It's difficult to discuss Hot Snakes critically without sounding obvious. Your best recourse is incendiary imagery better suited to a John Woo flick than a record review, and no one wants to read that shit (the Hot Snakes also make you want to swear a lot). It isn't "talking" music. Just the opposite-- it's a mandate to clam up, drive fast, bang the dashboard, stop thinking, smoke with the windows up, stay on the gas. Most rock bands in today's aggressively eclectic musical climate at least have the decency to tack on some random funny noises for the critic to latch on to, but the Snakes just aren't that considerate.
It's difficult enough to write about them when they have an album of new songs that are uncomplicatedly good and nearly identical to their last batch, but when they put out a 10-minute EP of four previously released tracks? Holy aphasia. Better stick to the facts: Last October, Hot Snakes flew to the BBC studios to record what would be John Peel's final session, one week before he died of a heart attack in Peru. Their Peel session consists of two songs from their debut, Automatic Midnight, and two from their latest LP, Audit in Progress, which sound like the album versions with a slightly rawer edge. Strangely absent are any tunes from their sophomore record, Suicide Invoice, which many regard as their finest.
While the EP doesn't reveal anything about Hot Snakes, it confirms their reputation as a remarkably vigorous live band. Their streamlined proto-punk is a more direct version of the style Rick Froberg and John Reis cemented with Drive Like Jehu, and radiates an unfettered urgency that's often missing from modern rock. There's a palpable sense of danger hanging around Froberg's aphoristic splatter, Gar Wood's concisely brutal bass, John Reis's searing, metallic leads, and Mario Rubalcaba's runaway percussion. "Automatic Midnight" is a blinkered dash over scorched riffage, Froberg alternately sneering apathetically and spitting rusty nails. "No Hands" rumbles over a laddering riff and pigsticking one-note leads, and standout track "Braintrust" slams a frantically gyrating rhythm into throttled riffs as Froberg intones one of his most menacing choruses. "This Mystic Decade" closes the EP with a more laidback melodic blast-- a concentrated burst of visceral pleasure.
