Six By Seven happens to be the amount of living space, in floor square- footage, allocated to me by the University during my freshman year (if you divide the room in half, which is basically what my roommate and I did after not getting along). All people in life are allocated a six- by- seven foot cushion of personal space, maximum, in life-- the interior of cars, elevators, cubicles, prison cells, classrooms, etc. At least, that's a grim, Orwellian way of looking at the world.

The British five- piece Six By Seven exude a similar resigned, post- communist vibe in their woozy, droning indie rock. "It's good to be someone, it's good to be someone, to feel like you belong," voices drolly proclaim in a nitrous haze over what sounds like a warped air-raid siren loop from an ancient German Expressionist film. Bass throbs against your head like a drizzle of soft cinder blocks until, finally, a noisy guitar squall washes it away in a squiggly fizz.

Six By Seven produce the droning music for taxi rides on gray, sunless afternoons through the enormous concrete blocks of Warsaw, Prague or Bucharest. It's the hangover from UK shoegazer. Six By Seven seemingly stares at their shoes as a result of an Atlaen hangover. They deliver a jaded, indie assault that's noisy and layered without being aggressive. "88-92-96" creeps under skin like a slow needle push before releasing its gritty blast of backwards guitar. Soon the sun sets and the ban, and "Your Town" funks thing up, uncannily mimicing Tropic- of- Scorpio- era Girls Against Boys and their D.C. sex groove. All in all, a promising tease of things to come from this band.

-Brent DiCrescenzo