Pitchfork

So obviously they're sterilized, but sterile too? Actually, not enough. Spazz-rock contortionists and gyroscope addicts may like their dance-punk rough. I prefer frigid. Either way, the two kinds don't cohabit kindly. Colossal bass counters a blatant Byrne bite, but don't hate the band for the singer's bromide. Brickier than their typically malformed shits, "Algorithm of Desire" wrings the porn-bass sweat rag for all its drippings. This is crank the low-end and sit on the speaker music.

Thing is, Byrne and sex don't mesh, unless, like the strangulated guitars, you dig autoerotic asphyxiation. Softer and swunger, we'd catch ESG's trailblaze; Tussle would get jealous. Targeting Heads was the trickier move though. These vox need art-pop straitjacketing, not echo chamber swirlies.