White Ring

Two or so years ago, a small clan of bedroom producers began retro-fitting the already retro mood of hazy electronica so that it fit their gloomy, Gummo goth aesthetic. They turned up the bass, slowed everything down and let the minor chords that Southern hip-hop sneak in ring back out, creating a sound that's been called witch house, drag and even led some to resurrect the post-punk term “darkwave.” White Ring, the New York duo of Bryan Kurkimilis and Kendra Malia, makes the scariest and most oppressive variation of this stuff, which also means they do it the best. Programmed drums skitter and then thud like a punch to the face; synthesizers corrupt everything with a gauzy on-opiates buzz; gun shots, door creaks and gnarly feedback wander in and out of the soundscape.

A split with similarly minded oOoOO came first; White Ring's contribution, “Roses” almost has a IDM-like bounce to it, but those simple pleasures are undermined by a not-quite-right sense of nervous tension, thanks to Malia's erratic vocals. The aptly titled single “Suffocation” even nods to the arpeggiated pop-rap of Lil Wayne's “Lollipop,” if Kim Gordon (in “Eliminator Jr.” mode) did the vocals. Their EP, Black Earth That Made Me, features “IxC999,” with Malia chanting, “My faith is gone”—or maybe “My face is gone?” Go with whatever one makes you feel weirder.

Live, White Ring overwhelm with creeping dread. As a strobe light flickers and bass threatens to blast eardrums into oblivion, Kurkimilis leans heavily on his synth. Malia wails like a horror-movie murder victim. This is music made for staring straight ahead, wild-eyed in the club, completely lost in the broken beauty of it all. —Brandon Soderberg