Review: Heat Dust – Self-Titled

Heat Dust
Self-Titled

Flenser Records
Street: 09.25
Heat Dust = Holograms + A Place to Bury Strangers + Iceage

There’s a spectre coming across the Atlantic—a spectre called post-punk rock n’ roll, and Heat Dust are coming in hot on the jettisoned surf. It’s catchy, it’s grungy, and best of all, it’s barreling down the pipeline to a record store near you. Hailing from New Orleans, Heat Dust are taking what the Scandinavians were doing so well and making it their own. It’s a big day in the industry when genres are crossing international borders, and that is exactly what is happening here. The same, old heavy riffs are snarling back at Heat Dust’s nihilistic, guttural lyrics that may, at times, try to be too politically profound for their own good. But maybe not. Across the genre, the same motifs of disillusionment, angst and helplessness are popping up. It’s CBGB’s without a lease agreement. Maybe sticking it to the man hasn’t become too cliché after all. (Kilby, 10.18) –Brian Udall