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Four vets of the Chicago outsider-rock scene do not quite a supergroup make, but when the band includes two guys from U.S. Maple, whose output features some of the most deeply alien takes on punk ever, you pay attention. Like Maple, Singer tie minimalist songs into Gordian knots: Clean guitars stab and moan, while drums skate around the rhythm, rather than hammer it home. Unlike Maple, all four dudes harmonize like drunken karaoke addicts. It's got a good beat now and then, but dancing to it would require existing in several extra dimensions.

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