These goddamn bands these days. They ain't got shit to say. Sometimes, they don't even say anything at all. And who needs 'em to? Had little, lyric-less Out Hud arrived in 1993, their recombinant shoogity-oogity would have eliminated the need for a Tortoise, and I never would've had to pretend Iannis Xenakis was "interesting" or take that junket to Nobukazu Takamura's ostrich farm. The boys and girls in the Hud play it relatively straight, sexing up their brooding jangle-cello illuminations by canoodling "art-funk," "On-U Sound," and (oh, dream of impossible dreams) "even acid house and hip-hop." Being unfamiliar with these genres, I'll just call it indie rock: When "Dad, There's a Little Phrase Called Too Much Information," from the band's splendiferous debut long-player came on the MP3 jukebox at Hi-Fi the other Friday, it was between, like, the Dismemberment Plan and the Archers of Loaf; and the other Saturday when I went to check out a performance at the Nodding Factory I expected they'd look like a cross between the Feelies and casual... More >>>