Ikara Colt

Basic Instructions EP (Epitaph)
by Ewan Wadharmi

In the effort to secure the next White Strokes, Epitaph has inadvertently signed The Fall. Their boisterous music and confounding lyrics are a European take on jangly garage. Ikara Colt has a familiar feel that forgives any repetitive looping. The intentionally cheap Casio is fun kitsch that functions like Ray Manzarek’s dated organ in The Doors. The interesting production keeps Stoogey fuzz intact with kooky electronic caricatures. With awfully rollicking numbers like “They Don’t Know,” it’s apparent that they’re onto something big. A big big sound that knows something you don’t and of course, you’re intrigued. “Panic” is as dangerous as it is cocksure. The modern-day freakout of melodic fuzz and feedback is supported by a disgusting display of orgasmic drum abuse. The gripping “May b 1 day #1” is a book you can’t put down. Taunting guitar lines are added and subtracted from the continuum with hinting, poetic lyrics. I can now stop pining for the days when The Flaming Lips had murderous bass lines and Wayne channeled Neil Young rather than Barry Gibb. For now, I have Ikara Colt.
(2798 Sunset Blvd Los Angeles, CA 90026)