"Get your freak on!" screams the thoroughly- e'ed DJ from his steel- caged mezzanine above a teeming sea of sweat- soaked teens and jumping twenty- somethings. Yeah, the people payed their $10 a head to forgo beds and dreams, and dance to the post- 12am mayhem of a certain band's major- label debut, Freak*on*ica. A bioluminescent glow of cool neon emits from under school bus- sized speakers that hover mysteriously off the translucent dancefloor like an airhockey puck. Welcome to the excessive world of Girls Against Boys.

GVSB are the D.C. post- punk groove band that moved to Times Square and subsequently acquired a taste for heightened elements of electronica and a fashion sense which can only be described as post-hygenic-- they appear fresh out of the shower, dripping wet, with their hair slicked and undulating like sea anemone from palmfuls of designer conditioner.

Over the last decade, these guys have molded their trademark sound of husky vocals, punishing rhythm, and tongue- in- cheek sass. For this record, they've completely immersed themselves in their schtick to quixotic proportions and almost step into self- parody. Lyrics give way to simple spat slogans that typically involve "pleasure," delivered via Scott McCloud's enthusiastic vocals, and Freak*on*ica producer Nick Launey pushes every sound to 11. Girls Against Boys' precision playing couple with Launey's knobwork will crush your pelvis like a mortar and pestel.

The band's departure from Chicago's hardcore Touch and Go label, and their arrival at David Geffen's multi- million- dollar establishment may have indie- rock pundits protesting "Sell-out." But frankly, their new sound seems more like a natural progression than a clever ploy to sell more records. Besides, their appeal still lies in their ability to write awesome, swinging rock burners that rely more on the band's ace rhythm section than on guitar skills. It's still rock and roll, people. It's just mutated.

-Brent DiCrescenzo