Whirlwind Heat

Here, good people, is the perfect antidote to the legions of narcissistic six-string noodlers descending on defenseless music stores to riff on the six hundred billionth cop of Zep’s “Stairway to Heaven.” Whirlwind Heat is the medicine to drive self-righteous musicians enraptured with masturbatory fret moves to madness. The band’s sound consists of bass, drums, and some bursts and splinters of Moog. Vocalist David Swanson spits his spastic, sometimes nonsensical lyrics around bass lines that punch, pull and collapse in a bargain bin of fuzzy no-wave sentiments. The trim instrumental line-up recalls a less cluttered Braniac or an infinitely more dangerous Hot Hot Heat. While the album has a couple weak moments, “Purple” is absolutely faultless, belonging on infinite repeat and permanently glued to the inside tray of your CD player.