With East L.A. (working-class Whittier) disco-punk fever, these lads crack dance-floor doldrums with clanging cowbell, bass licks that make hips flicker, fidgety syncopated drum patter and swerving, glitter-decked funk guitar. Combining one dollop of Eastern Euro post-punks Sunshine with a style manual torn from the inventive pages of hallucinatory renegade hipsters the Rapture (arriving full-throttle on the desperate, caterwauling Chalice), not to mention some world-beat electro deconstruction, these Grand Poobahs of groove weave and whirl with both arty agitation and old-fashioned, back-to-basics "Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow" showbiz funk. The titanic "NYC Moves to the Sound of LA" is mesmerizing and shambolic — a mainline of adrenaline that could fill an Olympic pool. With a blitzkrieg of percussive sounds, cheerleader singalongs, dizzying propulsive rhythms and long stabs of pure party mayhem, if this song does not shoot white heat into your sad sack of a body, there's literally no hope. For a dose of less dazed onslaughts, try "Postcard of Persuasion," which waxes dreamy and incandescent, minus the turmoil.
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