Review Summary: Autocannibalistic irony death qua REALLY LOUD shoegaze
An uncivilized creature overburdened by civilization lashes out by deliberately choosing antisocial behaviors that its needs take priority over its peers: as the jailed Chimpanzee flings its stinking offal towards the crowds of leering zoophiles when overstressed; shi
tgaze band The Intelligence fling every noise their tortured instruments can produce into their 2005 debut,
Icky Baby . Little less than musical seppuku,
Icky Baby would rather die as senselessly violent, uncommercial, and unlistenable garage rock than bend and bow to anything close to genre conventions – an irony when the greatest strengths of
Icky Baby are it’s wild catchiness and unending bounce and bop. By harnessing the strengths and stamina of a tornado –
Icky Baby lasts only a rowdy twenty-five minutes – through thirteen short, noise punk bangers produced as if the band brought in tracks they ripped from a 144p Youtube video to the studio, The Intelligence dwell so deeply in mid-aughts irony death that
Icky Baby would become mired and hackneyed if it were not for its consistent focus on
fun. Unlike the early, reactionary violence of rock n’ roll, punk, and metal (whose boogie-woogie-ing hip swinging had that eternal punching bag of institutional Christianity to swing at), The Intelligence are lucid in a world where rock music has become an institution, as bloated and fat and content as what it first rebelled against – in their distress, The Intelligence devour themselves and shi
t out thirteen violent projectiles, creating one damn fine garage rock album in the process.
Recommended Songs:
Confidence
San Francisco
Flight Of the Donkeys
