It's early, but I'm nominating this album as 2004's feel-bad dorm-sex debut. The Dots come on hot and heavy, sounding just like what you'd expect from a no-bass garage trio made up of former Slant 6 and Bikini Kill members. But soon, half-articulated feelings of pain have killed the early buzz and the album blooms into something more interesting, something intense, confusing and a little shallow all at once. Kind of like dorm sex. But that's fine -- there's more than enough flamethrowing garage these days, and this vague and angular mess gets richer with each listen. The Dots' ambition helps. There's an Etta James cover. There's the stinging, staccato guitar-work on "Clocks" that invokes Sleater-Kinney at its most delicate. And the band isn't afraid to ride the lurching Stooges groove on "Hooded" for all it's worth. I'm still unsure that the academic project of the nü-garage movement is fruitful -- how much can you take out and still have great rock? But I know I like the shit out of this.
