With an arsenal containing squealing feedback, hyper-charged cymbal crashes, and vocalist-guitarist Alex Edkins’s worn-ragged vocal chords, Toronto trio METZ turned heads at last month’s CMJ festival as they tortured various New York venues’ speaker systems. The secret to their appeal is the way their abrasive instrument abuse somehow comes across as accessible enough to have found them a home on Nirvana’s pre-fame record label, Sub Pop, but without compromising any of their gnarly, gritty, drooling primal paroxysms. Their self-titled debut seethes with the sort of electric charge that powered the best and dingiest acts to emerge in the mid-’80s pig-fuck music scene (Big Black, Pussy Galore) but never so much as to become utterly nauseating. It’s a delicate balance, and it’s one that METZ—capital letters and all—somehow maintains. With Hunters.
Mon., Nov. 19, 9:30 p.m., 2012
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