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The New Flesh 

Thursday, November 1, at Now That's Class.

Baltimore's New Flesh has been honing their style of steamroller noise for more than five years now. The sound falls somewhere between frenetic, grimy, and slow. But it's never dynamic. The tarred-and-feathered guitars (those are some seriously shitty pedals), un-superstar singing, and assaulting rhythm hang together in a pack — sorta like those fat, greasy rats that live in some of our nation's ugliest cities.

The band may come off as a bit art-damaged, since they're affiliated (on record and on tour) with other noise bands. But running with the sick fringe hasn't watered down the New Flesh's quest to rock and growl. It's always best to experience this sorta thing live, where the band's blend of aggro and gritty often leaves audiences disoriented and stumbling out of the gigs. Just like David Cronenberg's Videodrome (from which the group cribbed its moniker), the New Flesh aims to whip up something so forceful, reality itself becomes blurred in the process.

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