Once in a while a record comes along that makes you re-think loud: King of Rock; The Land of Rape and Honey; Nation of Millions; Super Ae; I Get Wet; Kesto. Setting aside the quality of the material-- there are classics here, along with albums I never listen to anymore-- these albums are notable for me because the first time I heard them, music just seemed bigger than it had before, like it took up more space and hit with more force and went further than once seemed possible. When I was getting into these records, I'd get a specific kind of kick just from putting them on. They felt like rides at an amusement park, and I'd get a feeling in my stomach when the first notes kicked in: Here we go. I'm adding another record to my list.
Demos of songs from Sleigh Bells' Treats first started making their way around the Internet last fall, and they immediately served as conversation starters. The distortion in early track "Crown on the Ground" was so intense that every other second the song seemed on the verge of shutting down. But while Derek Miller's overdriven guitar and bass were distressed in the extreme, vocalist Alexis Krauss remained calm as chaos raged around her. Her cadence, somewhere at the intersection of singing, speaking, and chanting, conveyed an easy confidence, like she belonged in the middle of this maelstrom and knew she didn't need to shout to be heard. The contrast between her relaxed bearing-- where she seemed to rule over it all-- and the dangerous splatter of the music was striking to say the least. It was as easy to be taken in as it was to understand why someone else might be repelled. I felt some of both feelings, to be honest, but I also wanted to hear more.
Treats delivers completely on the promise of those demos. Sleigh Bells haven't stopped living in the red, but the improved recording quality makes songs including "Crown on the Ground" that much heavier, and the duo have managed to extend their uncomplicated formula across 11 tracks without it wearing thin. The combination of the music's essentials-- jackhammer riffs clipped from punk and metal, mid-tempo beats from hip-hop and electro, and supremely catchy sing-song melodies-- is striking on its own, sounding remarkably fresh and unlike anything else right now. But an even greater source of the record's appeal is how it doesn't sound especially referential.