upstarts shred the underground

Sydney duo Circle Pit mine decades of scuzzy psych, garage, and proto punk, extract all the purest bits, and make addictive new songs out of them. Gaunt, pouty BFFs Jack Mannix and Angie Bermuda share guitar and songwriting detail and junk-sick vocals. They earned their punk rock degrees in the band Kiosk and it’s clear they’ve studied the esoteric cannon, but it’s equally clear they don’t feel beholden to any of it.

Take the name. It could be heard as a smirking subversion of punk orthodoxy or, alternatively, as a nostalgic reference, pointing out that, sadly, you don’t see too many real circle pits these days. Either way, it’s the perfect banner for their drop-out anthems.

Among their preferred subjects are drugs and the things you do to get them. It’s like they took Lou Reed’s finely drawn demimonde portraits and smeared them with grimy fingers. Sonically, their 2010 debut album Bruise Constellation on the venerable Siltbreeze exhibits classic slackery in the mode of The Meat Puppets, Spacemen 3, and Sonic Youth. But it’s a wonderfully varied ride. “Infinity” is a psychedelic slow jam with a gooey center, while “Hurricane” takes on the urgency and rawness of Dangerhouse-era L.A. punk.

These kids are up there with Dead Moon/Pierced Arrows for making music as noisy as it is catchy and emotive. But even their catchiest songs tend to sprawl in a languishing way that hints at the desolate expanses further inland from Sydney.

Kids would totally have been skating to this stuff in the ’80s and ’90s — or, you know, just sitting there and staring at things. That was fun too.

Fans of all the aforementioned influences will love Circle Pit’s dirty, druggy side. Fans of bands like Slumber Party and Dum Dum Girls will dig their free and tender moments, as displayed on the more recent Slave/Honey seven-inch — a couple of leggy drones that radiate warmth and ooze sweetness.

In addition to the repeated Royal Trux comparisons, we’ve heard that the pair get some random flack for having a lot of style. (See Mannix’s sexy self-portraits for Vice.) You can’t help it if you got it, people. Don’t get mad.