Erase Errata make that rock-reviewer's adjective "angular" seem too
loose, too loopy, its conception too curvaceous for the acute angles
EE bang out in their mighty-uptighty art-punk angularity. Such acute
acuity keeps corners so tight that the spastic guitar lines turn back
on themselves again and again until all the turning makes for
pirouettes and the angled tightness comes out looking like some
geometric blossom. For it all seems pretty, all this angularity,
seems pretty even when the metronomic precision of their downpick'd
guitar and bang'd-out bass and neo-free drums comes out as crisp and
clean as Morse code, so staccato the vibrato is but the speakers'
shuddering under the ack-ack attack of a band resembling typewriter.
Hitting beats like a writer hitting keys, Erase Errata tell the story
of post-punk/no-wave skree with a Fresh New Voice In Modern Fiction,
their devotion to their art and their rockband and playing in the way
they play all the kinds of things that make both eyes and panties
moist, at once futuristic and nostalgic and sexy and ugly and
fucked-up and friendly and, like, angular, yeah. With At Crystal
Palace being their second record, and all, the Bay Area ladies
make with the "growth" you expect to come on a second record, it/they
displaying tighter playing, better melodies, higher fidelity, vocals
bumped up in the mix, increasing confidence. And confidence like how
(like a tiger, p'rhapsss?); this record finds a band scaling the
heights of their precise craft in a way that gives upward mobility a
good name, their increasing popularity and the looming possibility
that rock-revivalism'll afford them crossover p'tential being things
that even the snide can rejoice in. I mean, rock 'n' roll hasn't been
this good since the last time rock 'n' roll was this good.
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