DRILL meets at the juncture of punk, post-punk, no-wave, and pop. As a result, DRILL nest sweetly in the crook of an arm that reaches towards you and beckons: Press play. Think of punks who wear Sambas, not spikes. DRILL's onomatopoeic synth sounds weave around drums that nod as zealously to hardcore as they do bachata. Nina Ryser's bass slices through the crunch with buttery astuteness. Together, they make up a short-lived flash in the pan they like to call DRILL. Time flies when you're having none! DRILL'S first and last LP, Permanent, listens like a many-sided die. The intrepid trio wired in eight songs, recorded live in two days by Lucas Knapp out of a basement in Philly. It seems the band took that one Pink Floyd song to heart - instead of fading away, they're slamming a resignation notice on your desk and promptly setting fire to the building. With Permanent, DRILL has issued a decisively freaky last missive that pans from artful noise pop to dialed-in hardcore punk. No matter which number you land on, any roll of the die takes you on a different musical path. DRILL's last hurrah is one you can listen to repeatedly. Eggs for Now is a sad pop song wrapped up in a spiky synthy bow, replete with an introspective lilting bass melody that weaves throughout the song. Then there's Pipsqueak, set in the Brooklyn blackout of 2005 - a jaunty tune that is a game of hide and seek and hide again. Ryser's vocals add a perfect fifth layer and, much like her basslines, tie the whole thing together with effortless finesse. Though the album is titled Permanent, everything about it is about a series of goodbyes. Ultimately, even the insert instructs you not to be too precious with it: it contains instructions that direct you to fold the insert into a boat and sail it away. Cheeky as always, the band says goodbye in the only way they know how - the last line reads: Remember: Nothing is permanent.
