American Fangs, American Fangs EP

How do you come up with what’s bound to be one of the rawest, most crushingly addictive rock songs to come out of this just-started year? If you’re American Fangs, you begin with a stomping, challenging rhythm and some guitar scrapes and throw on slurring, snarling, semi-threatening vocals that’re kin to Tim Armstrong or maybe Whole Wheat Bread’s Aaron Abraham, for starters. Then you kick in with a roaring, amps-on-10 wall of guitars-and-drums fury and shredded (yet still pump-your-first anthemic) howling Dave Grohl would be proud to own, and cram in lyrics that sound like they’re halfway of a warning to a cocky junkie that everybody on the block knows where they keep their stash. And holy fuck, you’ve got yourself two minutes and forty seconds of fucking badass rock, no prefixes necessary.

Consider the rest of American Fangs’ debut EP a bonus, beyond that (okay, “Le Kick”‘s actually the third track, but it’s the high point, nonetheless). Opener “Leukoplakia” holds up nicely, melding sludgy, doom-y bass with thundering drums and sneering vocals that bring to mind Alice in Chains’ Layne Staley in his prime; this is music that could pretty much instantly kick off a circle pit, and I mean that in the best possible way. Same goes for “My Two Richards,” although that one’s a bit of a slower, more meditative grind — I swear to God, when vocalist Gus roars, he pulls it off like few people out there truly can — and EP closer “Get the Hell On,” where the band gives the finger to our horrifically consumption-/fashion-obssessed society, declaring, “This song ain’t for you!”

“Duke” shows off a softer, more post-emo side to the band, actually veering closer to Stadium or Sunday’s Best territory with its melodic breaks, but even then the band holds tight to a current of bitter fury; the result is a jaded, sarcastic jab at people who’ve got money but still aren’t happy, with the Fangs boys sounding like they’re just barely restrained. “Sorry” is somewhat in the same vein, a beautifully melancholy slow-burn of a song that could easily lapse into sentimentality but never does, instead coming off like a gothic-tinged burst of real emotion.

And hey, the best thing about an EP like this? At six songs in just under 18 minutes, it’s way too damn easy to just let it roll on back around to the beginning again, ready for the jaw to hit the floor again. Where the hell did these guys come from?