The first thing you should know is that the album is loud. It’s won the so-called loudness wars so convincingly that it seems a little uncouth to ever mention the word “quiet” again—quiet has been soundly defeated and its heart is cooling on a coroner’s scale. Treats sounds like music made to piss off your parents, if you lived with your parents. And in these economic times, you might, so there you go. Put another way, much of the album is like the chorus of “Debaser” and “La La Love You” mashed together (and all the mixing board’s knobs set to “Fuck You”). It’s a contemporary update to the Loveless formula: indiscernible lyrics + a wall of guitar sound = Awesome. In some ways it’s hard not to namecheck bands because what Sleigh Bells has done is to succeed where so many other bands try and fail. They’re Ratatat if the guys could put down the Nintendo controllers and go get girlfriends. They’re Marnie Stern with mass appeal. They’re Merzbow with a sense of (or concern for) fucking melody. And even though it sounds like an insult, I’m tempted to say that they’re Jock Jams for the kickball set.