Holy Fuck
LP
(XL, 2007)

Watch out, hipster doofuses—here comes the frenetic, textured, electro attack of Holy Fuck. With a name like that, you know it has to have artistic merit. Actually, when they’re not sounding like discarded Nine Inch Nails backing tracks circa Pretty Hate Machine, these silly keyboard slammers create an interesting landscape of intense, mind-warping, cascading noise. I’d comment on the vocals, but they’re so low in the mix I suspect it’s a complete accident they were included at all. I can’t even figure out if the crowd noise at the end of “Super Inuit” is real.

Aside from their name, Holy Fuck’s shtick is that they don’t rehearse at all. They prefer to arrange their array of blips, beats, and distortion on stage. This has earned core members Graham Walsh and Brian Borcherdt the reputation of people their neighbors really appreciate. Can you imagine living next door to a couple of synth terrorists who did regularly practice? It should be noted that Walsh and Borcherdt hail from Toronto, which I believe was once voted the Best City to Create Experimental Soundscapes In (Canada, in general, seems to be a great place to set up shop for extreme noise terror). 

I’d write this album off as nothing more than headache-inducing dance pop slurry if it were not for one track: “Lovely Allen” glides through an uplifting electronic riff that could be the theme from any given John Hughes coming-of-age teen comedy. It’s gentle, inspirational, and it makes me want to tell my mom I’m pregnant and kiss Andrew McCarthy after school even though he’s rich and dreamy and I’m poor white trash from the wrong side of the tracks. Holy Fuck, you just made me fall in love. Holy fuck.

Oh, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that one cut, “Frenchy’s”, would be perfect incidental music on that cold, catty reality hit Project Runway. It’s fierce, like Santino’s entry for the “Team Lingerie” challenge in the second season. I can almost hear Tim Gunn commanding contestants to “make it work” over the swift, sashaying trance groove.  Did someone say remix? You know the Gunn Club would be totally down for that (is it painfully obvious yet I spend far too many hours of my life watching basic cable?).

The remainder of LP is strictly for the limp-haired fingerless glove crowd, the kids who wear rat tails and do lots of other things ironically and want their brains pulverized by Casio explosions and snippets from old eight-bit Nintendo games. Rock out with your socks out at the VFW Hall, kiddos, up to your knees but still years below your dad’s jogging shorts. I’ll be picking up some extra strength Bayer and nursing my migraine. Grandpa needs a nap.

Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]