Lullabye Arkestra

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Despite both having roots in the mid-1990s Montreal indie rock scene, you won't find two brands more diametrically opposed than Constellation Records and Vice. The former built its empire on a stridently anti-corporate ethos and faceless yet politically outspoken orchestral-rock collectives; the latter built theirs on sleazy sensationalism, crass humor, and hipster trendspotting. And yet, these two oppositional entities do share one common value: a love of Lullabye Arkestra.

That the Toronto duo have become the first band to release records on both Constellation and Vice's label subsidiary is a testament to their own unifying qualities: comprised of husband/drummer Justin Small and wife/bassist Kat Taylor-Small (that's them you hear screaming out the chorus on Fucked Up's "Son the Father"), Lullabye Arkestra have parlayed their own holy matrimony into another, decidedly more unholy alliance-- namely, between sweaty 1960s Stax soul and 80s hardcore/speed metal. Not the most obvious attributes for a Constellation signee, but then Small had an easy in with the label: His other band, space-rock ensemble Do Make Say Think (for whom he plays guitar), are Constellation's longest running act. And if Lullabye Arkestra's emergence in 2002 initially posited them as an antidote to Toronto's prevailing collectivist music culture, by the time they recorded their 2006 Constellation release, Ampgrave, they had developed characteristics akin to those of their Can-indie compatriots-- i.e., crowding the stage with multiple string and horn players to lend their minimalist metal more textural depth.

But even without a global recession, Lullabye were due for a downsizing; lacking the means to tour with their auxiliary members, the duo found themselves with an album they could barely recreate live as a two-piece. No such problem with the band's Vice debut, Threats/Worship, on which the duo fill in any empty space by loading up on the sort of devastating drop-D riffs that have powered every great bass/drums two-piece from godheadSilo to Death From Above 1979, and screaming their lungs out. If Ampgrave lent Lullabye's tortured soul a B-movie, haunted-house ambiance, Threats/Worship is pure grindhouse grit-- ugly, brutal, yet thrilling as all hell.

And yet, even with the stripped-down set-up and brief, 36-minute run time, Threats/Worship still feels weighty and substantial, thanks to an epic, Black Flag-burning introduction, "Get Nervous", that effectively welcomes us into their nightmare and showcases the duo's ability to shift gears between slow-motion sludge and high-speed hysterics. Lullabye Arkestra know that, given their low overhead, the slightest dynamic variations go a long way-- the subtle synth swirls lurking in the background of circle-pit stoker "Surviving the Year of Wolves" (featuring guest barking from ex-Cursed frontman Chris Colohan); the Tony Iommi accents that punctuate the fist-pump chorus of "We Fuck the Night"; the echo-effected vocals and hypnotic riff repetition that inject "Fog Machine" with a psychedelic expanse; the surprise ending of "This Is a Storm", which fools us into thinking it's fading out before returning for one last, Carrie-style scare.

Where there was once a cheeky quality to the Smalls' vocal interplay-- part Ike and Tina, part Mickey and Mallory-- Threats/Worship doesn't play up any kind of he-said/she-said sexual tension. Rather, their unison, hoarse-voice howls convey a genuine, shared feeling of release and solidarity. This is no more apparent than on "Voodoo", a rerecording of the first song the Smalls ever wrote together-- when the duo start maniacally shrieking, "baby baby baby!" you're not sure if they want to have one or eat one. Clocking in at just 44 seconds, the song both heralds Lullabye's return to their original two-piece formation, while also serving as a signpost for how much they've evolved. The lesson here: The couple that stays together slays together.