Blue collar art rock. On The Planet of The Tyrades, everything’s just more tightly wound, more visceral, louder, faster moving, and mixed up. Like a golf ball in a vice, split open with a hacksaw, there’s a hard shell to crack, and inside, it’s all rubber bands of elastic bass lines and snapping guitars and drum punishment that’ll put an eye out if you’re not careful. You know how some “higher-minded” art rock bands are all about hard-to-grasp angularity and it makes you feel like you’re in an immaculate Laundromat of the future for rich fucks? Sterile, churning, misplaced; you’re only allowed to watch, not touch. The Tyrades make me feel like they’re making cool animals shapes (monkeys with knives, armadillos with boners) out of plastic explosives and they share the kabloom! with the listener. One of my favorite bands right now keeps on trucking along. A no-brainer for fans of the Orphans, Sweet J.A.P., and the Functional Blackouts.
–todd (Shit Sandwich)