A drab breeze wafts from the vaulted ceiling and shuffles the dust on the ornate stage upon which Slang builds their debut record. The listener can almost feel the crushed velvet chairs waiting in anticipation as the band breathes fire down each archaic row with every minor chord. These are songs made for the theater and each track on the self-titled LP feels like a different act on a different set. Yet, within this complicated playbill frontman Hayes Hoey ties the record together with dark, expressive vocals.
Though Slang is a young band, they don’t shy away from philosophical complexities. Throughout the record, they leave no stone unturned in their search for meaning, utilizing every musical tool at their disposal, while giving no heed to genre or structure. The perverse bohemian swing of “God Said” is balanced by the roadhouse rock and roll of “Dane,” keeping the listener off-balance as Slang pushes themselves to the edge of the precipice. There is no shortage of intensity as the band stares into the void, but “The Banker” and the cold respite of “I Am No Healer” stand alone in terms of unbridled ferocity. On these tracks Hoey speaks as the purgative mouthpiece of the human race, playing the role of priest, prophet, and apostate.
Throughout the record it seems as if Hoey is simply telling these tales for the sake of the story, even pulling the listener into other worlds simply because he can. Does this relegate the album to an exercise in theatrics or is it a bold amplification of the repressed drama within each human experience? In either case, Slang has deftly avoided melodrama while building their operatic mythology, setting the bar high for their next album and delivering a sensual interpretation of post-punk that leaves the listener on the edge of their seat.
More Info
Bandcamp: slangatlanta.bandcamp.com
Facebook: @slangatlanta
SoundCloud: @slangatlanta