It may be a bit on the nose to use the word "psycho" in a song where your singer is all yelps and screams and crazed vocal calisthenics. But Sediment Club frontperson Austin Sley-Julian doesn't really sound psychotic—it's more that he's so excited and energetic that he makes the rest of the world seem boringly sane. Confronted with a chaotic mix of slashing chords and crashing beats, he stretches his larynx to match, and nearly laps his bandmates in the process.-=-=-=-

The resulting sprawl suggests the rule-detonating art-damage of no wave. But since no two no wave bands sounded the same, it more specifically evokes a sped-up take on the deranged haunted house of Lydia Lunch's Beirut Slump. Where that band’s singer Bobby Swope could sound like a serial killer, Sley-Julian’s M.O. is less dark than frantic, and the Sediment Club’s music is less a black cloud than a piercing light. Which is a little ironic: for a song so messy in execution ("We’re not on the up and up!" Sley-Julian deadpans), "Psychosymplistic, Psychosymplastic Here!" is remarkably laser-like in effect, burning a hole in your ears way before its two-minute life span has expired.