In the ever-shifting landscape of experimental music, Xiu Xiu has long functioned as a prism, refracting the familiar into jagged, unrecognizable shapes that nonetheless pulse with a raw, human heart. With the release of ‘Xiu Mutha Fuckin’ Xiu: Vol. 1,’ Jamie Stewart and Angela Seo move beyond the traditional boundaries of a cover album, transforming a decade-spanning collection of influential songs into a singular, unified exorcism. Recorded between the clinical intimacy of Nurse in Los Angeles and Krankenschwester in Berlin, this collection functions as an archive of the band’s most visceral obsessions, curated through a subscription series that has finally been bound into a cohesive, staggering narrative.
The album begins with a deconstruction of “Psycho Killer” (Talking Heads) that strips away the jittery New Wave charm of the original, replacing it with a suffocating atmosphere that feels more akin to a psychological breakdown than a dance floor hit. This sense of mechanical dread continues through “Warm Leatherette” (The Normal / Grace Jones), where the industrial edge is heightened by the clashing textures of synths and drum machines. It is here that the collaborative spirit of the record becomes most evident. The inclusion of jazz luminaries like Tim Berne on alto saxophone and Mary Halverson on guitar provides a chaotic, avant-garde scaffolding that elevates the tracks from mere interpretations to complete structural overhauls.
One of the most striking moments arrives with “I Put A Spell On You,” a song so deeply associated with Nina Simone and Screamin’ Jay Hawkins that it demands a total abandonment of ego to approach. Xiu Xiu delivers a version that feels less like a blues standard and more like a ritualistic summoning. This leads seamlessly into “Hamburger Lady,” a terrifying homage to Throbbing Gristle that pushes the listener into a space of profound discomfort. Stewart’s vocal performance throughout these tracks is an exercise in vulnerability, moving from a desperate whisper to a frantic, piercing howl that finds a perfect counterpoint in the measured, icy synths and percussion provided by Seo.
The middle of the record explores the intersection of pop nostalgia and surrealist nightmare. “In Dreams” takes the cinematic yearning of Roy Orbison and drags it through a landscape of static and distortion, while “Sex Dwarf” (Soft Cell) leans into a claustrophobic, sleazy electronics-driven energy that feels both dangerous and seductive. The juxtaposition of these tracks with a cover of Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own” is a masterstroke of sequencing. What was once a high-energy anthem of isolation is re-contextualized by Xiu Xiu as a haunting, hollowed-out soliloquy, emphasizing the inherent tragedy of the lyrics.
The technical proficiency of the supporting musicians allows the record to veer into aggressive, free-jazz territory without losing its rhythmic spine. This Heat’s “SPQR” benefits immensely from the percussive interplay between David Kendrick and Ches Smith, creating a relentless, martial drive that is punctuated by the soaring, discordant tenor saxophone of Tony Malaby. Even the most sexually explicit or modern selections, such as “Lick or Sum” (GloRilla), are treated with the same intellectual rigor as the classics. The band finds a shared DNA between disparate eras, suggesting that the impulse to create (and to destroy), remains constant.
As the album reaches its final stretch, the tone shifts toward a bruised, quiet intensity. “Some Things Last a Long Time” captures the fragile beauty of Daniel Johnston’s songwriting, stripped down to a skeletal piano and a voice that sounds as though it might crack at any moment. This vulnerability is expanded upon in “Triple Sun” (Coil), where Fabrizio Modonese Palumbo’s viola and Houda Zakeri’s backing vocals add a layer of elegiac grace. The collection finally culminates in a riotous, distorted take on The Runaways’ “Cherry Bomb,” ending the journey with a defiant burst of noise that feels like a reclamation of youth and rebellion.
Mastered with a keen ear for dynamic range by Alan Douches, the album retains a physical quality that highlights the unique timber of every instrument. ‘Xiu Mutha Fuckin’ Xiu: Vol. 1’ is not a simple collection of curiosities; it is a profound exploration of the art of listening. By dismantling these songs and rebuilding them within their own fractured aesthetic, Xiu Xiu proves that to truly honor an artist is to engage with their work as a living, breathing, and occasionally terrifying thing.
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