Their name has the familiar scent of post-punk poseurs, but New York’s Giraffes aren’t post-punk, or post- anything else — they’re fervently mid-metal. All that genre’s inimitable pleasures appear on the Giraffes’ self-titled debut LP: apocalyptic distorted guitar riffs, vicious drum rages, and voice-of-God (or, more likely, Satan) vocals.
After releasing two self-produced albums recorded in a limited home studio, the Giraffes brought their apocalyptic distortion and vicious drums to Brooklyn’s Studio G, where engineer Joel Hamilton channeled their Misfits-beat-up-Sabbath rage. If it’s all a bit simple, loud and filthy for Bloc Party-conditioned palates, so much the better. The Giraffes are a stink bomb tossed into the self-serious morass of downtown rock.