BLANK DOGS – UNDER AND UNDER

The latest in the long line of Brooklyn bands in the spotlight, Blank Dogs have crafted a dark and gravelly record, stained with the grime of dirty guitars and awkward intervals, with a dose of analogue electronica and inhuman affected vocals. From the get-go this album feels like a sickly journey through the plumbing of the New York underground, stabbing new wave guitars echoing their way through the twists and turns of No Compass, sounding curiously reminiscent of mid-era Bowie via the dirge organ blast of Suicide. Like European acts Of Montreal and Ratatat, these guys love fiddling with their analogue synthesizers, so much so that the majority of this album is saturated with the bee-swarm of sine-waves and distorted bass-lines. It really is a heady brew, chaotic and alienating, particularly the filthy bleep of club melodies in Blue Lights, and the distinctly Cure-esque Tin Birds, where clanging jazz-masters and gated snare drums unite to give the listener an uncomfortable trip through the oily underworld of new wave pop. The record is incredibly lo-fi in timbre, and despite some genuinely testing aural explosions, there is something strangely gorgeous in these songs; listening through them is like sifting through a junk shop; the further you dig, the more exciting hidden surprises you will find.

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