By: Liz Levine
Rating:8 /11

The Art of Shooting pull their generally shoegazy tendencies through filters of girly innocence and hard rock. The tracks on their first full-length album, Traveling Show (unsigned, due out April 2010) swoon and swirl with noisy guitars and an enveloping haze, but in that sea they’ve always got a handy life preserver tight around their waists. Their potentially contrasting styles make for compelling shifts in mood that work well, largely due to the strength of singer and main songwriter Kelly Irene Corson. She embodies the startling innocence of a young person who screams of empowerment but is shivering inside, all while employing layering techniques that add a sense of universality at the most crucial moments.

But mainly, Corson is a powerhouse, delivering yelps that recall the likes of Rainer Maria or Sleater-Kinney, and certainly embodying that energy. The wash of guitar noise accompanying her produces a softer effect than the aforementioned groups, a disorienting atmosphere rather than straight-up rebel rock. The percussion is straight and strong, driving the songs through their emotional highs and lows while finding room for flourishes even of the arena-rock kind. Though Corson is upfront, most especially because her already commanding vocals turn out to be quite personal lyrically, the other members Jim Archer, Julie Rozansky, and Gavin Dunaway are no mere background.

“It Goes (Home),” a nice survey of TAOS’s sound, begins with an adorable do-wop vocal line that soon becomes a gentle initial performance by Corson. As the track moves along, extra layers come in as other characters, adding emotions alternate to the one initially established. While the guitars buzz around angrily or clatter in an almost indistinguishable pattern, the combination of strength and confusion is driven home. The kicker, though, is when this all dissipates and some acoustic strums come in among the readoption of the opening vocal line — the roller coater takes charge without ever turning one’s stomach.

“No One Two” beings slow and teasing, as if it were going to be the ballad, though the guitars are too sinister for such a thing to actually occur. A prominent maraca shakes over a dreamscape that stews along intoxicatingly with a short and pleasing melody until it becomes clear that everything will explode. And it does so with an energy that suggests this band would be great to see live, all glittery jam with feedback galore and crashing drums. Corson reaches skyward for a couple of lines before settling back into the song’s initial lullaby. A mostly trustworthy narrator with a dark side not to be ignored, it’s unclear whether she should be pitied, trusted, or feared. But she should definitely be listened to.