These testosterone-inflated fleshbags inspire the same sort of perverse adoration as skater boys who’ll never care as much about a warm body as they do about their precious boards. They front like they don’t give a flying fuck, and the moral of most of their songs is that they have no morals: stay out of other people’s business, do what you gotta do, live life free of fear and hassle. With their debut EP, Street Gang, they drew a lot of flak for openly ripping off Suicide, but the sound of their first full-length, A.R.E. Weapons (Rough Trade), is their own invention: canned MIDI melodies clopping over dramatic orchestral metal and heavy-lidded hip-hop and dancehall beats. All the songs gimp along at the dreamy pace of a stoner’s head bobbing, except “Changes,” whose sweating-bullets attack is completely ruined by blaring big-city brass. The best cut might be “Hey World,” a heavy-handed fist pumper complete with a chorus of chanting children that seems to be making fun of heavy-handed fist pumpers complete with choruses of chanting children. There’s a thick coat of stupid on everything here–but who in his right mind doesn’t secretly want to run through the streets dumb and free? Friday, May 30, 10 PM, Vision, 640 N. Dearborn; 312-266-2114.

Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Conrad Ventur.