And while it's possibly as straightforward as Mi Ami's ever been, 'Native Americans (Born in the U.S.A.)' isn't an easy read, either: They march through six verses, pausing after each to restate a cooing hook or for Martin-McCormick to grind his guitar through the beat. Lined with Whitney Houston, Twitter, and white-guilt jokes, 'Latin Lover' suggests the Fall finally looking good on the dance floor. On 'Secrets', above a squealing guitar and a gut-punch bass, Martin-McCormick speaks volumes on bad drugs, guilty lust, and vacuous relationships, letting it all go in a curdling, 15-second scream that has the same effect as a sudden burst of harsh noise. Constant motion keeps the songs exciting, while the sense that there's always another layer you've yet to grasp is what recharges attention. That's how the best of Steal Your Face works, by cramming every second with as many sounds and ideas as the trio can manage. It's as if Martin-McCormick is trying to find himself among the hot mess.

'My body is so fucked, man, I just gotta move,' he sings, while, appropriately, the band buries his words. Singer Daniel Martin-McCormick stammers semi-intelligibly above a throbbing tom-tom beat (a pretty incredible music joke, given the title) and a rusty guitar riff that splits the difference between post-punk, post-rock, and stoner metal. Mi Ami rips from the gates on opener 'Harmonics (Genius of Love)', for instance. Keep at it though: Steal Your Face is the sort of frantic, busy album that hides its hooks among fits of guitar savagery, dub textures, and ricocheting rhythms- but only for so long.

Grateful dead space your face album