Big Quiet

Marisa Cerio Chris Matheson Peter Smith As with a lot of great bands, when you really listen to Big Quiet, you understand the depth of its attendant members’ music fanship. These three know their source material, whether it’s Athens, GA in 1982, Scotland in 1988, or New York right now. The Brooklyn trio's knowledge of jangle rock and post-punk history is real, and they’ll talk your ear off about it if you ever ask. But what Big Quiet plays isn’t just some kind of stoic record-collector rock. In a live setting, you’re struck by their sheer viscerality and volume. Marisa Cerio’s Rickenbacker can scorch faces, dousing her rapid-fire strumming in treble and reverb. She belts out a song so emphatically; you’d think she’s trying to sing to the next room over. Chris Matheson’s steady, propulsive bass erupts in a gnarl at just the moments. Stephen Perry’s drum beats are all manic, percolating, tom-thumping bounce. You don’t take bathroom breaks during Big Quiet’s set. They’ll be onto the next song and the next idea before you get back. Big Quiet’s debut, self titled full-length takes the melodic, post-punk power-trio impact of the band’s live set and expands into a rewarding “headphone experience.” Aided by legendary producer Mitch Easter (R.E.M., Let’s Active, Pavement, Ex Hex, The dBs) the band folded into the record some subtle but compelling flourishes, extra layers of vocal and instrumental melody and harmony. In the context of the record, Big Quiet’s pop chops are clear — the sound is ever so slightly sweetened