Last September, O. were the first act to play at indie label Speedy Wunderground's 10th anniversary showcase in South London. While the label – which has released music from black midi, Squid and Lewsberg – has grown far beyond Mission To be a factory for fast-paced singles, the O. is perhaps the most showroom-proof model for this easy-to-use, plug 'n' play philosophy. Formed two years ago, the duo were already opening big stage shows when they could still count their gigs on one hand. With their debut EP, The O. make an even more compelling case for why they should be opening your show: For an often uncertain band of musicians, they know how to get a party started.
As the term “post-punk” becomes increasingly shorthand for the sad, O. reaffirms one of the original, often overlooked aspects of the genre: Anti-pop experimentation can be a lot of fun. The four songs in Slice hits you with a delightfully disorienting array of sounds. At various points, you may think you hear a buzzer on the hockey rink, or a swarm of insects, or a drone of metal, or a marine animal screeching, or a police siren, or a brown-note synth frequency, or an incoming superocean or a shift of tectonic plates. And that sonic spectrum is even more impressive when you consider that all these effects emanate from a single source: Joseph Henwood's baritone sax, which, when filtered through Speedy figurehead Dan Carey's production magic, becomes equally raucous and monstrous. Henwood's sax line is the undisputed centerpiece of O., the novelty that would make an unsuspecting black midi fan heading to the venue's bar stop and wonder, “What the hell is that!?!” before turning and making a beeline for the stage. But drummer Tash Keary's frantic stickwork is the mortar that holds O.'s wall of sound together, ensuring a harmonious balance of improvisation and rock-solid composition.
On Slice, O. are already in the enviable position of possessing both a distinctive aesthetic and the confidence to flaunt it without worrying about losing their sense of identity. Where he often favors jazz orchestration in a punk context atonal skronk and splatterO.'s brand of sax 'n' violence largely abandons free-form anarchy for a more disciplined attack that rallies around muscular riffs and fleet-footed rhythms. SliceThe song's opening title track tunnels from The Mudd Club dance floor to a Reading festival mosh pit, with the song's aggro-funk breakdowns and build-ups betraying influence of Primus in the current UK post-punk pack. By contrast, on “Moon,” the duo plunge into noisy waters without losing their sense of mayhem—even as the tempo slows and Henwood's luscious melodies begin to ooze like molasses, Keary continues to ride the hi-hat and kick-pedal her like she was driving a disco band. Unsurprisingly, the middle-of-the-road tune, “Grouchy,” is the least interesting of the bunch, its mutated metal hinting at a pub-rock King Crimson. But the duo save their best for last with “ATM,” which gives them the extra room to deploy their full arsenal of effects for maximum drama. Over six minutes, the duo seesaw between the intensity of ticking time bombs and earthquakes, as if waging a war between their avant-garde tendencies and their indomitable desire to break out. And from this chaotic clash, O. forge a sound as unmistakable as their name is unGoogleable.
