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Reviews, Quotes, etc.
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- December 2004 - The Wire
- Tour
EP review
by David
Keenan
This Massachusetts
wrecking crew have long had a single pencilled
in for release via Thurston Moore's Ecstatic
Peace imprint. In the absence of that
monster, however, the group themselves
have stepped in to fill the gap, with
a CD-R that comes in a stapled, xeroxed
sleeve that's as punk as hell. The music
is good-time garage glam in the tradition
of The Germs and The Electric Eels, with
vocalist Jessi Leigh Swenson working a
pair of hotpants and a bad attitude into
some affirmative chants. Meanwhile, bassist
Matt Krefting and guitaritst John Shaw,
both of Son Of Earth-Flesh on Bone Trio,
take flailing, atonal solos that pulse
with progressive energy. Drummer Anna
Klein has such a bent way of subdividing
time that she can turn a locomotive boogie
into an exercise in punishing austerity
with just a crash of the hi-hat. The EP
also includes a live track, "Shady
Afternoon", drawn from their high
energy set at Brattleboro's legendary
Free Folk Fest last year.
- January 2004 - Blastitude #16
- "NEW
YORK" SHOW REPORT
by Daniel
DiMaggio
"...I dunno. Pretty good. Who knows. I
was too busy getting off on the considerable
celeb presence of the event. As soon as
I get there there’s Blastitude’s own Tony
Rettman talking to Pete Nolan of Shackamaxon
and the Magic Markers, and then a
guy from Sunburned Hand of The Man comes
up and then people from that band the
Believers that I think I read about.
It was insane. And they were all complaining
about the Wire “New Weird America” article.
Haha, whatever suckas. In good time I
peaced upstairs to see the second band
of the night...."
- November 11, 2003 - Grapevine Culture
- Free-rock
friends from Amherst sit down and record
a tall debut. Spotty and repetitive in
points, The Believers enthusiasm is hard
to resist
by Zach Bloom
In the opening moments of “Theme”, the
EP’s first track, the laughter at drummer
Anna Klein’s dropped beat lets down the
barriers between the musicians and listener,
opening the sludgy and obtuse sound they’re
cultivating, and putting forth a cheery
disposition that doesn’t aim to exclude.
Those opening moments tend to drag on
as you realize some ten minutes later
it’s still just Klein pounding something
aimlessly wonderful, Matt Krefting’s bass
tearing the bottom out of everything,
[John] Shaw’s psyche-guitar fantasy, and
singer Jessi Swenson making absolutely
sure you know the band’s name is spelled:
backwards, forwards and upside down. Bernard
Butler’s “Woman I Know” now has a rival
for the most pompously wonderful album
opener in rock ‘n’ roll history.
Harking back to their humble beginnings
in the Amherst, Massachusetts-based Son
of Earth: Flesh On Bone Trio (with erstwhile
member Aaron Rosenblum contributing on
one track), both Krefting and Shaw continue
to trace lines through stoned-out noodling
and percussive liftings, deviating towards
an impulse while keeping a focus in mind.
While they’ve already made names from
various free outfits, both Swenson and
Klein are newcomers to the avant-rock
scene. And welcomed ones at that, with
Klein’s ability to control the other players
and Swenson’s shrill attention grabbing
wail.
Given the relatively small circle The
Believers circumscribe, the fifty minutes
Tour offers seem a bit hefty, leaving
this listener a little drained. It’s a
shame as the record starts off strong,
but I suppose one can only take so much
intoxicated guitar, crashed symbols and
treated vocals. I wish I didn’t have a
fifteen-minute tolerance for that stuff,
but the conviction with which the Believers
pound out seven tracks gives the impression
their live show is not one to be missed.
- July 2003 - Arthur, vol. 5
- Bull
Tongue
By Byron Coley and Thurston
Moore
A few of the Son of Earth/Apostasy
clan have decided to rise from their tap-tap
tinker knees to celebrate their more erectile
rockist desires. A distinct lust for things
Bowie and Reed has birthed a horribly
attractive no-boogie glam gloop called
The Believers. Bass player Matt Krefting,
at 6 foot 6 inches, had singer Jessi Swenson
hold a copy of Lou Reed Live next to his
scalp in one hand and with the other scissor
his hair in direct proportion to Lou's.
With black fingernails and extremely ill
high-water leather pants, he struts and
strikes his instrument like a primo new
wave gork from the backwoods of 1977.
Jessi in hot hot hot pants speils wonder-glam
recitations whilst the others, in varying
degrees of hairy transition, groove a
thorny hybrid of woodsy punk and neon
junk.
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