Hair Police | Theater Critic's Choice | Chicago Reader

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Hair Police


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Given the choice, most musicians would probably prefer not to rehearse in a moldy basement that reeks of cat piss. But for Hair Police, a quartet of young males (the oldest is 22) from Lexington, Kentucky, their stinky space is a point of pride--on one message board, they boasted that "it was the perfect environment for what we made." Their forthcoming CD, Blow Out Your Blood, sounds like exactly the kind of turbulent racket you'd expect from angst-ridden noise nerds stranded in the Bluegrass State: ballistic squealy guitar solos, choppy blasts of what sounds like synthesized vacuum cleaner, songs that start with a beat then quickly degenerate. But while most noise bands are good at the chaos part, many fail to impart any sort of sentiment, which is one of Hair Police's strengths. "Street Sunglasses" is funny because the singer squeezes out his lyrics like a good ol' boy on the pot, but the words are downright plaintive: "I got my white shoes / I got my pink shirt / I got my white pants / Where, where, where, where are the girls?" The CD will be issued on the contrarian Minneapolis noise label Freedom From; also on the bill are No Doctors, an aggregation of Freedom From employees who like to (sometimes literally) rock out with their cocks out. Thursday, December 27, 9 PM, Hideout, 1354 W. Wabansia; 773-227-4433.

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