San Francisco's Terry Malts ripped out an unexpected highlight of 2012 with their debut record Killing Time. The trio set up a tightrope sound that wavered over the territories of ebullient guitar rock, nascent gutter punk and narcotic pop hooks and clung desperately to the wire. Sophomore effort Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere is a darker and yet more gleeful rendition of this dynamic. Skewing the title of Neil Young's excellent 1969 album, Terry Malts play their cards flagrantly from the outset. The band call themselves chainsaw pop, and the way the fuzzed-out guitars serrate the sweetest of harmonies, the most wholesome of melodies, so that the sweet and the sour intermingle like salt in an open wound suffered in a fair floss eating contest, makes true on that image of the lighter edges of devilishness. Its reckless, fast paced nihilism, but done with maniacal grins and hearts pinned garishly on their sleeves.
Buy Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere here, out through Slumberland Records.
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