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Biting Your Ear Until You Bleed: Tricot’s “G.N.S”


Describing music as “sexy” can often be a critical gambit, the sort of adjective that can project the wrong message if deployed without caution. A lot of times, “sexy” turns into shorthand for “look how hot the members of this particular musical outfit are,” which isn’t how anyone should be writing about music – good bands are good because they create great art, not because you wish you could invite them out for drinks. On a less distressing level, “sexy” means different things to everyone – we all have our own personal kinks, so what might sound “sexy” to one person (80’s synth jams) may not turn someone else on (post-dubstep vocal slice-and-dice).

I find Tricot’s “G.N.S” to be sexy, and my assertion leans closer to the latter pitfall of “sexy” because Tricot play math-rock, and holy shit math isn’t particularly sexy (though, if you find it arousing, great for you!). The actual music of “G.N.S” sounds more like precise factory equipment than the messy world of the bedroom, all sharp guitars and conveyor-belt drumming. Yet oh my goodness the singing. The lead singer practically whispers the verses, each new line being dabbed in an echo effect that reminds me of someone whispering into your ear. It is, to some degree, out of place against the precise music around it, but the breath-on-neck delivery turn Tricot from typical math-rock to something inviting and a little mysterious. It’s not all breathy – the lead singer shouts in the track’s final stretch, and that sudden eruption (heh) is sexy in its own way. Math-rock made intimate.