Compared to Man Is the Bastard -- the former reigning kings of noisecore -- the Locust might seem merely cute. They use Moog instead of perverse homemade electronics, come on as art punks rather than fringe metalheads, and have no discernible politics beyond the possibility of some tortured postmodern meshugoss.
But there's something really scary about this San Diego band, and it certainly isn't the B-Movie horror aesthetic. It's this: Listen to their splattering, 40-second "songs" enough times, and they grab you like pop songs, which is a hell of an accomplishment for tracks without melodies -- much less keys -- and names such as "Spitting in the Faces of Fools as a Source of Nutrition." Instead of hitting "repeat" to hear a more conventional kind of hook, you do it to examine some infernal chirping that's perfectly mingled with a hyper drum fill, the way you would investigate a strange hybrid species or bizarre deformity.
You may ask: How harmful can any music be that attracts underground punk hipsters? After all, these people are the shallowest music fans on earth, with taste more fleeting than those of TRL devotees. But consider that a decade ago, no one dreamed that bands influenced by Rites of Spring would be the junior-high pajama-party music of choice by '02. Cute, indeed. Stay tuned for the apocalypse.
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