Holdypaws should sound creepily familiar to anyone who's ever been the victim of playground violence. Perhaps these songs were light, airy, happy melodies once; now, however, they've been flayed down to their barest components, outlining a stark juxtaposition of childlike innocence and abrupt sonic brutality. Singer Satomi delivers lyrics in a simple, offhand manner -- and in true schoolchild style, she often pays more attention to getting the words out than to meeting the exact requirements of the tune. Backing Satomi is Kelly, who squeezes skeletal, lowest-common-denominator analog melodies from her squelchy, anemic keyboard. Countering the ladies in a sudden and vicious manner are Rob on guitar, stabbing and slicing in a brutal-yet-economical Psycho style, and Greg behind the drums, which receive a damn-near-fatal battering on each of these ten tracks. Each song creates a gentle, deliberate melody, then pins it down and proceeds with an enthusiastic, if imprecise, dissection. You'll never be entirely sure whether to love a song's melody or fear its dark side. Don't miss the understated "The Moose's Daughter", the deliciously raw-and-sugary "Crow" or the fascinating interplay of "The Great Car Tomb" -- for that matter, try not to miss a second of Holdypaws' fascinating approach.