Pitchfork

The self-titled debut by L.A. quartet HEALTH begins deceptively, opening in complete silence. In fact, the first half-minute would be entirely blank if not for the slow approach of a lone, distant whirr. But once the band announces itself with a huge, reverberating crash, the album rarely returns to such quietude. Sprinting through eleven tracks of orchestrated chaos in a breathless half-hour, HEALTH mixes the bombastic pound of Boredoms, the skewed structures of Deerhoof, the tribal thump of Liars, and even the synth squirts of Black Dice and Excepter.

What keeps HEALTH from being an unqualified success is that the group evokes all of the above reference points a little too closely. That's especially true in regards to the Boredoms and Liars. HEALTH's penchant for dramatic percussion, cresting noise, and ghostly vocals make some tracks sound like those two groups dueling loudly in an empty, cavernous amphitheater. On "Courtship", Eye-worthy screams melt into Angus Andrew-like moans over trance-inducing drums, while "//M\" starts with symphonic blasts before drifting into ethereal chants, then slamming back into cacophonous percussion.

But being able to call to mind such stellar groups, and, more importantly, do them justice, are not exactly easy tricks. Besides, HEALTH execute their noisy rants and sharp stomps with such precision that even their most generic tracks are impressive. Despite all the in-your-face clatter, the group also excels at small accents and mild surprises: take the chiming guitar chords in the middle of "Crimewave", the robotic noise at the end of "Tabloid Sores", the grainy textures inside the melting breakdown of "Zoothorns". While none of those sounds shock given what's come before, each deviates just enough from the other, as the band finds tiny variations inside steadfast repetition.

HEALTH's sound starts to slip interestingly off its hard-earned course during the album's last three tracks. "Glitter Pills" is a stoic dance piece with canned drums and handclaps, like a sleep-walking version of recent Black Dice, while "Perfect Skin" and "Lost Time" are both slow, hypnotized marches. Here, HEALTH sticks to simple, unvarying rhythmic lurches beneath sky-reaching vocals that suggest Animal Collective at 16rpm. As earlier in the album, the reference points here are clear, and HEALTH at times meld them into their own wholly singular work.