Loraxx's
Canada begins with a creepy, metallic bass urgently crawling its way into some unknown depth. But you won't pay any attention to that. The first thing you'll notice about "Dinner" is the jolting voice of lead singer Arista Strungys. Arriving on the scene like an out-of-control flame-thrower, Strungys' yell is painful, piercing and, for those who grew up on the sounds of
Big Black and the
Jesus Lizard, a marvelous thing. Like
Patti Smith crossed with a kitten in a chokehold, Strungys makes that lead singer of
Hole sound like an amateur. She, after all, doesn't just yell. Her voice is what anger sounds like. It's also a little frightening. Take "Titan," for instance, on which she casually, with just a slight hint of cockiness, talks her way through the verses. It's an eerie, gripping sensation. Any fool can sense that the peace isn't going to last, and the tenseness is only heightened by the powerfully tight rhythm section of bassist Santash Isaac and drummer Elliott Talarico. With a sense of mood straight out of the The Exorcist and a touch of the
Gang of Four's amped-up funkiness, Isaac and Talarico pick up exactly where Chicago's
Jesus Lizard left off. The two playfully skip around each other in the hopping "Policy," alarmingly chug the mischievous "Tag" along, and master the art of giving and taking on the cooly energetic "Hiss Valve." Strungys' voice will grab you, sure, but this rhythm section is what will secure the grip. Recorded with
Steve Albini in 1998,
Loraxx's
Canada is 11 songs and 26 minutes of concrete shattering, in-your-face hardcore punk. Partly a collection of early singles and demos,
Loraxx doesn't really come into its own until the fifth song, "Porn," which turns a fingernails-on-the-chalkboard-like guitar sound into an irresistible melody for two minutes of drum-drenched paranoia. That, like much of this fiery debut, is a good thing.