The Kills

The Kills

Jamie Hince and Alison Mosshart are the Charles Starkweather and Caril Ann Fugate of post-punk, preoblivion anti-rock, leaving a trail of blown woofers and sweat in their wake. Intense doesn't begin to describe Midnight Boom, but loop the Russian roulette sequence from The Deer Hunter, splice in some grainy security-cam voyeur-porn, pop it in the Videodrome VCR, and you'll at least get the picture. If the London duo's 2005 sophomore effort, No Wow, was the Badlands crank 'n' squeal of two artists becoming one, then this is the happy aftermath of the killing spree. Opener and justly praised single "U.R.A. Fever" sizzles ridiculously catchy and febrile, atypical of everything; from here on out, do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Kills. That encompasses the spidery electro-cheers of "Cheap and Cheerful," the snap and clap anthemics of "Sour Cherry," and "Black Balloon," with former Floridian Mosshart's sleazy-cool vox screwing everything in sight. This is what New York used to be. (Wednesday, March 12, Antone's, 12mid.)