Nouns : No Age : Review : Rolling Stone

L.A. may be the center of plastic glamour, but this noise—punk duo prove the city still has a dangerous side. Guitarist Randy Randall and drummer—singer Dean Spunt got their start playing at the shit—hole all—ages venue the Smell, and their second album celebrates those gutter—rock origins. On cuts like "Eraser," which take cues from Bleach—era Nirvana, Randall whips out gnarly riffs while Spunt bashes on his drums, singing about living paycheck to paycheck and trying to escape his lot in life. "Teen creeps, I've seen you on my street," he drawls on "Teen Creeps." "I won't end up like them at all." His words never overshadow the music's primal power — from the three—minute wash of guitar drone ("Keechie") to the cynical take on California's surf—rock heritage ("Here Should Be My Home") — but they're always raw. On "Brain Burner," he sings about addiction: "I couldn't make it cold, so that's what I become/Do it every day for school and see the damage done." It's a heartbreaking portrait of drug abuse — and a tribute to the L.A. punk godfathers who succumbed to it.