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Preview: No Age

Noah Bonaparte Pais on the band coming to the Big Top Sept. 1



In an Internet age fueled by monetization and barreling toward homogenization, No Age is a truly singular crossover: an object of intense affection from L.A. skate-park kids and The New Yorker; a Sub Pop bonus baby that redirects tours and downsizes venues, protecting all-ages access at all costs. And, oh yeah, a skinned-knees punk band with a Solid Gold heart. Even Weirdo Rippers, the duo's 2007 compilation of early singles, de facto debut and blood/sweat/tears consomme, has at its boiling core an animalistic pop instinct just clawing to get out: including the spring-loaded bass line that propels "Every Artist Needs a Tragedy," the woodchipper guitar and 2-by-4 doo-whomp on "Everybody's Down," the desiccated tropicalia of "Neck Escaper." Mid-major stepchildren Nouns (2008) and Everything in Between (2010) dangle their respective lead singles and second tracks, "Eraser" and "Glitter," as hooks baited with irresistible chum (jingling bells, heartbeat drums, backward loops, deluging feedback). August release An Object shows that a band can be at once less obvious and more accessible, its toe-curling outbursts released into the wild, its spiky choruses pressed flat. "There is no here, and there is nowhere," singer/drummer Dean Spunt sings on closer "Commerce, Comment, Commence," whose swirls of ambient noise open up like a ravenous sinkhole, building to the biggest crescendo on the album. Spoken like a true nihilist. Bitch Face opens. Tickets $15 ($5 with DIY punch card). — Noah Bonaparte Pais

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