There are some albums, like Raffi’s Bannanaphone, or the soundtrack to Pinocchio, created to bring out children in all of us. These albums make you want to drink a Juicy Juice, cuddle with your Hug-A-Bear, and hopscotch home after playing Red Rover in the park all day. And then, there are albums that demand maximum volume in a Ford Mustang with the windows rolled down, the bass pumped up, and a megaphone pointed out the side of the speeding car so you can bellow through the neighborhood “LOCK UP YOUR WIVES AND DAUGHTERS, FATHERS, I’M GOING TO RIP THIS PLACE APART!” “You’re a Woman, I’m a Machine,” the latest release of the band, Death From Above 1979, is of the latter variety. The duo, consisting of drummer/vocalist Sebastian Grainger and bassist/synth manipulator Jesse F. Keeler, DFA 1979 produce an awesome sonic assault. Each of the eleven tracks on their 2004 effort throbs and quakes with commanding energy and muscle. Keeler’s simple, yet colossal bass lines, drenched in distortion and studio wizardry, decimate everything in its path, as Grainger’s testosterone-spiked howl and manic skin-pounding of the drums are ferocious. Observe the following hodge-podge of lyrics from the album: I know you love me; you don’t know what you like. I don’t need you, I want you. Come here baby Let me show you how I handle business. “You’re A Woman, I’m A Machine” proves that these guys want nothing more than to “push in, pull out,” speed away before the husband comes home, and burn your hometown to the ground before passing out at 4 A.M. I didn’t know it was even possible, but Death From Above 1979 has made the hardest rocking album of the last few years without picking up a guitar. Now on my third straight spin of Sexy Results, I realize why – these guys are so funky. Not even old-school, James Brown funky; they’re stripped-down, dirty, violent funky. For the past two years, I’ve dreamed of DJing a massive party on a campus lawn, where instead of the same bland grind-rap songs, Blood on our Hands comes barreling through the PA system like an earsplitting drum roll to the apocalypse. Rock does not get any filthier than this.
