Be My Battery
Nate Palan, (The Kissers, Lola and the Knockers) and Jay Iverson, have coalesced to create a wall of sound. With a bass string on his guitar, Nate maintains the low bass lines while layering it with the highs. Jay's tight syncopation has only added to what's already being called 'promising' and 'new.' Check out the Be My Battery review below... Energetic, gruff and endearing - like the Incredible Hulk sitting in a child's chair eating corn flakes - Electric Automatic have created a live show packed with more spastic energy than most four piece bands. At the live show, both Nate and Jay spend little time on the floor. Nate flies through the air in reminiscent flight patterns of Pete Townsend; Jay gingerly balances on pieces of his kit while keeping time. Their live show is a must see - and those of you in the Upper Midwest be on the lookout for an upcoming tour (Autumn 2002). CD Review Electric AutomaticBe My BatteryCrustacean Thanks to the White Stripes, the two-member rock band isn't an oddity anymore. It's a significant selling point. But Madison-based Electric Automatic haven't gone the duo route just to be trendy. They sound nothing like the male/female phenoms from the Motor City; in fact, with plenty of bass rounding out the bottom on Be My Battery, they come across as a full but fragile pop-rock band. And that's a good thing, since Nathan Palans' chiming, boyish voice and appealingly unadorned guitar work often require more than Jay Iverson's drumming to coalesce into ear-catching pop tunes.Judging from the lead track, the crescendoing rockist complaint 'Radio Station,' it would be easy to peg these fine young fellows as another in the long parade of breathless, post-Superchunk guitar bands. But they have a talent for making simplicity a virtue, evident in low-fi fare like 'Shot at the Gold,' the exceptionally accessible 'Califonia Driver' [sic] and other economical sketches of an ordinary life filled out with dreams, disappointments and a commitment to keep on keeping on. Here's hoping some digitally obsessed producer never gets ahold of them. Reviewed by Tom Laskin, The Isthmus.