Spray Paint are a loose and chilled out noise rock outfit with abrasive production, sharp guitar riffs and dual vocals that recall a stoned Parquet Courts staring blankly into space. The energy is there, but it's used leisurely, as if the band can rip through these songs without blinking. 'Clean Blood, Regular Acid' is ramshackle post-punk that's mumbled, shouted and shrugged -- but never truly articulated.
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Equal parts despondent post-punk, scowling grunge and clangy undying psych-rock, Spray Paint know a thing or two about making an unholy mess. With 'Clean Blood, Regular Acid', it actually sounds like you're listening to a few different incidents of chaos that have been put together in the hope double jeopardy will be achieved. These short-burst tunes are all over the shop, with drums that stick the course like a sailor at the wheel of an abandoned ship in a fucking horrendous storm -- there's always a beat left hammering away when the rest of the band have cleared out. See "Live From Camp Mabry" for further details.
What Spray Paint do best, and most consistently, is not give a shit. Like a way more diversely noisy Parquet Courts, with less interest in getting stoned and slowing things down, the band throw off their words with complete and utter abandon, slurring and generally singing as if there's a pointless exclamation mark to every sentence, a rhetorical question mark for every lyric. "They sing the way we talk!", I hear you say. I agree -- their inflections are gleefully pointless and give the record a lot of character, where it would otherwise be a complete sonic shambles. About that shambles, though: these songs are born of energy, not structure, driven by being in a room with instruments rather than working on a record with a deadline. "Trot It Out" is composed of an immediate flurry of dissonant guitar chords and skittering drumming, leading into the din of "Wet Beer", with its ugly riffs and clamouring feedback. Like all good post-punk bands who drink too much beer, they sound like they're daring someone to confiscate their instruments. I'll call their bluff, just after this song wraps up.
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