The last time Bradford Cox came to Minneapolis, he took a heckler's catcalling request for "My Sharona" as an invitation to play the song on repeat for almost an hour. When Cox wants to get in your face, he has a knack for finding the shortest distance between wherever he's standing and that little space one inch from your nose. That sort of stubborn antagonism plays into his band's records, too — Deerhunter refuses subgenre labels. They play rock 'n' roll, and lately, they're toying with a broken pop sensibility that lasciviously rubs up against noise. They'll change again. They'll probably change tomorrow. Seeing them live each time is seeing them in a fascinating new incarnation before they molt and grow a new skin. But they'll always have their middle finger up, and it will always be pointed at you. With Marnie... More >>>