Pitchfork

Their name may translate from Spanish as "confused," but there's no uncertainty shown on this six-song EP from Saskatchewan-based four-piece Despistado. Through 20 minutes of pure post-punk glory, Emergency Response rants and throbs with an upbeat intensity that never grates or wanes-- which is a real surprise given the unevenness of their label's current roster. But it is truth: With Despistado, Jade Tree has tapped a young and frothy vein of soulful, ramshackle grit that bubbles up sharp and sweet.

Despistado's hyperactive, unpredictable song structures might elicit eager Wire comparisons, which would be apt but a little farfetched considering the band's freshman status, and the fact that they're proudly Canadian. They've been around the block, though, honing their chops over more than two years of touring the Great White North before laying down these densely composed tracks. Which, as it so happens, has apparently been just long enough for the band to develop a keen, commanding personality, and to cultivate a sheepish, yearning sincerity that renders these songs instantly likeable.

Nearly lost amidst the trebly crossfire of dueling guitars and splashy cymbal work, Dagan Harding's lyrics are poetic, suggestive, and intriguingly baffling. After a jumpy, tourettes-inflected opening, "A Stirstick Prediction" bounces through several fist-pumping anthemic ticks, while Harding sings, "There's no otherwise inside this black and white/ Get your protractors out/ Round the right angles of your life." When Harding and bassist Joel Passmore go toe-to-toe on vocals, shout-chanting above Passmore's agile, fluttering basslines, and Brennan Schwartz's snare and ride rain down in sheets, the result is too jubilant to sit still to.

The irksomely titled "Can I Please Have an Order of Girl with a Side of Confused" and rhythmically focused "Bubbles" both rage with the kind of sincere anti-angst that only kids singing full-throat over lanky guitar and tribal beats can muster. On the two-toned skank of "Lipstick", Harding and Leif Thorseth's interlocked guitars jingle and jangle over dapper handclaps and jerky drums, while the damnably infectious chorus bores into the subconscious. I think I've listened into this song more than 20 times in three days and fuck if its hepcat luster hasn't dimmed. Indeed, even as Despistado guitar-check their post-punk influences, they race into their own identity with a shit-eating grin, arriving at a sound that's all force, no bullshit.