[7.00] is pretty close to perfect round here…

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[7.00]

Crystal Leww: Everything is a little ambiguous about Perfect Pussy. The name of the band could either be about vaginas or cats. The lead singer sounds perfectly androgynous in a garbled, shouting, distorted way. The lyrics don’t shy away from something as vivid as “her eyes fell low and heavy with shame and cum” but then descend into simplicities like “I am filled with joy!” Ultimately though, it’s a wall of energy that I can feed off of for a brief two minutes, never overstaying their welcome, always 100% exhilarating.
[7]

Anthony Easton: Pitchfork says that this comes from the members of Syracuse’s noise and hardcore communities, which makes me wonder how many people are on the track. I like that it lasts 121 seconds, and I like the slightly melodic sounds in the beginning, but no matter how much noise I listened to in undergrad, it got repetitive quickly. You heard one blast of aggro dissent, you have heard most. 
[4]

Alfred Soto: This Syracuse act does its damndest to hide a Japandroids-worthy tune beneath several feet of fuzz. A second listen reveals the degree to which the tune requires the fuzz. “Her eyes fell low and heavy with shame and cum,” I’m pretty sure the singer barks. Humiliation on the back of enthusiasm: punk teaches us to believe these things. 
[7]

Patrick St. Michel: I’m far from introducing anything new to the Perfect Pussy conversation when I say “I” reminds me of Life Without Buildings. But the description fits so well, so fresh angles be damned. It isn’t just because lead singer Meredith Graves’ vocals bring to mind the sprayfire style of Sue Tompkins — they do, just now playing out over surging garage rock rather than calculated post-punk. The actual lyrics, like everything Life Without Buildings penned, are extremely vague, never showing a clear picture and careening between emotions. And Perfect Pussy make the most out of repetition — that final segment where Graves shouts “I am full of peace” is fantastic.
[8]

Katherine St Asaph: There’s plenty offputting about this group, starting with their name (cutesy-congratulatory reclamation is the worst kind; if they had guts they’d call themselves Labiaplasty) and ongoing in their sudden blog ubiquity. Is this raucous and flailing and cathartic? Yes. Does this burst like a a cartoon explosion? With this run-length, it’d better. Are thousands of bands making music as good or better that’ll never get write-ups on BrooklynVegan? More than you know.
[5]

Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: This guitar-wrangling basement-craft stomp proposes a few questions: What’s Meredith Graves squawking and does it matter beyond sheer force? Is there a hint of gorgeous synths humming away in the background, like Vangelis two-stepping into the middle of a ballroom blitz? Is there some furniture I can throw across the fucking room to this?
[9]

Madeleine Lee: In the Scott Pilgrim comics there’s a recurring motif where characters’ heads start glowing when they feel distressed or “overwhelmed by their personal issues,” as the fan wiki puts it. It goes on to explain that “the Glow suppresses positive emotions such as friendship and love, and simultaneously enhances negative feelings like suspicion, jealousy, and self-loathing.” I always imagined it as a feeling of physical frustration, not as obvious nor as easily named as an anxiety attack, a feeling where you have to get up and jump around and maybe yell a lot in hopes of getting it out. “I” is about this kind of Glow, the pent-up weird feeling when you know something’s wrong but you can’t name it, and you try to trace back where you went wrong in order to have something to blame. It is music to jump around and yell a lot to, to shake up the world until it no longer needs to make sense, to keep telling yourself you’re at peace until the adrenaline makes you believe you might be.
[9]

Brad Shoup: Help, I’m trapped in a Melt-Banana thinkpiece!
[7]