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Whether resolute snark, a nod to pristine kitties or a sincere fondness for designer vaginas (probably the former), one thing's for sure: Perfect Pussy have definitely ensnared attention with their eye-catching sobriquet. Bounding onto the scene with art-punk cojones and spittle-flecked belligerence seemingly from nowhere last year, the New York outfit channel the gutsy gusto of '90s emotional hardcore and skeletal punk on their full-length debut, Say Yes To Love. Meredith Graves (whose blood features in the deluxe vinyl edition and her noisy bandmates craft frenetic sounds that, while not heavy on originality, are heavy on hidden pop melodies, vintage aggression and a very relevant mayhem.

Some of the record essentially boils down to an updated version of classic 'real' emocore, before the floppy-haired MCR brigades and Claire's Accessories fanatics annexed it. Take 'Interference Fits', 'Big Stars' or 'Advance On The Real' - they've got the relentless drive and agonised energy of Jawbreaker, Texas Is The Reason and Sunny Day Real Estate. It's that fusing of supercharged emotion and post-hardcore vitriol that Perfect Pussy wield; they are absolutely nothing like mid-00's 'mall emo' (Dashboard Confessional, Taking Back Sunday). Graves' vocals are more burnished and punky than Jeremy Enigk, but the core tenet of punk-meets-feelings remains - c'mon, the record's called Say Yes To Love.

Other portions of the album are straight-up noise-rock tenacity. It's wall-of-noise guitar distortion, haywire percussion and unhinged caterwauling; still good, and the rage is evident - it's a galvanising sound. 'Driver' is a sweaty, skinless cacophony; swiftly following on is 'Bells', which is slightly more disjointed and ranty-ravey. The only track to bend from their heartfelt anarchy is the finalé. 'VII' is like a Crystal Castles/Sleigh Bells offcut, and sits remarkably out of place in comparison to the pretty traditional-sounding bulk. It's not bad, just obviously out of kilter with the rest of the record, at least stylistically.

The record, though eight tracks, clocks in at 23 minutes - the fivesome have no time for dicking around, it seems (except for three minutes of empty tape between the final two tracks). Due to the concise nature, all fat has been trimmed; there's no meandering explorations into themes or instruments, and there's nothing extraneous to be found anywhere. While that sounds good in practice - the sign of a good editing process, surely? - it does leave little room for respite from the visceral sonic slaughter. This is both the best and worst facet of the record.

By the time it's done, you'll be left battered and bruised, struggling to comprehend and untangle the catastrophic volumes and chaotic wilds; sometimes you feel like a breather is needed to cleanse the palate, but at the same time, the record wouldn't have the same violent oomph without it. The appeal comes from the passionate, continued siege of the senses that have the appearance of occurring naturally. Without the brevity the LP revels in, it would be a calculated staccato-burst of angst, muting the overall tone and impact. Thankfully it's not been eviscerated, and though you may need to brace yourself in preparation, you'll survive to welcome round two with open arms.