Made out of Babies | Theater Critic's Choice | Chicago Reader

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Made out of Babies

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Metal bands all want to have the heaviest riffs, the heaviest drumming, and the heaviest amps, but lots of these guys seem to have forgotten about the power of a great vocalist, opting instead for the usual Cookie Monster gargling and cat-scratch screeching. Brooklyn's Made out of Babies has a secret weapon in the metal arms race: a squeaky girl who sings like she needs a straitjacket. Julie (no last names here) sells her dangerous-nutwoman act with conviction, using a dozen different creepy-kid voices--she could record a radio play of V.C. Andrews's Flowers in the Attic all by herself--plus a couple demented-hag impressions and a shriek that makes you want to call 911. The vocal melodies on Trophy, due in April on Neurot Recordings, bounce around inside your skull, never quite coming to rest; listening to "Too Much Sugar" feels like trying to keep track of an angry wasp in a crowded train car. The lyrics are hardly lullaby material either ("It's so much nicer upside-down . . . it sounds like thousands of insects!"), and the band's queasy, lurching riffs keep poking you in the eye with blurts of controlled dissonance. But as twisted as this shit is, it goes down smooth--when I got my copy of Trophy I listened to it three times in a row. Disengage headlines. Sun 1/9, 9 PM, Bottom Lounge, 3206 N. Wilton, 773-975-0505 or 800-594-8499, $8.

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