Xiu Xiu's Xiu Motha Fuckin' Xiu: Vol 1 is a Lynchian fever dream

The record functions as a body of work rooted in reinterpretation and reverence, drawing from both the classic and obscure. Its scope spans from Roy Orbison’s romantic and haunting, “In Dreams” to the proto-industrial dread of Throbbing Gristle’s “Handburger Lady”. Xiu Xiu, composed of founder Jamie Stewart, alongside Angelo Seo and David Kendrick, take their name from the Chinese Drama by Joan Chen, Xiu Xiu: The Sent Down Girl. The band engages with these covers, mapping landscapes and warping them through a soured, tessellating lens that borders on the chaotic and surreal.

This Lynchian devotion isn’t merely aesthetic. The band once staged a tribute concert to the unsettling chef d’oeuvre Eraserhead, described as “an art installation and an epitaph to an idol.” In many ways, this record, along with much of their extensive catalog (16 studio albums and 20 in total), stands as a testament to the admiration they have for artists and musicians who came before them.

When it comes an album that is, in toto, comprised of covers, the question becomes how best to approach it. Does one judge it by how faithfully it adheres to the core elements of the original, or by its ability to transform those elements into something new? Is it about rawness, fidelity to the band’s own sound, experimentation, or simply how compelling it is to listen to?

Ultimately, the answer lies in whether the work creates something new, how it makes the listener feel, and how it engages with the original material in a way that both honors it and plays to the covering band’s strengths. After 23 years of making music, Xiu Xiu have earned the right to make covers and have the collection be its own body of work. The effect is akin to taking a familiar painting, cutting it into pieces, and reassembling it into something abstract yet recognizable, equally new and deeply familiar.

Sonically, the album is expansive, moving across a wide range of sonic landscapes while folding together an array of contrasting elements. Much of the material consists of retro and classic songs reinterpreted through a heavy, analogue lens, adding depth and distance to once straightforward recordings. “I Put a Spell on You” rages with electric guitar channeled through a tube amp, injecting chaos, and decorating tradition with modernity. “Psycho Killer” opens with hectoring, clangorous banging, its corporeal center thick with layered production and saturation.

Moving fluidly between retro and futuristic sounds, Xiu Xiu approaches each track in a distinct way, transforming 80s electronic sounds into modern electronic or even techno (“Sex Dwarf”), and reintroducing older songs to a modern age in a modern way. Alongside digital production, they also incorporate classical elements such as trumpets, cellos, and xylophones, notably on “Some Things Last a Long Time”. Jamie Stewart was moved to tears when recording this track, and of the original songwriter, Daniel Johnston, Stewart said, “If there ever were a sincere and wounded voice in the world, it is his.” Famously covered also by the likes of Sharon Von Etten and Beach House, a tender and eternal song is brought to life in new shades in Xiu Motha Fuckin’ Xiu: Vol. 1.

Across much of Xiu Xiu’s discography, they characteristically infuse an element of horror to their music. One of their greatest strengths lies in their ability to disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed. On this album, that impulse is especially present in “Hamburger Lady”, a song with a sinister background. The terror at its core is rooted in the gruesome nightmares of the body; horrors very much of our world but reeling beyond our immediate comprehension - no chthonic spectors or demons, just the awful reality of the range of human suffering.

“Hamburger Lady” is terrifying and deeply uneasy; it calls to mind a Ken Currie painting, taunting, haunting, and stomach-churning. Childlike screaming that bubbles up from empty depths, undergirded by claustrophobic sci-fi tinged retro droning, and buzzing. It feels like an experimental amalgamation leaning heavily towards the sonic language of horror films from the 1960s and 1970s.

Notoriously, Xiu Xiu never tether themselves to a single sound or genre. Instead, they move fluidly between styles, tools, instruments, and modes of production across decades, consistently creating work that remains compelling and precise. The result is music that feels dreamlike and at times, feverishly nightmarish, occupying multiple emotional and sonic spaces at once. Xiu Motha Fuckin’ Xiu: Vol. 1 is uncompromising and unsparing, driven by a kind of manic clarity that refuses prediction.