Somewhere along the way, rock n' roll lost its edge and humor to a tawdry compromise with commercial success and the tired hackery that goes along with the trumping of "the next big thing." Ever since the world has bathed in the hyperbole of bad promotion when a bucket of shit to the face would've been just as sufficient. Rock is dead and Chuck Eddy killed it. But for a moment, let's consider Brooklyn's own, The Giraffes.

The Giraffes don't need hyperbole. They are here to play music as loud, as nasty and unapologetically rock as they can. See them live and feel free to throw things at them while they play for their just as apt to throw it back at you and make you deaf in the bargain. Yeah, they are serious musicians, talented and dedicated too, but let your ears testify to that.

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The Giraffes self-titled release on Razor & Tie flows song to song with intensity and tons of balls. If you hate it, then go enjoy John Mayer and make sure to give him a reach around. This is a rock album, a well executed, no bullshit piece of rock music to be blasted as loud as possible. The album was written and self-produced by the Giraffes in the fall of 2004, with Joel Hamilton of Brooklyn's Studio G providing the engineering mastery.

The Giraffes were formed in the late Nineties by Damien Paris (guitar) and Andrew Totolos (drums); the present lineup coalesced in the summer of 2002 with the addition of John Rosenthal (bass) and Aaron Lazar (vocals). Prior to their affiliation with Razor & Tie, the band released two albums (including Helping You Help Yourself) and an EP (A Gentleman Never Tells)—mostly recorded in their own homemade studio, under a Hasidic dry cleaning shop. As they are soon to be evicted! , please by the new album. And if you care to know more just ask.

Blazing guitar riffs, thick low end, and highly imaginative rhythmic structures make up the foundation of this stoner rock outfit from Madison, WI. Brandishing a full bodied tone and a taut signature style that slices through the sterile ceiling fan churn of our modern day Line 6 heroes like a kershaw through the warm neck flesh of a thousand infidels, the Droid's approach suggests a more natural progression between Black Sabbath and Tool, and their throw down approach to the stage has consistently lead the most scowling of metal heads to the front row beaming with delight. It is fun to have your ass kicked this good.

Shattered & heavily-treated guitars pound into focus by a primal assault of beats and shifted tempos. A vocal delivery, honest to its bloody, shredded core, forces the attention of listeners. Not a moment of pause prevails; an improvised journey from one song structure to the next weaves incessantly throughout the live performance.

These are just some of the elements that comprise the Brooklyn-based "freak-out, fucked-up" experimental duo CINEMA CINEMA.