F-bombs, riot grrls, slam dunks.

I am just the messenger here, and as such I need to tell you about a band with the name Fuck Buttons. (I'm sorry, OK? But this is urgent! You need to know!) *Ahem.* Fuck Buttons are an experimental electronic outfit from Bristol, England, and they kind of sound like the future. Not, like, future rock music, just The Future. Like maybe the music our future robot overlords will use to get pumped up for things—not like jogging or anything, because they won't jog (doy, they're robots), but maybe the robot equivalent of jogging? Back to the Fuck Buttons (I said sorry): their latest "Slow Focus" came out over the summer, in all its synth-y, bleepy, sample-y wonder. Many of the tracks slowly expand into a gnarl of sound, where the separate parts are hard to distinguish anymore but are all essential. In the end, it's music that redefines what majestic can be. (Look out, John Williams.)

And since we've already dropped the bomb, Fucked Up (apologies) is a band that put out an amazing album two years ago, and yet I'm going to talk about it now because dang it, it's new to me, and it might be new to you. "David Comes to Life" is pretty darn long at more than 80 minutes of music, but that run time seems warranted to me because (a) it's a rock opera and operas take time, and (b) it's triumphant and weird and worth your eighty minutes. A bit about the band: they're a hardcore punk group that likes to mess with convention—hence a hardcore punk band doing a rock opera, and one that's melodic at that. What I especially love: the growl of their lead singer, Pink Eyes (and his name, duh); the high drama of the lyrics ("All we need is for something to give, the dam bursts open, we suddenly live..."); and the fact that a good 80% of the songs are in the key of E (who does that?) and yet they sound like fully-formed, distinctive ideas (how does one do that?).

It comes and goes in about twenty minutes, but while it lasts, "sorry" by White Lung has both fury and chops. This is ass-kicking music in a minor-effing-key, owing much to the relentless, rapid-fire drumming of Anne-Marie Vassiliou and to Mish Way's voice, which easily alternates between punk rock yell and tough girl purr. But the thing that makes it is Kenneth William's guitar work—it's manic and unexpected, and it'll compel you to back up and re-listen while you think, "How the heck'd he do that?" (And, at only twenty minutes total, it's easy to do). They're from Vancouver (Canada again FTW) and though they have two LPs and three 7-inch's under their belts, they feel like they're just getting started. I sure hope there's a lot more to come.

Recently, I had the great joy of seeing Built To Spill perform at the Bottleneck in Lawrence, KS, and Slam Dunk was one of the openers. While their sound is pretty consistent across their set (in a totally good way, to be clear—they have their sound well figured out), their songwriting is entertainingly multi-faceted: at times, their melodies and chord progressions that sound akin to something that would've made kids in the 50's scream and shout (see track two, "Dying Breed" and the sax, man, the SAX). Wait five minutes, and it's the Clash coming through. Five more, and it's Frank Black. Bolstering all of it is energy—a lot of it—and yelling, and unison sing-along-style choruses, and a good sense of humor. It's a bit unhinged, in the best possible way.