Terrorbird

Charming nihilism. Intentional unimportance. Sarcastic oversimplification. Desperate, barely contained rage focused and aimed at unfocused, aimless people like a hostage negotiator's megaphone shoved in the mouth of a suicide bomber. Casy and Brian are embedded in the audience they reach out to. They empathize with our wealth of creative potential, and our expressive debt. And we love them for it.

Longing. Loss. Angst. Ambition. Poetry. Interpersonal relationships and romance. These themes are played out and conspicuously absent in Casy and Brian's thematic repertoire. It seems the lyrical conventions of rock and roll have been carelessly cast aside and replaced with an indifferent, mechanical storytelling treatment- most audibly in the lyrics of "Greetings Int'l", a long succession of different translations for the word "hello" (like fifty), grouped in westto easterly continental order. Similarly, in "Do Not Attempt This at Home", they describe in clear detail how to acquire the materials for, and build an improvised explosive device - then detonate it, all while urging the listener to not use the information imparted. The impartiality of the topics made available is irresponsible, reckless, and quaintly terrifying. "Rumble in the Jungle 1974", a big booming bucket of raw soul breaks, is lyrically only a collection of quotes by Muhammad Ali collaged together retelling the story of a famous boxing match, seemingly only satisfy the vocalist's self imposed thematic limitations, which continue throughout their upcoming 7' series "NO FICTION" relentlessly.

Casy and Brian's instrumentation and compositional style seem to borrow from too many disparate genres and then give back to none of them. 70's punkrock riffs are slammed together with (obviously) plagiarized 60's Motown breaks, then stabbed with an 80's hardcore break down and spit on by 90's club beats, the resulting sound being mangled and screaming but unrecognizable, hence, new. The melodic instrumentation is starkly ambiguous. The challenge is figuring out what kind of instrument you are hearing, and which one of them is playing it (they swap), and how many are being played. It sounds like horns and bass sometimes, guitar and synth at others. It is awkwardly oversimplified at one moment, then confusingly busy the next. It is intentionally vague and catchy for catchy's sake, and you can tell that they are trying really hard to give a shit about their craft, but they just can't be bothered to get about the business of defining themselves categorically. And yet the physical intensity and enthusiasm they display in their recordings and live performances belies their desperate need to get up and do something, anything other than what they are expected to, and it seems like they expect their audience and peers to reciprocate, or leave them alone to do their thing.

Theirs is not a music for bashful people. It is a monument for hyperactivity and tough nerdiness, an exercise in being held accountable for your tastes and understanding them thoroughly. It is loud and exciting and exhausting to the ears. It sounds like drill instructors screaming at you for more in a gun range on ladies night with firecrackers exploding in your brain. You can't listen to this at work, or even in public without headphones. You can't see them perform and not hear them for a three block radius. You can't not hear them. If you like their music, you're psyched. If you don't, you're bummed. And it seems like this ultimatum might just be their point.