Localized 29th Street Disciples

It's hard to think straight when you're pissed off—which is exactly why 29th Street Disciples' self-titled debut is so fucking horrifying. The Denver band is angry, no doubt, but there's a sharp, methodical intelligence to its attack. Like a brain surgeon turned axe-murderer, guitarist Eli Molyneux chews through guttural riffs with brutal grace, and frontman Ben Roy—better known as one of Colorado's funniest, least compromising standup comics—spits cold venom through bloody teeth. The disc's dozen songs manage to mutate, rewire, or just completely deconstruct the four-on-the-floor punk formula, flaunting the kind of off-kilter rock 'n' roll calculus exercised by Hot Snakes or The Bronx. It isn't all menace and fury, though. On the album's closer, "The Reason," the groups indulges in an oddly dub-soaked breakdown that rattles the nerves and chills the soul in a way Refused or even Fugazi might have approved of.  Wild animals you can either outwit or shoot; 29th Street Disciples, on the other hand, isn't the type of beast that goes down that easy.