When I heard these guys’ gear was stolen, I thought to myself “What, you can’t go out and buy some more pots and pans?” The first time I saw Xiu Xiu was at More Than Music in 2001, and their erm, percussionist, had a rack with pots and pans strung from it. Yeah, pots and pans. She spent the show banging along arhythmically, until the cookware began to come loose, and teflon-coated stainless steel rained down on the stage. I’ve been a skeptic ever since. I’ve always thought of Xiu Xiu as the noisy response to Bright Eyes. “Oh the Microphones aren’t despondent enough for you? Try Xiu Xiu.”
I wanted to like this album, though, I really did. I’ve always felt there was something about them everyone else saw that I was missing, but sometimes you just need to bite the Pitchfork that feeds you. I was pleasantly surprised when the first track was followed by a cohesive song. Unfortunately, most of the rest of the album is drowned by Jamie Stewart’s whimpering, until the 8th track where the band begins to sound like I imagine Interpol would if they blew up. This is probably Xiu Xiu’s most listenable (read: accessible) album yet, and if the contrived warble were toned down a bit, I just might like it. However, the next time I need my angsty noise fix, I’ll continue to turn to the faithful Kill Me Tomorrow.
