| Rating |
Summary |
|
| 5 by Rolling Stone |
Art-funk students non-pareil, this cool and collected Brooklyn band uses guitars like proper rhythm instruments, meshed best (as on "My Two Nads") with penetrating drums, space synths and a dash of st... |
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| n/a by www.dustedmagazine.com |
An instant classic. Few records contemplate such grandeur and fewer still achieve it. |
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| n/a by www.adequacy.net |
Simply put, you need to own this record. |
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| n/a by Pitchfork Media |
Out Hud also back up their flash with remarkable substance, setting their music apart from anything as one-dimensional as standard club offerings or moody trance cuts. |
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| n/a by Billboard |
With such a variety of moods and sounds, "S.T.R.E.E.T. D.A.D." turns out to be the rarest of albums: able to make you think but more interested in making you dance. |
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| n/a by www.stylusmagazine.com |
Has a laid-back, gleeful quality to it, one that gives the listener the sense that its musicians are making things up as they go along, unable to hide their excitement at the fact that it all sounds so unexpectedly awesome. |
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| n/a by www.theonionavclub.com |
Out Hud's scaled-back sonic template doesn't always necessitate its lack of vocals, but at its best, S.T.R.E.E.T. D.A.D. whispers toward a worthy future rather than shouting down the past. |
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| n/a by Popmatters |
It sounds hard to imagine these influences joining harmoniously, but they do. |
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| n/a by www.nudeasthenews.com |
Although some aspects of the group's live show threaten to turn the entire thing into an ironic joke, the excellent music here betrays no such mixed messages. |
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| n/a by www.almostcool.org |
Street Dad is one of the coolest, most fun releases that I've heard in quite awhile. |
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| n/a by www.villagevoice.com |
Had little, lyric-less Out Hud arrived in 1993, their recombinant shoogity-oogity would have eliminated the need for a Tortoise, and I never would've had to pretend Iannis Xenakis was "interesting" or take that junket to Nobukazu Takamura's ostrich farm. |
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| n/a by www.splendidezine.com |
It's a languid and elaborate affair -- a throbbing amalgamation of wiry, Au Pairsian art-funk, steely Gang of Four resolve and Cabaret Voltaire-inflected industrial howl. |
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| n/a by Junkmedia |
When the compositions behind the words are as dull and lifeless as the album's core ("This Bum's Paid" and "Hair Dude, You're Stepping on my Mystique") the results are utterly disastrous, relying too heavily on tried dissonance over unimpressively staid tempos. |
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