If the White Stripes' stripped-down bar rock represents the greasy underbelly of the Motor City, then Detroit art-punks Tyvek (who are sometimes known as Tyvjk) are a rusted-ass Ford truck limping along blissfully on fumes with a flat tire. Some would call it post-punk, but Tyvek sounds almost prehistoric. Guitars pound along primitively like cavemen who just discovered distortion pedals, drums and cymbals are struck with the accuracy of a six-year-old playing darts, and vocals are half-sung with a sunglass-wearing apathy so intense that it makes Joey Ramone look excited. It all comes off like the Velvet Underground and Sonic Youth getting wasted on hobo wine and covering "I Wanna Be Your Dog" all night long.
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