Your Enemies Friends w/Midtown, Armor for Sleep, Lances Hero

Thurs May 13, Graceland, 7 pm, $10 adv (all ages).

by Manish Agarwal

Contemporary punk rock--as touted by the Warped Tour and MTV--is as calculated and anodyne as anything from the Britney-Christina axis. The defiant individualism of Iggy Pop, Patti Smith, Johnny Rotten, Siouxsie Sioux, Darby Crash, et al. has given way to the money-spinning bounce 'n' whine of vacuous mallrat clones. Today's iconoclasts reside underground, channeling their disgust into DIY ventures such as outspoken website and record label Buddyhead, which has given a platform to the Icarus Line's megaton psychedelia, Radio Vago's femme-goth snarl, and, here opening for popcore lightweights Midtown, Your Enemies Friends.

Since the release of last year's raw EP The Wiretap these black-clad Los Angelenos have lost their original synth player and tried unsuccessfully to relocate to Seattle. Undeterred, they've channeled their frustrations into the debut LP You Are Being Videotaped, which filters nagging melodies through a waspish attack and varied song structures. Ronnie Washburn and Allen Watke's distorted guitars combine with Dana James' heavy-duty bass and Luis-Carlos Contreas' relentless pummeling to create a thick, grungy sound that would be redolent of vintage Nirvana, were it not for guest keyboardist Curtis Mathewson. His fizzy textures and taunting hooks leaven the grime and counterpoint the group's vocals--a male/female blend dominated by Washburn's ripped-throat anguish, with lively support from James.

Tracks like "The One Condition" and "Back of a Taxi" have an almost dizzying momentum, the latter finding Washburn caught memorably between lust ("Your body makes me feel like I'm allowed") and terror ("Cold war, amputation, a quick sensation that bleeds me completely"). James takes the lead on "Business French Kiss," her allusions to science and twisted romance spotlighting Your Enemies Friends' primary concern. Everything about this band--their name, lyrics, album and song titles--conveys a very modern brand of paranoia, with technophobia serving as a metaphor for human distrust. It's an evocative theme, enhanced by the album's final third, where convoluted riffs and slow-burn atmospherics pile on the fear. Fans of the headliners' polished fare will doubtless hate Your Enemies Friends, but such is the lot of the true punk rocker.

editor@thestranger.com