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A few years back, I was turned onto this Welsh trio called McLusky. They combined the quirkiness of the Pixies with the assault of Brainiac (though no synths back then) and turned it into a total face-melting machine. With that scream, you'd swear Falco (McLusky vocalist/guitarist Andrew Falkous, not the "Rock Me Amadeus" dude) would jump out of the speaker and punch you in the sack if he didn't seem so intent on making you giggle. To this day, I have never seen a band with a better knack for song titles. Some examples: "Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues," "Fuck This Band," "Without MSG I am Nothing," "Collagen Rock," "Your Children are Waiting for You to Die." Back then it seemed like every band coming out were being hailed as "rock revivalists." But the White Stripes and the Hives sounded laughable when put up against these guys. Falco's screeching guitar, the massive fuzz bass of Jonathan Chapple and the crashing drums of Matthew Harding (replaced by the even better Jack Egglestone on their swan song, The Difference Between Me and You is that I'm Not on Fire)... Words can only go so far.

Sadly, the trio broke up, and I mourned in the only way Falco would have found to be proper: drinking whiskey, nude, listening to McLusky Do Dallas.

Imagine my surprise when I was reading Matt's blog a couple years back and saw this video featuring an awesome song by Future of the Left, which included Falco and Jack! Through some Internetting, I learned they had an EP out (Fingers Become Thumbs!) and had just released their debut full-length, Curses. I didn't think they could top the kick-in-the-gut oomph of McLusky, but along the way they picked up Kelson Mathias, former singer for Jarcrew, an unusually cheesy (particularly in comparison to FOTL) Welsh pop group. Kelson proved himself a more than capable bassist, every bit as tight as Chapple, and his tone was even more abrasive.

As hardcore as McLusky was, many of their songs had some catchy hooks underneath the fuzz. Future of the Left came out of the gates sounding much darker, kind of like a more muscular (if you can imagine it) Shellac. Odd time changes, goofy tunings, intentionally shitty instrument tones... But it was all beautiful.

And the hooks were not completely gone. Falco started playing synth (a nasty, farty synth, not a wussy Styx synth), which carries the main melody of what is probably their "biggest" song, "Manchasm."

I got to see them this spring at a SXSW showcase. Their live show is every bit as intense as their albums suggest - the precision and energy was unbelievable. A few new, more tuneful songs had worked their way into the set, and I learned a new album was on the way. A couple of weeks ago, I read that it was due for release on June 23, but (yay!) if you pre-order a CD or vinyl, you get an instant download from their web site! Deal. Yes, with the exchange rates, I paid the equivalent of $19 for a 33-minute album, but was it ever worth it.

It opens with Jack's hi-hat and Falco's guitar engaged in a dark, tentative dance which quickly explodes into the slamming punctuated rhythms that defined their sound of their early work, as Falco screams "C'MON RICK! I'M NOT A CHILD!" He has an odd/funny habit of calling people out by name in his songs... I'm digging this so far and then, what's this? A soaring guitar hook flying over a sea of bass sludge. It's almost catchy. And this theme continued, and while they had not changed their attack, they most certainly had evolved. Most striking was the atheism-themed barroom stomper, "The Hope that House Built." I say this not because of the video below, but because of the militaristic-yet-swinging (listen - it will make sense) rhythm and drinking song melody.

"Chin Music" is best described by the line, "I only hit him because he made me crazy; I only hit him because he made me mad." And the way Falco screams it, you believe he wanted to hit someone. The album continues alternating between classic FOTL face-melters to odd, new experiments, such as the electro-stomp number "You Need Satan More than He Needs You" and yes - that is the chorus. Also notable is the garage-punk rager "Stand By Your Manatee" (yes, they can still come up with great song titles). The album closes with "Lapsed Catholics" (clearly not fans of religion, but that's hardly a rare thing in rock and roll), which opens with Falco muttering an amusing rant on prison breaks, the near-death of Morgan Freeman, and the banality of the media. In the background a strange, fingerpicked acoustic guitar plays, abruptly launching in a primitive and, as much as I hate to say it, Andrew WK-like romp. This goes back and forth a couple of times, and while this song is probably the least like anything prior, and they might have stretched it too far. However that is the only even remotely weak track on the album. And even that one may grow on me over time.

