BioAtivin is a three piece, at once sparse and looming, terrifying and palliative. Moody and gusting, scarecrows in the desert pulled off their pine poles and hurled into the wind. The sounds are familiar; they taste of something you've eaten, in a dream or at the end of a bender where you've lost all your money and all of your friends and smile triumphantly as your head hits the hardwoods. The sturdiness of their Midwest stock is blatant and unforgiving, hopelessly mechanical hunks of the reddest meat churning on metal joints with explosions of air, bits of bone, bloodless fingernails dragging troughs in North American soil as they slide westward to far coasts and upward into the brooding rainforests of the Pacific Northwest. The pull of the cello, the clarity of the guitar, the metallic metronomics and toothful booms behind it all, the soft-spoken adornment of tentative voices, a lure with allure. Calls to keep you indoors on nice days, walls you can see through, the terror of a phone call at 4 am. Ativin brings it all with a calm shrug, little reaction, and no explanation. Why bother. The music will tell you everything you need to know.