Hella

Just as any accomplishment is more satisfying when a good amount of hard work went into achieving it, The Devil Isn’t Red, and all Hella for that matter, comes across as a healthy reward for listening so intently. One drummer, one guitarist, one million intricacies — it’s impossible to take this in without devoting your whole attention to each curve and bend in rhythm. Through the huge ruckus of sometimes clean, sometimes fuzzy sound (never noise), the brief gasp of melody peeks through in repetitive acts of tempt-tempt-give. You can’t help but imagine the duo as engaged in a game of some sort — one moment it’s chess, the next it’s catch. Either way, it’s well choreographed and more than a little entrancing. As the controlled spasm of a few properly handled instruments, The Devil Isn’t Red is both physically exhausting and emotionally charging to listen to. Zach Hill and Spenser Seim maintain their crown-donning status in the complicated math-y instro-rock genre and let right loose, their mock sense of disarray built upon the tightest foundation of meticulous precision.