Made Out Of Babies

As its playfully gruesome name might imply, Made Out of Babies is not a demure or delicate band -- it's an aberration of innocence.
In the tradition of artists as evocative as Jesus Lizard; as imaginative and impassioned as Bjork; as discomfortingly frank as Big Black and as unnerving as filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky, the New York City quartet summons a wholly unique claustrophobic fury. It's an eye-opening revision of everything that had once seemed acceptable and rational.
Wailing front woman Julie Christmas - about whom a fan recently asked, "is she going to be able to keep singing like that?" - screams and yelps with a bewitching intensity that defies her charming beauty and (occasionally) cherubic whispers. Meanwhile, the band comprised of guitarist Brendan Tobin, bassist Cooper (also of Players Club) and drummer Matthew Egan summon a slithering pit of churning, caffeinated noise-rock reminiscent of the glory days of Steel Pole Bathtub, Unsane and Silverfish.
Neurot Recordings continues to confound expectations with Made Out of Babies' debut album, Trophy - perhaps the labelÕs most outright "rock" based release to date. But make no mistake, there's nothing conventional about MOOB. Just like Neurot -- whose sole imperative it is to release music of exceptional quality that challenges the mind while also expressing true passion and soul -- this urgent and contorted New York City quartet turns rock idiom inside out, without the art-fuck pretense of most contemporary bands.
Trophy opens with the deceptive calm of "Herculoid" as Cooper's delay-drenched bass chords and Matt's propulsive beats allude to an eruption to come, as Julie coos, "with broken fingers and broken noseÉyou got in far." Brendan's guitar drops in and the whole band suddenly turns surly. Cymbals crash. Chords crunch. All four MOOB members become one psychotic impulse.
Elsewhere, on songs like "Swarm" and "Sugar" Julie's whirling dervish vocals sound like a cross between Babes In Toyland singer Kat Bjelland and a fiercer Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs while the guitars trade off lead positions, duly distorted and disruptive as the drums roll and tussle, tirelessly keeping the entire wrestling match moving.
Made Out of Babies could easily be the soundtrack to an 18th Century witch-hunt woodcut illustration - it's direct and to the point, but imprinted with the stark contrast of the frightening formality of culture as if a reminder of the disturbing timelessness of human cruelty. Trophy is a captivating and evocative debut that dispenses our illusions with each vicious and cutting gesture.

- Dave Clifford