Hello Fever

The music industry in Los Angeles is a giant rock tumbler for bands. It churns out a polished product, every memory of the grit and sweat that are byproducts of the songwriting process taking place in darkened practice spaces neatly swept away by producers and dreams of joining the ranks of the glitterati. In such coiffed environs, a band like Hello Fever can only stand out; their music bears the marks of the creative process proudly. The throbbing minimalism of their nouveau-punk rock recalls Joy Division on a good day, Unwound on a dreary day, 17 Seconds-era The Cure on graduation day, Blonde Redhead on Flag Day, robot rock musicians on a day spent planning the future of the genre… a future devoid of rock tumblers but full of skronked-out discos and free-jazz opera houses. They’ve graced the stage with the likes of DFA 1979, Moving Units, Dance Disaster Movement and Weird War in numerous shows in their hometown.

Hello Fever’s members hail from both coasts of the USA: Sam Farfsing –guitar and vocals (San Gabriel Valley); Chy Lin – drums and vocals (D.C. area); Jonah Flicker – bass and backup vocals (New York). Their respective hometowns equally influence the sound: Dischord-ant punk-rock urgency mixes with thick and sludgy Christian Death art-metal morass.

Men in white lab coats have determined with certainty that Hello Fever doesn’t taste like your typical post-punk breakfast cereal. Their song construction manages to maintain a driving force far from dance-punk, but has been known to induce spastic dancing nevertheless. At times stripped down and at times layered with wonderfully jarring overlaps of sound, these are songs that never dabble in bullshit and are never seduced by the shimmering sheen of the ethereal city they reside in: chalk it up to the members’ prevailing viewpoints that music can induce both grooves and heart attacks. And the life-giving organ is literally at the center of Hello Fever’s music, as tales of modern life and love and existential reverie easily fall into place. Intertwined vocals are softly intoned or sharply grunted, lyrics wrapping themselves around knife-edges of guitar and bass and the undulating pound of the kick drum.

Polished is coming in second to grimy these days, and Hello Fever’s debut album for Sound Virus certainly furthers the cause, as the fashionista band-club of LA slowly loses its relevance. If you’ve been waiting for the prodigal sons and daughters of rock’n’roll to rise again, raw edges and all, don’t hold your breath. But be content to hail the secular rapture of Hello Fever.