Paris is not usually the first place one thinks when they have a severe craving for vampire techno, gothic electro, soul snatching rave action. Unlike fellow Eiffel Tower-power suppliers Daft Punk or Cassius, Black Strobe are a pair of mercurial music machinists who happily shun the sparkly white society of the religious right on their minatory new release, Burn Your Own Church.
The devilish duo of Arnaud Rebotini & Ivan Smagghe, former Rough Trade time card punchers and audio re-assemblers of club staples Depeche Mode, mesh the maniacal fortitude of Prodigy with sinister scour of Bauhaus, while shocking back to life the beating hearts of My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult. Necessary doses of pulsating evil ooze like puss from "Blood Shot Eyes," "Not What I Need" sounds like a suicidal version of "My Sharona," and "Buzz Buzz Buzz" is a gratifying efflux of keys that open the door to a supreme depletion of liquid vitals as those lights pound and your feet stir that ground like an electric mixer on the fritz.
Church is an industrial cathedral of terrorizing guitars, sleazy synthesizers, and demented intensity that won't be heard on any radio station in America unless that Sister Machine Gun fan who cuts himself for breakfast has a pirate radio station and crate of Nitzer Ebb LPs.
When I rave til dawn on twenty-five hits of primo ecstasy, my preferable pulse comes from Underworld or Chem Bros, but on a nefarious night when the full moon strikes like a morgue of zombie dancers clutching desperately for your mortal face, Burn Your Own Church is the perfect scream secret for scaring me into foot fire inferno.