Metz – Metz
Imagine a parallel universe where Blur’s roaring “Song 2” is the wimpiest thing the band ever created, and you get a sense of the tooth-chipping potential of Toronto art-punk trio METZ. With ten songs slugged out in less than 30 minutes, their self-titled debut packs quick bursts of Alex Edkins’ full-throated howling and beating his fretboard into submission. Two things set them apart from, you know, every single other band that plays loud and fast. First, the fuzz generated from literally every noise is always right about to rupture the speaker cone, but the recording never overdoes its consistent level of sonic overindulgence. These are tightly constructed songs that sledgehammer a jagged line between the Pixies’ inventive pop clamor and the hazy beauty of another clever noise purveyor deserving of the all-caps treatment, HEALTH. “Wasted” is like being shitfaced, “Sad Pricks” is gloom incorporated and “Headache” hurts your skull. You get the idea.
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