Atlanta loves the unconventional. For all the city-defining success of hip-hop and bourbon-soaked garage rock, Atlanta has an ear for the quirky, odd, and experimental. Outkast taught us that. Deerhunter, too. We don’t care much for boxes, and artists that paint outside the lines and assume the most creative risk are often the ones that reap the greatest reward.

All of this bodes well for the future of Slang, an emerging Atlanta quartet whose self-titled debut manages to synthesize a lot of the sounds that make the local scene so dynamic. There are hints of arty glam rock mixed with a sprig of offbeat pop and a generous pinch of moody post-punk. But what really makes the group’s music unique is the cabaret glaze they pour over everything, soaking their songs in noirish drama and burlesque atmosphere. Like a mysterious foreign accent, it’s merely an accoutrement, but also singular enough to serve as the music’s defining trait.

“Cabaret is a word that’s definitely been thrown around with our music,” says drummer Ryan York, “but it’s grown into a vibe that’s much harder to describe. The music has something that initially seems foreign, hard to digest the first time. We take catchy ideas and [guitarist] Sean [Bryant] will put a Middle Eastern vibe on it. I’ll play a Latin or tribal groove and [bassist] Grant [Taylor] will put a jazz walk down under it to make it groove. We try and find that perfect line between jarring and danceable.”

“In our minds a cabaret consists of song, dance, recitation, feathers, drama, sex, milk, palo santo, smoke, and red lights—among other things probably,” Taylor adds. “In our minds we consist of all that, too.”

As adjectives go, jarring is a fairly effective one. Theirs isn’t the type of music that seeks to put the listener at ease or lull them into a trance; it’s music that pokes and prods, that pushes its way into dark corners and uncomfortable spaces and forces people to engage and react. It isn’t overtly aggressive or combative, but there’s something in the band’s theatrical approach and singer Hayes Hoey’s dramatic flair and morbid ramblings that disallows passivity. Chalk it up to the band’s willingness to explore, to push past conventions and seek out sounds and moods that are striking and leave room for ugliness and unease. It may be volatile and unsettling, but that’s okay. According to Slang, there’s beauty in everything they do—and a touch of the everlasting.

“It doesn’t always hit like we think,” says Bryant, “but that’s the beauty of it. When it does, it hits hard, and we’ve stumbled on something that’s not just fun and groovy. It’s oddly spiritual, and I truly believe that comes across, especially live.”

Thematically, it’s those dichotomies—between dark and light, joy and pain, fear and acceptance—that play themselves out over the course of the album. There are moments of quiet reverie such as the airy, abstract instrumental “Mirage” where the band sounds tranquil and meditative, and then there are others—the white-knuckle freakout “I Am No Healer,” the tempestuous “Dane”—where the group seems on the verge of falling off the rails. In his album review for Creative Loafing, Bobby Moore points to the group’s embrace of both comedy and tragedy as the central characteristic that sets them apart from other indie rock upstarts and I won’t disagree. This a group that relishes extremes, so it’s no surprise that when asked about the unifying theme of their debut, Slang’s answer touches on both the deeply profound and the nonsensical.

“Death and empathy for death,” Hoey offers. “Intensity that holds your hand and cracks your knuckles. But there is ugliness in the music, and that is where the beauty lies. There are many sides to everything and they’re all are worth talking about. God is a central theme also, and why not? We spend late hours sitting around tables in cold houses with wine and cigarettes asking each other the difficult questions. Since we never find the right answers — and I’m about positive there are none — we just try to come up with something that makes sense. The songs are just making sense of nonsense.”

“Death happens to everyone,” Hoey continues. “It’s one of the few things we all share. We also tend to talk about death a lot. Those conversations just seeped into the lyrics. It’s hard to talk about one without talking about the other. God and death share a bed.”

With the release of their debut LP today, Slang are setting the stage for what they hope will be a busy and successful year. After their release show tonight at 529, the band will head on the road for an eight-date East Coast tour that will take them as far north as Brooklyn before heading back south and wrapping up things up at the Station in Charlotte, NC on January 24. The group is planning additional tours later this year and possibly more recordings, but details are still in the works and nothing has been finalized. There is a lot more work to be done, but for now Slang is just happy to have a record they can be proud of and to live in a city where unconventional and experimental music is not only accepted but embraced.

“The beauty of the Atlanta music scene is people will allow you to try things,” says Hoey. “And expect you to. I saw what felt like a million bands last year and my favorite shows were always the shows where musicians were trying something different. I love that there is some fucking try in Atlanta. You don’t have to worry about being shunned because an experiment flopped. Who cares? Living in such a unique city fosters a unique music scene.”

Slang will celebrate the release of their self-titled debut tonight at 529. Supporting them is Shepherds, Heavy Eyes, and Satisfiers of Alpha Blue. Doors open at 9 p.m. Admission is $7.

More Info
Bandcamp: slangatlanta.bandcamp.com
Facebook: @slangatlanta
SoundCloud: @slangatlanta