With Contempt, Brooklyn band Couch Slut have created a monster of sinister, damaged noise-rock | Concert Preview | Chicago Reader

With Contempt, Brooklyn band Couch Slut have created a monster of sinister, damaged noise-rock 

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click to enlarge Couch Slut

Couch Slut

Roger Hayn

In case the name “Couch Slut” is somehow too nuanced to convey to you just how grim and confrontational this Brooklyn noise-rock foursome can be, their sophomore full-length, Contempt (Gilead Media), sounds like getting your fingers slammed in the hatch of a tank or your bare toes gnarled under a bundle of bricks dropped from three stories up. That help? Right from the opening track, “Funeral Dyke,” the record doesn’t care a whit for subtlety. Over the course of seven songs, Megan Osztrosits’s crusty wails drill into the grumbling din like a figure skater pirouetting on a bed of nails, while wisps of guitar feedback and noise lash at the thrumming mass of hell summoned by the bass and drums. Comparisons to the ambassadors of the vintage Amphetamine Reptile catalog are many, but Couch Slut are grimier and more damaged, their motives seemingly more sinister than aggro. Contempt is not for the faint of heart; most of the songs last around five minutes, which is a long time to endure this sort of thing at once, and a few go longer. The eight-minute-plus punisher “Summer Smiles” descends into full-on mania, with Osztrosits defiantly cutting at its seams with her bloody-murder screams, and the closing track—the revelatory behemoth “Won’t Come”—trudges along at such a glacial pace that the tension eventually becomes paralyzing. Gilead Media has been on a roll lately, and here’s yet more evidence.   v

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