I keep on thinking they’re writing me songs on a postcard from the outreaches of Siberia. Cold, tattered art rock, that although infused with an Eastern Bloc solemnity, is engaging and slightly hypnotic, like watching the wheels of a train when it’s speeding up and clanging along. So, not cock rock or smash-you-in-the-face rock, but more Pere Ubu and Wire: it’s primarily about weight and atmosphere, but with scraping hooks and definite momentum. Could have easily come out in the late ‘70s England or Cleveland instead of Austin 2005. Satisfying stuff.
–todd (Super Secret)