BY FRED MILLS
Though comparisons to another female group with a name that starts with “S”—Britain’s acclaimed Savages (and, through logical extension, the Slits)—are inevitable, Austin’s Suspirians are destined to garner plenty of attention on their own merits. Debuting in fine style with this self-titled 7-song vinyl album, the four ladies huff huge clouds of sonic ‘tude whilst slamming out colossal shards of post-punk fuh, and there’s no way this stuff won’t connect with live audiences, either. (The dynamic photo below certainly won’t hurt their cause.)
You want noisy, whorling, yipping, wailing garageadelica? Check; “Cicada” will fire you up in a blaze of glory. You want synth-and-trumpet-strafed Krautrock with a free-form aesthetic? Check; “Whatcha Do” might even conjure sweet dreams of vintage Can. You want a dark, brooding, distaff take on classic Doors, complete with a tale of doomed love? Check; “Echo” will haunt your dreams as you replay lines like “She ran away wild/ Barefoot ‘til she bled/ Screaming at God/ And wishing for hell” over and over until you wake in a cold sweat. The entire record, in fact, unfolds like a feverish dream, surreal yet too closely personal for comfort. This is not a group of gals you will want to fuck with.
Dear Texas, you are on an indie-rock roll these days, as evidenced by such non-twangy faves we’ve had the pleasure of listening to in the recent past as Dead Space, Sweet Talk, Wild Moccasins, Ugly Beats and Bremen Riot, so please keep the Lone Star tunes comin’…
DOWNLOAD: “Cicada,” “Whatcha Do”