Wild beasts, as a rule, belong in their
natural habitat. British Columbia, Canada's westernmost
province, is home to more than 1138 species of wildlife,
over 150 of which are classified as endangered, threatened
or vulnerable. Sadly, a new class of wild creature native
to the region was recently identified as a breed on
the brink of extinction: the noble but savage rock 'n'
roller. These ferocious beasts once flourished throughout
B.C., but in modern times, commercial interests have
laid waste to their breeding grounds and rendered members
of this once-regal species impotent.
For a time, it was nearly impossible to see the pure,
unfettered ferocity of these creatures in the flesh.
But about two years ago, hope arrived in the form of
The Pack a.d., an unassuming duo who reintroduced listeners
to a blistering assault of scuffed, scarred bluesy riffs,
pounding drums and unholy howls -- rock 'n' roll as
it was meant to be played. Drummer Maya Miller and guitarist/vocalist
Becky Black may have cut their teeth on the mean streets
of East Vancouver, but their superb recordings Tintype
and Funeral Mixtape (both released in 2008 on Mint Records)
made it clear that these were no city-girl dilettantes:
both of 'em had something wild and wonderful running
through their veins. Those lucky enough to witness The
Pack a.d.'s performances staggered out of those clubs
feeling as though they'd been demolished by a force
of nature.
In 2009, The Pack a.d. played a jaw-dropping 157 live
shows. When they weren't unleashing rock 'n' roll fury,
Maya and Becky were trapped in a van. They drove through
raging wildfires, swerving to avoid throngs of fleeing
animals. They drove through the Rocky Mountains and
were left speechless -- as cheesy as it may sound --
by the breathtaking splendour of the trees and the towering
rock formations.
When Becky and Maya came to the end of this epic road
trip, two things were clear in their minds: 1) Computer-worshipping
humans don't hold a candle to the awesomeness of wild
beasts; and 2) It was time to stop singing the blues.
The pair hightailed it to their HQ (a tiny, unheated
band space smack in the middle of Vancouver's notoriously
gritty downtown east side) and got to work. As with
most things in The Pack a.d. universe, the process was
organic: within two weeks, Maya and Becky emerged with
we kill computers (Mint), a ragged, thundering wallop
of an album that makes their earlier releases sound
tame by comparison.
The two women worked diligently to capture the sweaty
intensity of their live act in the studio. Once again,
they teamed up with the supremely talented Jesse Gander
(Japandroids, Bison b.c.), who'd been on hand during
the Funeral Mixtape sessions, and recorded razor-edged
garage rock straight off the floor to analog tape. When
it came time to master the best 13 tracks for an album,
Maya and Becky turned to engineer Jim Diamond, the man
who helped finesse the piss 'n' vinegar sounds of the
Detroit Cobras and the Dirtbombs. The result? we kill
computers is as raw and urgent as a Pack a.d. performance.
Unshackled from the swampy weight of the blues, The
Pack a.d. attack their tunes with the gleeful viciousness
of coyotes descending on a carcass. From the sawtoothed
snarl of guitars that lead into album opener "Deer"
to the heavy Sabbath-worthy riffs of "1880,"
these 13 tracks bristle with a newfound sense of crispness
and precision. And while The Pack a.d. approach their
human neighbours with caution, we kill computers is
fittingly packed with celebrations of wild creatures,
great and small. "All the deer they follow me,"
Becky yowls, "They all know we're not enemies."
Sharks stay in constant motion and predators stalk prey
in the tense, stuttering "Crazy," and fish
and snakes streak through "Catch," a mastodon-sized
cacophony of power chords and crashing cymbals.
At its core, we kill computers is a glorious testament
to the power of animal magnetism, bound up in some of
the finest swaggering garage rock you're likely to hear.
It's the sound of beer-soaked basement shows and deer
hooves scuttling across the interstate. It's the sound
of two natural wonders released into their native habitat.
And it's nothing short of killer. we kill computers
comes on with the brute force of an Acme anvil, then
speeds off into the distance like a rock 'n' roll roadrunner.
Beep beep, motherfuckers.
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