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LITERATURE

 » Full Dark, No Stars - Stephen King's new novella questions mankind's ability to trust others.
[02.21.2011 by Bridget Doyle]

MUSIC

 » The Top 30 Albums of 2010 - Fashionably, fabulously late, our favorite music (and believe me, there was a LOT) of 2010, the year that some have called the best year for music ever. And only some of those fools work here. Plenty of usual suspects, lots of ties and a few surprises that I won't spoil, including our unexpected #1.
[12.24.2010 by The LAS Staff]

MUSIC

 » Live: Surfer Blood/The Drums at Lincoln Hall, Chicago, IL - Remember when Weezer used to put together records that you could sing along to and rock out to? That's what Surfer Blood's show was like!
[11.04.2010 by Cory Tendering]

Music Reviews

Screaming Females - Castle Talk
»Screaming Females
Castle Talk
Don Giovanni
Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross - The Social Network [Original Soundtrack]
»Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross
The Social Network [Original Soundtrack]
The Null Corporation
Deerhunter - Halcyon Digest
»Deerhunter
Halcyon Digest
4AD
No Age - Everything in Between
»No Age
Everything in Between
Sub Pop
Robyn - Body Talk Pt. 1/ Body Talk Pt. 2
»Robyn
Body Talk Pt. 1/ Body Talk Pt. 2
Konichiwa
The Walkmen - Lisbon
»The Walkmen
Lisbon
Fat Possum
Daughters
Hell Songs
Hydra Head

Rating: 7.5/10 ?


September 1, 2006
I just found myself a new favorite spazzcore band.

From the minute I put eyes on this one, I knew there were good things to come. The album cover is an old-fashioned painting of a woman dressed in a gown petting a horse. Even though the group could have stuck with the over-used theme of ironic art, they proceeded to add to the sketch, giving the woman a transparent ghost arm that is pointing its index finger at her head as if it was a gun. The song titles also sarcastically act as a buffer to the music with names like, "Recorded Inside a Pyramid," "Boner X-Ray," "Crotch Buffet," "Cheers, Pricks," and "The Fuck Whisperer." Just like that, without hearing a single note, the mood was already a bit goofy.

Daughters' sound is something altogether different - a tiny bit silly and ironic, but every ounce balls-to-the-grindstone core-ish. There are three main ingredients to the band: the catchy, hip-flaring indie rock sound exemplified by the Cougars and Hot Snakes; the fin de siècle (2000, not 1900 bro) era discordant spazz rock of respective stayers/risers, Hella and An Albatross; and an appreciation for thrash from the days of ol' in groups such as Sepultura, Slayer and Motörhead.

The term "down moment" is apparently a foreign one to Daughters, seeing as how they manage to push through 10 songs in about 23 minutes. Intro track "Daughters Spelled Wrong" is slower than most of its brethren and builds on mountains and valleys of percussion, guitar shreds and bass thumps. When the track is done, dizzying feedback blares and cymbals quiet themselves. Hell Songs is posturing itself, but the listener might feel as if they just finished an exercise of the ears. The next song, "Fiery," is the album's best and most conventional, leading off with a thick, full-bodied and discordant energy. Guitars ring as if they were alarm clock-voiced bats echoing inside an empty cave, the drums holding a standard yet heavily accentuated beat sequence, and the bass laying down bombs like it was World War III.

Subsequent tunes have a great amount of accenting beats between all instruments; double bass rolls, sheet-metal guitar shreds, and a vocalist who sounds equal parts Jon Spencer and shrieking child provide for an eventful listen. Even though Daughters quickly dance between the brief segments of their songs, they revisit themes throughout the course of the album. Some will try to tie in the stigmatic describer of 'ADD-afflicted' but it is more appropriate to dub this album 'tightly chopped' and the band as 'speedily intricate'.

Although Daughters' style is not for everybody, Hell Songs is a consistently exciting and intense rock/metal album that is sure to rip some heads straight from the necks on which they sit. Fans of Hella and their brethren will shit themselves.

Reviewed by Josh Zanger
Joshua Ian Zanger, a native of rural Chicago, rocks many a world with his writing, style, and generally sweet aroma.

See other reviews by Josh Zanger

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