[popmatters.com] Here Holy Spain is rooted in Dallas’s oft-neglected music scene, but its punk grunt, sonic savviness, and gut-level rock ’n roll nuances explode well beyond the death zone of John F. Kennedy. Although irreverent neighbors like Reverend Horton Heat and the Toadies call North Texas a home, the megalopolis remains aloof in the American pop music consciousness compared to its southern sister Austin, which seems to ooze with reporters chasing the next trendsetters.
Up-close and face first, Here Holy Spain is a consummate power trio whose heavy combative licks feel more like the 1990s than today’s era of Cee-Lo and Arcade Fire. As such, the tough vein it probes is akin to the stoner rock of Nebula and Fu Manchu, with screamo [ed note: screamo?? are we listening to the same band?!?!] edges for added potency, and moody, atmospheric rhythmic roiling too, such as the slowdowns on “Names” from its latest album Division.
Still, the group avoid minefields that might stem from its style: it avoids warp speed and amphetamine angst; it refrains from stuttering metallic mosh pit hamminess; and it doesn’t fly the flag of ornery hell-raising with a Southern backbone. The band is more methodical, balanced, and tuneful, able to wield rhythmic curves and deafening sonic blasts in equally controlled measures, as “Waiting, Wearing Your Skin” evinces.
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