There's always a chance that Tyvek's Nothing Fits was a painstakingly assembled second record. Perhaps every player utilized the greatest precision and grace when performing every note.
The resulting album, however, sounds like the complete opposite of a work of effort. And contextually, it couldn't get more glorious.
The Motor City band spit their lo-fi garage/punk rock out so urgently it sounds like one member really needs that bathroom break, and they rarely give a damn about coming off anywhere close to dignified.
"4312" kicks off the action with a chant-inflected song made for a sweaty, friendly mosh in some decrepit, low-lying Midwestern basement, and the rest of Nothing Fits' clatter follows suit.
Some subsequent moments, like the entirety of "Future Junk," sound like the band is testing to see how hurriedly they can play before their amps collapse from confusion and exhaustion.
Leading the disorder is vocalist-guitarist Kevin Boyer, whose spastic shouts are mostly rendered unintelligible by distortion and haste. Still, there are occasional moments to catch your breath in the chaos: On "Potato," you can actually understand Boyer's come-on of a chorus ("I want to/make it/I want to make it with you") while "Underwater To" is actually sorta sonorous.
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Even rabble rousers need to rest sometime.
-- Reyan Ali
Tyvek with Lone Wolf, Snakehole, Fuck Yeah!, and the Ticks. Saturday, January 22. Churchill's Pub, 5501 NE Second Ave. The show starts at 9 p.m. Call 305-757-1807 or visit churchillspub.com.