Pitchfork

We Are Wolves certainly aren't the first wolf namesakes in indie (or in Montreal for that matter), but they may actually sound the most lupine. While many theories exist on this naming peculiarit, no other "wolf" band adheres to as many definitions of the word. Dictionary says "one that is predatory, rapacious and fierce", check; "A harshness in some tones of a bowed stringed instrument produced by defective vibration", check-plus, something's sounding harsh here; and "A man giving unwanted sexual attention to women", check infinity (the album title translates to "Non-stop I fold you in two").

Not to kickstart the Montreal hype machine yet again, but Non-Stop is the kind of unique mid-stratum album that substantiates a "scene" as something more than two shit-lucky bands from Anytown, USA. That said, We Are Wolves sound nothing like Arcade Fire or Wolf Parade. The trio treats their jittery dance-punk like a mad science experiment, haphazardly fusing club-ready basslines with uncomely electronic raucous. While Non-stop adheres to Devo's school of mechanical, futuristic garage rock, there's a stronger, dehumanizing emphasis on instruments rather than melody. The main victim of this dynamic, Frontman Alex Ortiz, sounds trapped in a cyborg factory, screaming and yelping to no avail over analog beeps and buzzes.

Opener "Little Birds" uploads the infectious octave riff of "My Sharona" into the Matrix, eschewing fun and lechery in lieu of Orpheus-style precision. Ortiz's indignant howls try to instill some human emotion though helplessly merge with the song's inescapable noise phalanx. "Vosotros, Monstruos" (Spanish for "You, Monsters") further flaunts the band's multilingual skills, yet musically these cosmopolitans take a cue from French techno. The track's purring carburetor bass recalls Vitalic's "My Friend Dario", and with the wise omission of vocals, the track creatively wanders, unfettered by structure.

Although such techno via dance-punk via noise arouses the genre insurgent inside us all, the band's minimalist attitude occasionally strands them in an electro no man's land. "La Nature" comes packed with ideas but bewildered in aim. Refusing to follow a gradual techno swell or establish a smug high-hat jam, the song simmers but never boils as each individual component sounds completely self-contained from the other. Still, these guys are a nearly ideal reincarnation of bands like Dance Disaster Movement or Numbers, hedging their sonic volatility with playful 8-bit melodies. Oh, and did I mention they're from Montreal?