Once in a while a record comes along that makes you re-think loud: King of Rock; The Land of Rape and Honey; Nation of Millions; Super Ae; I Get Wet; Kesto. Setting aside the quality of the material-- there are classics here, along with albums I never listen to anymore-- these albums are notable for me because the first time I heard them, music just seemed bigger than it had before, like it took up more space and hit with more force and went further than once seemed possible. When I was getting into these records, I'd get a specific kind of kick just from putting them on. They felt like rides at an amusement park, and I'd get a feeling in my stomach when the first notes kicked in: Here we go. I'm adding another record to my list.
Demos of songs from Sleigh Bells' Treats first started making their way around the Internet last fall, and they immediately served as conversation starters. The distortion in early track "Crown on the Ground" was so intense that every other second the song seemed on the verge of shutting down. But while Derek Miller's overdriven guitar and bass were distressed in the extreme, vocalist Alexis Krauss remained calm as chaos raged around her. Her cadence, somewhere at the intersection of singing, speaking, and chanting, conveyed an easy confidence, like she belonged in the middle of this maelstrom and knew she didn't need to shout to be heard. The contrast between her relaxed bearing-- where she seemed to rule over it all-- and the dangerous splatter of the music was striking to say the least. It was as easy to be taken in as it was to understand why someone else might be repelled. I felt some of both feelings, to be honest, but I also wanted to hear more.
Treats delivers completely on the promise of those demos. Sleigh Bells haven't stopped living in the red, but the improved recording quality makes songs including "Crown on the Ground" that much heavier, and the duo have managed to extend their uncomplicated formula across 11 tracks without it wearing thin. The combination of the music's essentials-- jackhammer riffs clipped from punk and metal, mid-tempo beats from hip-hop and electro, and supremely catchy sing-song melodies-- is striking on its own, sounding remarkably fresh and unlike anything else right now. But an even greater source of the record's appeal is how it doesn't sound especially referential.
When so much music seems designed to evoke the mood and vibe of a specific era, either through direct imitation or playing with the memories of the music's context, Sleigh Bells deftly avoid any single pigeonhole. There are references, but it never feels like the music is merely pointing. Genre here is something to be twisted around and pulled and braided with something else, a mangled container struggling to hold the energy and ecstasy of the music. They gather up bits from all over and use them to create music that puts you squarely in the present moment.
The music hits so hard, and in such a satisfying way, and it seems designed to bring you back to the totality of the sound. It's hard to say what the songs are about, since so many words are so difficult to make out, but they work. The lyrics of "A/B Machines" consist only of, "Got my A machines on the table/ Got my B machines in the drawer," repeated over and over, and who am I to question Krauss on this point? We're talking about "a-wop bop a-loo bop a-lop bam boom" and "Da Doo Ron Ron" here, which is just right for what the music tries for.
So my ear on "A/B Machines" goes to the searing guitar lead, which screeches out a few penetrating notes, and then pauses on the clanging low-end and the interludes and Western-sounding guitar rumble. And on the opening "Tell 'Em", the focus goes to the call-and-response drum machine pummel, soaring riff, and finger snaps compressed into sharp little diamonds, as Krauss chirps a short, repetitive melody with the insistence of a pep rally cheer. "Rill Rill" takes the immortal acoustic guitar bit from Funkadelic's "Can You Get to That", blows it up to Hollywood blockbuster size, and loops it along with clicking percussion as Krauss sings what may prove to be the pop earworm of the year, the kind of tune you'd swear you were singing over and over to yourself years ago. "Straight A's" has some of the electro-punk rage of Crystal Castles, the less frantic tracks like "Rachel" have a bit of shoegaze, and the pacing of the album is just so, taking you right to edge in one song and then pulling you back a few inches in the next.
Though both Krauss and Miller have been making music for a while-- he in the hardcore band Poison the Well, she in some kind of manufactured teen-pop group that never got off the ground-- it's easy to see them as a connected band with the right gimmick at the right time. They live in New York, they've played hip shows for important people, and from the beginning the online chatter has been almost as deafening as the guitar tones. But what works in their favor is that they've taken advantage of these breaks and marshaled their talent to make something that oozes joy. There's spirit to this music, and the sonic assault is celebratory, asking only that you come along with it and join in. All of which, for me, anyway, makes the hype melt away. And if it's true that records this intense and exhilarating don't always sustain themselves over the long haul, that's not a worry either. The visceral thrill of Treats may not last forever, but neither does life; right now, this feels like living it.
