Droids Attack makes old-fashioned, black-eye, dusty-jeans rock. They ooze greasy bass to lubricate your engine and craft guitar solos that will motivate victory in any epic drag race. Their crudely confrontational metal machinery grinds out vibrations that make a stiff drink quiver. And yes, they make music that comes integrally packaged with a deadly six-foot robot.
You've seen the studies. Robots are multiplying at the rate of Moore's law. We sat idly by as they took our metal fabrication jobs, confused our retail checkout lines, and infested our neat-freak friends' houses under the guise of vacuuming the floor. But now that they're headlining our rock shows, it-s clear they mean serious robotic-sound-tracked business.
With the release of Droids Attack's new CD Fatal/Error, you can own your own piece of robot? pounded to into an unassuming circular shape and encoded with musical grooves. It's guaranteed to make your ears bleed in hard-rock bliss, but there's only a slight chance it will crawl out of your stereo to piss on your carpet or stab you during your sleep.
Buying the new release is kind of like picking up your newly released convict brother from jail. Those dated family photo albums lying around the house are still peppered with fond memories, and you're certainly interested in hearing how he's grown. But the first hug is careful and tinged with impending chaos.
You think to yourself, "Will my life be able to handle this influx of intensity? Will the first human contact be used to incite callous revenge?" But you welcome him home, and your life is a little more dangerous and exciting for it. Apparently, many Madisonians are enjoying the risk, as all of the special edition CDs created for Saturday night's album-release party at the Annex were sold out before the show even began.
The show itself released an onslaught of musical energy. Thundersnake (making the trip from LaCrosse) opened with testosterone-dripping, shoulder-spiked, arena metal that featured a leather fist leading a simultaneous guitar choir and seventies hair showcase. Next, Siv milled a more slowly roasted Deftones-esque vibe. Angst and washboard brilliance were wrought by female front Emmalee, whose surprising sweetness made her growls even deeper.
But the night belonged to Droids Attack, whose flawless showing was inspiringly solid and solidly inspiring. The visceral performance was splattered with raw emotion and accented with the technical prowess of soaring guitar dexterity, always answered with strobe-lit flails from the front row.
The band was finally joined on stage by the awaited robot, whose towering ridiculousness didn't cause the drummer, Tony, to miss a cue as he beat the pulp out of an orange drumset. Abusing the instruments escalated to full-blown violence as lead guitarist Brad ended the night by throwing his guitar to the floor and basking in the resulting dissonance. You can hear all the robotic chaos on the new album, but remember to register it with the state so your neighbors will be notified of the danger that's moving in next door.