Made in Mexico are the combined forces of the remnants from Arab on Radar and La Machine. Jeff Schneider (guitar) fell into Mexico after the powerful yet short-lived Arab on Radar came to a crapping halt, while Jon Loper (bass) and Dare Matheson (drums) honed their spaz tactics in La Machine. Rebecca Mitchell (vocals) is…well…she came from Oklahoma and got the ball rolling on this musical miasma. Rebecca has the perfect voice for this kind of shit - sounding more like a rabid badger fighting over a squirrel carcass - and she's sassy too! She's even said to be a "Karen O styled front woman" if that means anything anymore. But don't be fooled, if your hipster sensibilities lead you to think this is Yeah Yeah Yeahs territory; you're making a greivous error in judgement. So go back to Starbucks or go by Head Wound City. Zodiac Zoo has got the juice and I love it. The sexy juice that make this crazed capsule of timely music so simple to digest. Yes it may reach heinous degrees of shititude at times, but hey babe it's like anal sex…you gotta take it slow.

Avalanches of white fluffy feedback hiss fills your lobes with cold Rhode Island electricity. Out of place frantic sound seems completely out of sync with the rest of the music - but it's like it's supposed to be that way…whoa, it's groovy man. High-geared sparkly riffs leave you stuck in a projection screen of floating mushrooms, dragonflies, and agonizing aural blasphemy. Constant haunting lonely droning of high pitched blares and flare-outs leave the conga drums in flames and the only source of sanity that remains is already impaled by the constant piercing riffs. When I say piercing I mean shrill, root canal piercing; but Loper's wobbly bass jargon eases the heavy flow of sonic discharge from Jeff Schneider's guitar nicely. "Face of the Earth" hits hard with some spoken word gibberish, while frantic drums keep the pace, "Then it started to rain. We had to get on stage…get out of the rain." Jeff Schneider's free spirit skin-walker executions of impromptu guitar are elegant to a point and manage to salvage vague illusions of subtlety.

"Solanas" squealing sex fiend guitar morphs into a mutant post punk art rock complexity with varying elements of gnarly temps to discover. The next song, "Ultraviolet Arms" however is hard to take. It's like trying to sit next to a train whistle on full bore and loving every second of it. Rebecca's classy drone fills the air with hypersonic tracers of yesteryear as the obnoxious meaningless spastic pummeling of instruments in order form songs. I'm glad this band came around; I was having second thoughts on the present state of music. All I can say is Skingraft records are home to some of the best freak-out, noise-rock psycadelic super groups out there. Remember this band, something is bubbling beneath the surface here. Expect it to be loved and well received. I say this with fans of the genre in mind of course. It might blow out the asses of soft rock fans so wear a hat.