Pitchfork

For the past few weeks, I've had a crash course in No Wave: from CDR mixes to press packets, to an interview with the big daddy of it all, James Chance, I've been absolutely deluged in a movement all but kept secret on my own New York streets for over twenty years. The cherry on top is finally being able to hear this archival release of the Theoretical Girls, a band whose moniker treaded close to becoming an apt description of their turbid presence in the history books of the late 70s downtown scene. Hypothetically, what would a band featuring hundred guitar orchestrator Glenn Branca, visual artist Margaret De Wys, Sonic Youth producer/engineer Wharton Tiers, and theatre/dance composer Jeffrey Lohn sound like were they still in their mid-twenties, when the city was still up for grabs and there were many aspects of rock that had yet to be turned by their forefathers the Ramones, Television, Talking Heads, and the others?

Surprisingly, they sound a lot more rock'n roll than their contemporary art credentials would lead you to surmise. And while the Glenn Branca reissue on Atavistic focused only on his singing contributions and the more avant leanings of the Girls, this set of songs descries the styling of Jeffrey Lohn, the more straightforward side of the group. Their theme song starts the disc off at full gallop, taking the thundering count-off numbers of the Ramones and stretching them to the limit, concentrating less on ideas and more on the mad tempo blast, straining to stay within the chords even as Tiers' drums thump relentlessly. \x93Computer Dating\x94 foresees the advent of Nerve.com, and the faceless frenzy of the New York City hook-up infects every note of the song like a chancrous outbreak.

Perhaps their closest contemporary at the time would be the Step Forward-era Fall, matching their raw rock non-production with the profuse, sneering verbiage of \x93Europe Max94, as well as embodying the lean, gleeful bounce from a few choice rhythmic elements, becoming the latter act's modus all the way through its Brix-era pop sensibilities. The unrefined keyboards of De Wys serve as link not only to the similarly primitive bleeps of pre-Eno Devo, but all the way through the spasmings of another Ohio group, Brainiac, nearly twenty years later. On \x93Lovin in the Red\x94 her orgax92s throbs act as contrary motion to the rest of the band, speeding and slowing defiant to the rhythms of the spiky guitar riffs of Branca and Lohn.

The only track ever to see Carter-era light-- as the A-side of their lone single-- \x93U.S. Millie\x94 runs together inane pop culture references to Howard Johnson hotel chains, Jews for Jesus pamphlets, yogurt health, and Scientology at a Taxi Driver pace, contorting the marquee barrage of Times Square through Lohx92s catchy derisions and setting up the 3-card monte stand for Thurston Moore's street hustles circa Sister-era Sonic Youth. Equally powerful is the frustrated garage rage of \x93No More Sex\x94, grunting and steaming like the nastiest of '77 punk. \x93Electronic Angie\x94 howls secret constellations of blackened bubblegum on subway platforms, illuminating the preordained patterns of sidewalk cracks and black tar asphalt. Real street gospel.

Some of Lohx92s experiments, like \x93Keyboard Etude\x94 and \x93Polytonal", are too short and unformed to be effective, especially in light of Branca's buzzing behemoths. \x93Parlez-vous Francais\x94 works despite their tendencies to shout lyrics in French, but even as redundant tracks appear on the second half of the disc, songs like \x93Theoretical Girls\x94, \x93Electronic Angie\x94 and \x93Chicita Bonita\x94 are high voltage and variegated enough to warrant revising those old No Wave maps, which right now only include DNA, Mars, Teenage Jesus, and the Contortions.