CDVS

Don't hate The Fitness because they're beautiful. It isn't this ultra-mod Seattle foursome's fault that they make polka dots, splatter paint and Members Only jackets look like de rigueur fashion accessories for today's metrosexual. By all rights, the band should be judged by the quality of its creative output, not the fact that lead singer Bree Nichols once interned with postmodern Manhattan clothing designer Susan Ciancolo. Is it possible that we've become so jaded as a music-consuming public that beauty is instantly suspect while ugliness equals immediate sonic credibility?

In a word, yes. At its very purest, rock 'n' roll, like hard alcohol, has always been a way for ugly people to make friends and get laid. Fish lips, unsightly body hair, bizarre genetic deformities, multiple sex organs--nothing was too freakish for the comforting embrace of rock. It is the reason why Mama Cass enjoyed a man sandwich as often as a ham sandwich and why a chubby hillbilly like Nashville Pussy's Blaine Cartwright could score a hottie like Ruyter Suys. The list of ugly rock stars is endless--Gene Simmons, Steven Tyler, Pete Townshend, Patti Smith, Meat Loaf, Slash--but it may well peak with Division of Laura Lee frontman Per Stalberg.

Despite his Swedish heritage, Stalberg wasn't born with the chiseled good looks of his Nordic countrymen. If anything, his crooked teeth and swollen head make him look like the bastard love child of a jack-o-lantern and Chunk's circus-freak friend from The Goonies. In fact, he's so hard on the eyes there isn't a single picture of the band on either the cover or the liner notes of Black City, but it doesn't prevent them from crafting a 36-minute electro-punk riot--a record that's equally fit for dancing and fighting. Fusing distorted guitars, hypnotic beats and Joy Division-esque synth noise, Division of Laura Lee is the Cinderella to its wicked Swedish stepbrothers, the uber-hip Hives. But instead of a pumpkin carriage and a glass slipper, Stalberg's fairy godmother has bestowed on him a Les Paul and a Moog synthesizer--more than enough to make him the prettiest boy at the ball.

The Fitness also dabbles in synthesizers and drum machines, toeing the line between electroclash and industrial. It's all very nice and clever, but with the exception of the first and last track, Call for Me Together is tainted by a band that seems to be trying too hard to be cool. Like the tragically hip young woman pictured on the cover, the album bleeds neon blood, revealing its artificial guts. The beats may be heavy and the guitars loud, but The Fitness' debut displays too much synthetic glitter and too little organic grime. And in the end, Division of Laura Lee rubs the American mods' pretty, pretty faces in it.--Newt Briggs

The Fitness plays with Fannypack and DJ Korby Roxstar at the Ice House on Sat., March 21, at 9 p.m. Admission: $10. Info: 315-2570.