march 2023
MODEL/ACTRIZ
DOGSBODY
(True Panther)
Hit ‘Play’ on Dogsbody, the debut album from Brooklyn noise-punk band Model/Actriz, and you’ll think you have tinnitus. That’s because the tinny squeal that starts the album is intentional — as are the insect, tape machine and factory-like sounds that perpetuate the rest of the record. On Dogsbody, even the subtle moments can be intense.
”Crossing Guard” could be confused for an LCD Soundsystem song if not for Jack Wetmore’s wailing guitar lines, more reminiscent of a power saw than a five-stringed instrument. You get the vibe early on that being unnerving is Model/Actriz’s desired effect, and if that is indeed the case, then the band has achieved success.
What makes it all work is Cole Haden, and how the singer’s sultry, snaky delivery complements a healthy mix of throbbing beats, epic percussive buildups and ear-smashing crescendoes. The band may take things into the red at times, but Haden rarely raises his voice to that level, and it’s that intriguing dynamic that most distinguishes Model/Actriz from its peers (if it has any? This feels like a fresh sound in 2023).
Haden’s affectations remind of everyone from Bowie to Pete Steele to Jesus Lizard’s David Yow to Prick’s Kevin McMahon. The vocal booth is his confessional, as he delivers a desperate prayer to the gods (and perhaps a few demons) — always on edge, one false move away from a meltdown.
On “Divers,” the machine grinds to a sudden halt — it’s the ‘ballad’ in this black parade, and yet Wetmore and drummer Ruben Radlauer manage to conjure a few storms throughout, making effective use of the tools, all thumping toms and crash cymbals. The drum sound on Dogsbody, incidentally, is pretty bananas.
Kudos to Seth Manchester, whose bottom-heavy production brings out the best in the band’s sound (and spotlights a stellar, steady performance by bassist Aaron Shapiro), providing an industrial foundation to wrap the quieter, if still somewhat dissonant moments around while also allowing Wetmore and Haden to freely explore the higher registers.
Lyrically, Haden employs some repeating-line tropes that helped make bands like Tool and Rage Against The Machine famous (Model/Actriz sounds like neither), often tangled in self loathing (“All night, me and my wretched device”), growing slightly more unhinged with every refrain while the band ratches up the tension behind him.
We get a tease of melodic falsetto on album standout “Sleepless,” and even in this rare moment, Haden’s angsty archangel approach doesn’t so much cut thru the music as complement it. Otherwise, he treats the whole affair like some goth cabaret run thru a distortion pedal. His commitment to that aesthetic only makes his performance more effective, and the songs more distinguishable.
The platter ends with “Sun In,” a proper lullaby, at least by this band’s standards. The tinkling bell that permeates the songs is just a bit off. ”I can get back from two years ago,” Haden affirms. Is Cole attempting to overcome what we’ve all been wrestling with these past few years, or is his determination unrelated? The song ends, the tinkling bell reverts back to that tinny squeal, leaving us to check our ears and our minds, and ponder…
