Likened to
Sonic Youth,
Swervedriver, and -- unbelievably --
My Bloody Valentine,
My Vitriol is both elastic and kaleidoscopic as they take their particular screeching rock choruses to something distinctly American. Sure they'd prefer to mine the hoary vaults of
Soundgarden before
Suede and if this isn't so much a creative cul-de-sac, it's at least a reminder that mascara-lined university invective backed by a churning backwash of feedback and stage splits can sound like the wave of the future when released against the otherwise anemic music culture of its day. A stern reaction against post-Twisted Nerve acoustica? Why not. This is the kind of debut that lurches into the grungy excess befitting trashcan fires, anachronistic outsider idolization, and massive
Feeder collections assembled inside Southern Californian suburbs. In other words, critic-orientated rock through and through.