Black-clad vampire children of the five boroughs, you really missed the boat with Siren – where were you? Coney Island could have benefited from a few more sweaty necromantics in the beer tent, but the Raveonettes picked up the slack; their fuzzed-out noise pop, plus their brooding alpha-Swede demeanors, carried an unmistakable Goths in Hot Weather vibe. On record, the painfully pretty quartet sound like acid-swilling Ronettes; at Siren, they gleefully inverted their singsong refrains into louder, faster, angrier squalls. And as they stayed chilly and serene, above the hot melee of it all, we were the ones losing it.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on July 20, 2009