VON IVA - VON IVA

Whoa! Am I crying? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was. I was half-expecting Von Iva to sound like some clichéd, overplayed, bringin\'-back-the-Eighties new wave pop act. Instead, I got my dick kicked in by their sheer rockness. And oh, what a funky, sexy rockness it is.
Von Iva’s self-titled surprise-the-hell-out-of-me album is six tracks of hot electric sex so raw and gritty, you’ll feel like the unassuming prey of a knuckle sandwich-serving predator.
The album kicks off with vocalist Jillian Iva singing through an effect of some sort, sounding her PJ Harviest (\"Same Sad Song\"), minus the severe trying of my patience that PJ Harvey usually brings. The band behind her introduces themselves with some slight tempo changes and altering volume attacks. A tambourine shows up with some violent clapping, then-- BOOM!-- they’re rocking the gnarly, keyboarded fuck out of you.
The rest of the songs continue to steamroll over you, smashing your ever-loving ears into the rock \'n\' roll concrete. Iva’s voice abandons that PJ Harvey thing right away, giving you a bluesy, whiskey-throated songbird sound instead-- if a fiery phoenix qualifies as a songbird. Sometimes, they get a little disco-bouncy (\"Feel It!\"), sometimes they get a whole lot of bump-and-grindy (\"Soulshaker\"-- my easy favorite). Through it all, though, this Cobra Kai quartet shows no mercy on your Daniel-san ass.
My loving Von Iva like I do might come as a surprise to those of you who know my tastes, but true awesomeness can’t be denied. And if you value your life, you’ll buy a copy of the record, turn your stereo up louder than it can go, and let your ears be fondled by their unbridled dance-floor fury.