Glazed Baby

Atomic Communists (Red Decibel)
by Nik Rainey

My lack of God, I miss the Evil Empire. Somehow, little turban-headed countries the size of Rhode Island don’t have quite the same bump-in-the-night appeal as the borscht-slurping, vodka-swilling big bear of the East with its furry finger poised over the nuclear button. Damn that whole democracy fad. Fortunately, the boys in Glazed Baby have warm memories of those Cold War days, and Atomic Communists serves both as nostalgia (complete with ’50s Civil Defense announcements) and as the musical embodiment of our worst national nightmare. Beyond the decayed poses of metal and industrial lies a pulverizing Chernobyl of pummeling drums and coruscating guitars, pure as Siberian snow and vicious as one of Joey Stalin’s purges. Air-raid sirens peal, the sky goes pink(o) with lividity, and these Bolsheviks of brutality stomp out crazed Red Square dances on the steps of the Atomic Café. Their blithe defenestration of sonic niceties takes a beautifully simple tack: they’re Rasputin, you’re Trotsky, and the music is the icepick in the back of your head. Or maybe it’s a blemish on the aural tundra like the smudge on Gorby’s head. Either way, you’re sure to duck and cover.