Brooklyn’s Big Ups have recently been ripping up most of New York’s smaller dive venues. But though the toilet circuit suits their scuzzy, slacker snarl-punk perfectly, this debut album shows they’re setting their sights much higher. On ’18 Hours Of Static’ they manage to capture the frenzied nihilism of their live shows, but also transcend them to become an incisive indictment of modern life. ‘Wool’ and ‘Disposer’ thud along with heavy, knuckle-dragging malaise before exploding into a rage of pure and brilliant beauty, while ‘Little Kid’, ‘TMI’ and ‘Fresh Meat’ sound like the Melvins fucking early Placebo while listening to Black Flag. A collection of astounding anthems for a new tomorrow, made by the disaffected youth of today.
Mischa Pearlman