Davila 666 is Puerto Rico's answer to the Black Lips and my answer to the question: When will a new band seriously brainwash me on its music? Since picking up Davila's debut disc, I've refused to put it back down. These delirious rockers possess their Atlanta brethren's ability to come off like crazy little shits who'd ace rock history quizzes. On their U.S. debut, these triple-sixers filter three decades of scuffed-up leather jackets through the Spanish-language translator. Disparate patches of Radio Birdman, the Dead Boys, and rudimentary jangle pop are all threaded onto the album, the charms of which are multiplied by the fact that Davila 666 sounds like it was recorded live at a basement birthday party.
"El Lobo" kicks off the dance pit with band-wide hootin' and howlin', pushing the energy level immediately into the red. Unless you speak Spanish, the meanings behind the gang-chorus vocals to this and every other song get lost, but the universal language spoken here is that of hook-gouged, wild-eyed garage rock 'n' roll. "Bla Bla Bla" gets pop good and sloshed, dragging out sloppy "La la la" lines until they collide with so many "Wuh-hoo!"s. But these guys know better than to blow their wattage every time. "Tu" starts with plinking xylophone melodies, the vocals calming into a hush befitting a young punk grown smitten. But lest that makeout session last too long, the band offers its next rave up four minutes later with the sexy, bass-heavy "Oh Baby." It all goes to show that these Puerto Ricans are your best bet to get the party shakin', stirred, and – particularly on the excellent "Callejon" — ready to explode.