Bobby Wegner and Heather Sawyer have spent the last few years releasing hot 7'' records like they owe it to the world. The Hussy rolled up renegade anthems of youthful indulgence into reverb-coated splinters of garage rock without pretense. But even those candy-coated anarchist refrains sounded like they were picking away at something bigger, and we see a better picture of the Hussy's sculpture on their first full-length release, Cement Tomb Mind Control.
""Full-length"" is relative, of course, and you could finish Cement Tomb three or four times over before earning your first purple gem on ""Crash Bandicoot 2."" But the brevity plays to the Hussy's strength of writing electrical shocks more than actual songs—only two songs exceed two minutes, and those last a paltry 2:35 and 2:15. It doesn't take long for these songs to sink in, and Cement Tomb does well to pin down the band's rascally personas with an array of sloppy garage rock staples in a diverse collection of sonic bursts.
The Hussy flash a rare knack for scrapping garage rock's inherent hand-wringing for a more pure form of overzealous enthusiasm without sacrificing any of their sound's brash energy. They avoid the pitfalls of teenage love songs and brainless, maniacal yelling and focus on the more central joys of youthful abandon. In other words, they're almost having too much fun without giving us much reason why. Their threats to ""Go fuck yourself"" on ""I'm Me"" are empty, and their hostile border-drawing doesn't actually sound offensive. There's very little about them that's disagreeable.
But if it sounds like the Hussy are a couple of jokesters who can't write serious jams, I've vastly overstated things. The breadth of influence the Hussy are able to squeeze into their cozy bursts of distortion is extremely impressive. They run everywhere from Nuggets-style psychedelia to pummeling Midwest punk. They transition seamlessly from the call-and-response pop swoons on ""Pavement"" to the gasoline-soaked ""Lyme"" without losing their tact. They parry joyful harmonies with devolving drains of distortion in an exchange that works surprisingly well.
Wegner's guitar work is the real impetus behind the duo's flexibility. Whether he needs to pack a wall of crunch on ""Baby Child"" or hang ten on ""Sexi Lady Capture,"" Wegner molds his strings to a snug fit around the duo's feisty vocals.
Few of these songs will really resonate with a larger audience, and even fewer will challenge your moral fibers or preconceptions of garage rock. Cement Tomb is little more than one band's adapted versions of a playlist from ""Little Steven's Underground Garage,"" but there's a reason so many people tune in to that radio program in the first place.
Cement Tomb is an expansive palate of garage rock stylings, but what's most impressive is its consistency. While diverse in scope, Cement Tomb stays true to the band's central voice and aesthetic. Wegner and Sawyer seemingly traverse the landscape of garage rock from the comfort of their own living room. It's the sign of a band comfortable with its own sound—they don't have to change themselves to change their songs. That bodes well for the Hussy in the future, but it bodes even better for the greater Midwest.
