I have a confession: I’m a fan of Child Abuse. A big one. The Brooklyn band has only released a few limited seven-inches/splits and this self-titled album, so I might even say we need more Child Abuse. Every bit as repugnant and filthy as its namesake societal ill, Child Abuse shuns melodies and choruses and pleasantness and lyrics about love ‘n stuff and vocalists that actually sing notes. In fact, the band sorta shuns music itself, replacing chords with harsh keyboard and bass fuzz, rhythms with repetitive mechano-death drum battering, proper singing with Luke Calzonetti’s freakish, unhinged Tasmanian devil growl. And despite the album’s extreme degeneracy, Calzonetti and his bandmates have a hell of a good time destroying music. Child Abuse is a wacky troop of noise-rock anarchists, setting off stink bombs underneath the upturned noses of pretentious experimentalists like Black Dice and Wolf Eyes. To quote one of the band’s song titles, Child Abuse pursues its very own “violent utopia.” Who ever thought that Child Abuse could make the world a better place?