’s drumming keeps the pace nice and slow for the entirety of Perfect Addiction, although the record isn’t without some incredibly powerful moments. Cory Gray’s piano leads the band with some incredible riffs that will leave your jaw ready to be scraped off the pavement. Matt Carillo’s guitars are at times lush, providing the perfect bed for Gray’s piano to really shine; at other times they are wiry and tense, only exploding when necessary for just the right effect.

The opening piano lines of “Last Night’s Floor” don’t sound all that different from what we’ve come to expect from the DCS crew. Carillo and Gray’s sleepy vocals act as tour guides through a dysfunctional relationship. Still, the guitars never raise above a low hum, and the song eases its way down the old dirt road to track number two like horses drawing a carriage containing dead bodies to a grave. “Let’s Throw Knives” takes the passoff and marches forward with a salsa dancestep led gracefully by Cory’s piano and Matt’s plea’s of “I don’t know if I can take this anymore, pull your finger off the trigger.”

“Playing the Martyr” is one of the only real “rock” songs on the record. In a fashion similar to Three Mile Pilot’s Another Desert, Another Sea, the song breaks into a shouted chorus but never the blood-curdling howl heard on earlier tracks like “Murder Hearts.” The acoustic guitar and piano are swathed in a fuzzy blanket of electric guitar that adds just the right amount of volume to the equation. What follows is even more of a eulogy to the old Desert City Soundtrack, as “No Signal” finds the band burying the only screamed vocals on the record under a ton of white noise and incredibly deft drumming.

“Whatever the Cost” and “Batteries” are possibly two of the album’s best songs, and they have been carefully placed side by side for maximum effect. The former is a lament over a claustrophobic argument between two lovers, while “Batteries” is a lonely piano ballad that would put most other bands to shame with the sheer brilliance of its haunting melody. “Mothball Fleet (Counterattack)” is the crowning jewel in this already splendid record. During the chorus when Carillo and Gray sing “my friends say I’m lashing to the mast of this sinking ship,” the words themselves feel weighted by the dread of an impending doom. “Watering Hole” takes the record to its absolute lowest, not in terms of quality because the song is fucking great, but in terms of pace and volume. Matt Carillo sings about meeting an ex over drinks and trying to forget their pasts.

“The Dining Dead” closes Perfect Addiction with a page straight from Funeral Car. The opening statement “Sit back in my hell,” is directly linked to Funeral Car‘s opening track, entitled, perfectly enough, “My Hell.” The song swings wide with a jaunty rhythm that seems tailor made for the end of this tale. By the finale of the song, however, Desert City Soundtrack has taken us back around to the starting point. The tempo slows to a crawl as the guys sing “if you need a friend or a place to call, call on me.”

Perfect Addiction seems poised to make this statement come true, as you’ll be calling on it over and over again from the shelves of your record collection. In summary what we have on our hands here is a genuine contender for album of the year. Desert City Soundtrack has refined and redefined its sound by honing in on some unreal songwriting skills and putting its post-hardcore roots to bed. Perfect Addiction delivers another morbidly beautiful gem from this Portland, OR band.

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