Pylon, Chomp

Hypnotic, at times baffling and never like anything you've heard before or since, the most accessible release from the elder statespersonpeople of the turn of the Reagan era Athens-alt scene (to be sure a coarsely relative statement). The formula doesn't stray a great deal from Gyrate; Vanessa Briscoe's murky, murmury vocals still diffuse more fog than they dispel, with sharp edges and shrieks like flashlights suddenly igniting in your eyes, and the same sort of taut paranoia propelled by the unstable yet purposeful shuffle of Curtis Crowe's drumming and the deep slap of Michael Lachowski on bass. Rather, the difference is in production and mood: the grit is there, but it's swifter and airier ("Beep," floaty closer "Altitude"), it even flirts with layers (the almost whimsical "Italian Movie Theme"), and the lyrics land more heartfelt than simply angsty ("Yo-Yo," "No Clocks"). But just to remind you they'd never sell out, the centrepiece remains the tinny menacing dirge of "Crazy," and lead-off "K" lets you know any new affectations are entirely under their own control. After all, to let it be pigeonholed as mere post-punk or new wave would ruin the idea. (Content: no concerns.)

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