I think the kids call it math-rock. I'm not hip on the current lingo, so I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure that's what they call it. I do know that I have a friend named Eric, and a few years ago Eric said to me, "Your rock and roll music has too many words." It took me a long time to see what he meant, but had I heard Ocelot when he first muttered the immortal phrase, I would've gotten it right away. The man's no fool.

Atlanta four-piece Ocelot's sophomore release, The Quiet Storm is a very aptly titled instrumental rock record. Robotic rhythms back layers of guitar which flutter between lush and discordant while basslines pummel your ears with their density. The album opens and closes with quiet ambient tracks ("Empathy and Projection" and "The Quiet Storm," respectively), but sandwiched in between, there's hardly a chance to breathe. The majority of the tracks alternate between tight rhythms and raucous, frenetic moments that can be described no way other than chaotic. "Loss Prevention Officer" is a prime example, its repetitive riffs giving way to feverish bouts of sheer intensity.

"Throwing Away a Perfectly Good White Boy," copping its title none-too-subtly from the John Cusack classic Better Off Dead, is much more subdued, showing Ocelot's ability to siphon emotions other than anger into their instruments. The layered guitar and bass are wonderfully arranged, and leave little room for distraction. And just when you think it's safe to get comfortable with the more relaxed mood of "White Boy," they tear into the gravely vicious "Is It a Drug, a Virus, or Religion?" which changes so frequently that you're never quite sure where it's headed, or if it even gets there.

Bryan Harris' smooth bass playing leads you through "Things with Molecular Structure" like a slow, peaceful jaunt through a smoke-filled bar at closing time, proving once and for all that the lead guitar doesn't always have to be the star of the show. The real monster lurking under the bed, though, is "Tear You Down Build Me Up." It opens with a single guitar riff that sounds like it could be the intro to a slow metal song-- but don't let that fool you. At exactly 33 seconds in, the floodgates come crashing open, and it's tough to figure out who in the band is kicking the most ass. The drums are a flurry of hi-hat and snare drum, the bass is a jumble of rapid-fire notes, and one guitar lays down a dense fog of noisy chords while another squeals over it all. It's a lot to take in, but the result is staggering. You have been warned.

The other true standout track is "A Principle or a Butterfly," which features drummer Mackenzie Cole pounding a mechanical beat that is hypnotically cyclical. In the end, all of the instruments fall away except the drums, which continue to pound. After a moment, a second drummer (!) kicks in, and the levels slowly increase until you're sure that either your speakers or your goddamned eardrums are going to burst-- and then everything stops suddenly, almost as if your stereo just gave up the fight.

Christ, who needs vocals, anyway? In Ocelot's case, a singer would only get in the way and distract us all from the musicians and their true talents. The songs on The Quiet Storm take me back to a time when I first discovered indie rock with bands like Unwound and Car vs. Driver. And much like those bands, Ocelot's ability to display a wide range of emotion is a true testament to the shocking power of sound.

-Cory Byrom, April 9th, 2002