If you likey what you saw/heard/read above, the album can be pre-ordered here: http://www.futureoftheleft.com/shop/

As someone who plays in a semi-working band, I don't get to see too many bands I don't play with, so it probably limits what I'm exposed to. Not to say there aren't many great ones that I've had the pleasure of sharing the bill with (Lonnie Fisher, for one, is amazingly talented, and has been a great friend to us). But I digress. My point is that, when you have your own upcoming show to obsess over, it can be hard to go out and just enjoy a good night of music in which you play no role. Plus, there's a limit to how many late nights at the bars you can stand when you have to get up for work the next morning. Particularly at my age.

Anyway, last summer, I had such a night. It started typically enough. A band sends a comment through myspace saying, "We're coming to Lawrence, come check us out." And we went to their page and listened to their 5 songs, expecting to roll our eyes and dismiss them as yet another cheesy emo band. However were pleasantly surprised by it. They seemed liked kindred souls -- a loud, female-fronted noisy indie rock band that really didn't fit with today's stuff (kind of like us), so we all headed for the Jackpot. What followed was interesting, to say the least. We were treated by fine sets by Paristrika and Unwed Sailer, starting the night off on a good note. By the time Chicago's Sybris took the stage, it was clear that they had been, um, "warming up" for the occasion quite well. They staggered up, slurred through soundcheck -- it didn't look good. But when they started playing, everything fell into place. Being someone who has a very low tolerance for drinking and playing and chewing gum at the same time, I was quite impressed with their ability to channel the music inside them despite consuming God-knows-what in copious amounts. A lot of musicians claim they play better when they're in altered states, but if you hear those same people as a sober listener, nine times out of ten it only sounds better to THEM. Not so in this case. They killed, despite drunken (and quite funny) ramblings between songs, well-timed belches, and other shenanigans.

Angela's vocals were, for lack of a better term, angelic, and while most singers go flat when drunk, she was startlingly on, and really stole the show. The band backed her capably, sounding somewhat like Sonic Youth in their more conventional moments -- lots of atmosphere and beautiful noise. But Angela's voice... Wow. Regina Spektor and Feist come to mind, in that she could do the cutesy little girl cooing thing very well, but she could really belt it out when the song called for it. And she alternated between the two with amazing skill. I'm still not entirely over my singer-crush on her. Ladies, a secret: the OJ is a sucker for gals with pipes. We chatted a while afterwards, and the everyone in the band was very nice. There was talk of doing a show together when they came back through (standard procedure, of course -- probably won't happen, but it was still a good time). We both had funny drummers named Eric, and Shawn (bass) and I had a deep drunken conversation about balancing work and music, which I'm sure he doesn't remember. I spent some time trying to convince Phil that G&L had a line of guitars made in Korea (but I didn't have my own example on me to prove it). And Angela was a total sweetheart and had hugs for everyone. I was a bit smitten. Yeah, I know...

Anyway back to the music: I got my hands on their latest CD, Into the Trees, and while it was considerably cleaner than their live set, it was pretty impressive. It opens with an intentionally rough recording of "The Beach," which is later reprised at the end of the album in proper form in "The Beach Is Where the Ocean Goes to Die," moving into probably the strongest song of the album, "Oh, Man!" And they did a pretty clever video for it:Other highlights include "Burnout Babies," a Sonic Youth-esque pop song, where, like many of Sybris' (and Thurston-penned SY) songs, the guitar and vocals follow a pretty melody in unison, where Phil's guitar adds texture and Shawn and Eric create a tense, jerky rhythm behind them. This formula appears frequently throughout the album, but they do it so well and mix it up through interesting changes and strong songwriting that it never seems redundant. In short, they've found a sound that works, and they work it. "Hurt Hawk" is a notable exception, where Angela is the only performer, showing off her considerable fingerpicking skills and her voice, front and center, touched with bits of delay, reigns in the bombast of the intensity of the other tracks, just over halfway through the album before launching into the twitchy stomp of "Gin Divides Us."All in all, it is a brilliant, complete album. In this age of iTunes, it is refreshing to hear an album that sounds like an album. It is clear Sybris had an ear to sequencing, and as a whole, Into the Trees is a very satisfying listen. They make their way through our parts every so often, so if you get the chance, I would recommend checking it out. I know I'll be there. Maybe Angela will let me come up and sing a duet. A guy can dream...More stuff here: http://www.myspace.com/sybris