Dead Space

***Who amongst us hasn’t pondered how good Joy Division might’ve been had they been recorded by Spot (NOT SPOT LONG OF TRAILER SPACE, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?) instead of Martin Hannett? Don’t all raise your hands at once. OK, maybe I’m the only one that’s woken up in the middle of the night grappling with that particular “what if?” But I’ll bet I’m not not nearly the only person that’s about to be poleaxed by THE DEAD SPACE’’s long-awaited debut album, Faker. The trio of bassist/vocalist QUIN GALAVIS, guitarist GARRETT HADDEN and drummer JENNY ARTHUR have been honing their craft in Austin, TX since high school, but after a 7” on Hadden’s excellent Thread Pull label (Flesh Lights, Foreign Mothers), a song on the second Casual Victim Pile comp. (12XU, 2012) the moment is long overdue for The Dead Space to put-it-all-together. And that’s exactly what they’ve done—this is a band whose blend of tension, fragility and genuine muscle—certainly in the spirit of avowed influences like Joy Division, Bauhaus and Swans without being remotely copyist—has never been nearly this confident or incandescent. We’re a couple of years past The Dead Space making the good-to-great leap ; at present, they’re in the middle of that awkward period I like to call the “How Have You Assholes Slept On This Amazing Band?” Stage. And while the recent notoriety of their other projects might elevate The Dead Space’s profile a tad (ie. Galavis’ beautiful solo works or the heavier jams laid down with Nazi Gold, Hadden’s recent participation in Ghetto Ghouls), Faker’ Is The Real Deal. Like Evander Holyfield. Don’t be a fucking Charley Steiner.