Matson Jones

Are you sitting down for this? The members of Matson Jones are. Or at least three-quarters of them are: Unlike the typical rock lineup of leg-kicking pose-strikers or pigeon-toed emo wusses, they've got their asses planted in chairs. That's because both of Matson Jones's singers -- Martina Grbac and Anna Mascorella -- fiddle the cello, and you've got to practically straddle those unwieldy planks of pine and maple to play them. Drummer Ross Harada, naturally, takes his throne in the back, which leaves upright-bassist Matt Regan as the only one standing. But don't think the quartet peddles sedate chamber music. This ten-song debut is a raw, knuckle-whitening eruption of some of the most vital and original indie rock you will ever hear, local or otherwise. The shit is truly harrowing: Grbac and Mascorella hammer and saw at their strings ferociously as their voices pour out of them like smoke from a house on fire. Just listen to "A Little Bit of Arson Never Hurt Anyone," in which chill, slicing riffs and bleak melodies propel menacingly sung lines like "I've got people to see and places that I need to burn down/ Secrets that I need to burn out of my head/And I know a kiss on the cheek will not take care of anything/But you better give it to me anyway, dear." They might as well be drawing their bows across your spinal cord. It's a stretch to compare Matson Jones to anyone: PJ Harvey in spirit and atmosphere, perhaps, and Rasputina only in choice of instrumentation. These four kids from Fort Collins have truly stumbled onto something pure, singular and devastatingly visceral. They can remain in their seats all they want, but there's no way the world will be sitting still once it gets ahold of Matson Jones.