We might be suffering a garage rock revival, but it's nothing compared to what the British are dealing with; confronted by America and Sweden's two-front onslaught, I think they're finally cracking. Case in point: the British music critics who're calling the Yeah Yeah Yeahs "the next big thing." Get in line, you say. The press is drooling over the band's U.K. tour, and succumbing most of all to singer Karen O, a self-described female Iggy Pop whose nutty performances and beer-soaked minidresses have won over everyone from NME to John Peel. The band doesn't play the States again for a couple of weeks, so all I have to go on is this debut EP, and even that's only thirteen minutes long. I don't know what kind of an impression these kids can make in that time, but I settle in, get comfortable, jack up the volume, and give it a whirl.

The opening track, "Bang!," sure sounds like the real deal. Nick Zinner's ultra-raunch electric guitar kicks off the riff while Karen O whispers, "The bigger... the better." It's catchy, and sure enough, it's sexy. Credit goes to Boss Hog's Jerry Teel for recording this to sound like it's playing out of a $39 boombox on a stripper's windowsill: whether he meant to or just had to, he nailed the sound of a hard-working band with no cash. O's vocals sound like 5% inspiration and 95% perspiration, but there's nothing wrong with that; if the singing were flat we'd have a problem, but O works every single syllable of the lyrics, taunting, dodging and oozing across the song. The "aw aw aw hey yeah" adlibbing says way more than the words.

Brian Chase bangs open the next song, "Mystery Girl," with primal drumbeats under Karen O's teasy squeals. This is b-movie rock with lyrics about every drive-in cliché they could find: "They found her under the sea/ She said she came from cell block 3! [squeal]" I don't have a photo of O in front of me but an image is coming to me: she's leaning against a convertible, in a denim miniskirt and cowboy boots, and there's hot, hot steam radiating from the car. She tells me she has a problem that with her trunk, and I tell her I can help out. I'm reaching for my tool--

--and what the fuck is a Cake song doing on here? Listen to the phrasing on the first line of "Art Star"! A total knock-off of John McCrea's monotonous sing/speaking! And that's not even mentioning the "do do do do do da do da do" melody. This is poppy enough, and they fuse it with bursts of noise and diaphragm-ripping shouts, but it seems out of place. O uses the song to play the part of a celebrated New York artist with a "madhouse" life. It's a persona, but the whole album sounds like a role-playing exercise anyway. When they expand to a full-length O might take this farther, in the mode of PJ Harvey or a garage-rocking Tori Amos, perhaps-- maybe she could sing each song as a different character, like a randy widow, a teen harlot, and a rock 'n' roll nun. But for now, could we just have the woman from that last song again?

And then we hit paydirt. "Miles Away" opens with the guitar strumming menacingly while O's voice twangs like every bad girl kicked out of a po' white high school. "You wonder... you wonder... you woondddeerrrrrrr. PANT PANT PANT PANT." When they hit the chorus, Zinner explodes like a small town muscle car rally, O screaming ferociously in an attempt to drown him out. There's no teasing or artifice now, she's wailing like a twanging banshee. Here comes the ferocious climax... and I'm spent.

I'm so satisfied, in fact, that I let the ultimate high school burn-out anthem, "Our Time," just drift by: "It's our year to be hated," she belts on the chorus atop shimmering guitars. Time for the ugly kids to slow-dance. Zinner hands out some more of those ten-story chords, and the switch from rock to pop starts to make sense. For such a short debut, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs have put together a pretty sharp survey of their capabilities. This isn't a record, it's a portfolio: it's noisy but catchy, it lets them try out different styles, and it makes you give a good goddamn. And I don't know who Karen O really is, but I think I know what she wants me to think. I'm intrigued.

-Chris Dahlen, July 3rd, 2002