I saw Small Black a few weeks back at a weird warehouse/squat party thing during the CMJ music conference in their native Brooklyn.
See? Bar the bare-chested waistcoat catastrophe, all smiles.
I instantly warmed to them as they were the only local band that I’d seen in twenty four hours (baring in mind that was one of approximately 37) that didn’t look like utter bell-ends. I loved the fact the lead-singer looked like he should be the DJ in a back-pack hip hop clique from Minnesota.
When they proceeded to churn out a wiry fabric of inertia-crunk grooves and husky, belly-tingling refrains, we realised there actually was nothing irritating about them in any way whatsoever.
There’s a few tracks floating around online, but here are two that you shouldn’t be able to track down elsewhere.