FACS - 'Wish Defence'
Sub-Pop powered, FACS offer up a deliciously dirty track that is enough to engulf this writer.
One must admit, that this record unlocked the gates to the band that produced it. Prior to the emergence of this track, the Chicago trio, FACS, had simmered beyond my brow. Upon listening, this song has magnified my interests in what appear to be a lovable, tumultuously terrific trio of musicians bent on stencilling out a legacy of gruelling, gratifying music.
Lacerating in their tonality, the band channel an unrelenting and clamorous energy sourced only from their tight telemetry of decibels. In the single, the cleaving riffs of migrating guitars blasts with enthusiasm. With their band-name originating from the catalogue numbering system of the legacy enduring Factory Records, the band are bound-together with an acute history of discomforting sounds, of which this track delivers with abundance.
Winding up, the panic inducing rhythms act as evidence of misshapen casting where the threesome pummel expectations without care. Capable of handling lightning, the lead guitar zeroes in on a live-wire zealotry that shepherds the track into a routine of being unpicked or untranslated. Yet, the song is rhythmic, as mentioned, the band articulate a smart precision as the guitars are driven to zigzag with intent. Bordered by a clubbing drum-beat, the track tremors and tips into soon to be unveiled pandemonium, where tense vocals begin to emerge.
The nonchalant delivery speaks with a revering verisimilitude, as acutely muffled vocals question and inquire with sideways statements - “I’m not here,” “Is it real?” What is easy to love is that the lyrics are capable of clawing at philosophical ideas without being superficial. Vocally craning over a scrapyard of polished noise, Brian Case is superb in bellowing and crooning, camouflaging disenfranchised statements with flair.
As the rich, sugary bass-line begins to exhibit itself, the muffled discordant vocals are spotlighted and eventually allowed to fade. As a whole, the song brags a punk-like bravado, pieced together with an intelligent collation or riffs and beats. Ultimately, as a listener, the lyrics stuck, as remote as they may be, they made me feel something and search for something in the background. The title is abstract but in the opinion of this writer, is a phrase thirsty for meaning, a true allegory for the artistry of the song itself. Derived from a rich history of rebellion, the band teeter from a Lynchian cliff of becoming something.
Words by Josh Mabbut
