Kacy Walsh

“Breathe Knives is awesome. My old band was more ‘bree squee bree!’ Now, it’s more ‘yabba wab dab! Bang bang, bling blong blong!’”

No, those aren’t Flintstones catchphrases; actually, that’s Breathe Knives’ singer Aaron Mayes, describing the noisy threesome’s sound. Founded by guitarist-sequence mastermind Cory Martins and bassist guitarist Kieran McAuley — who have played in Calgary heavies such as Red Hot Lovers, Bionic VI and Leslie Feist’s teenage punk group Placebo — the trio initially formed as a heavy ambient project (“Like Isis or Jesu,” offers Martins). But that quickly changed.

“We’re such massive fans of (influential noise-rock label) Amphetamine Reptile,” says McAuley. “Bands like Unsane — it’s so noisy, so gnarly! And back then, the recording wasn’t great. But that was the charm of the whole fucking thing.”

Today, the band is sharing a few pints at the Ironwood before it heads east for a month-long tour with fellow Calgary noisemakers Treeburning. With a freshly recorded demo under its belt and plans to release a 7-inch later in the year, the five-month-old act also employs a Roland sequencer, something Martins affectionately refers to as the band’s “robot drummer.”

“I’m actually a drummer, and that’s the reason why we don’t have one,” says Martins, the group’s primary songwriter. “That’s why we use a drum machine — it’s so I don’t have to be an asshole to a real drummer and tell him how to play. Usually, I don’t write anything with a drum machine that I couldn’t play myself.”

Combining grinding abrasion, molasses-thick sludge and a gut-rumbling low-end — Martins cautions not to call the band metal, “though we play with metal bands” — each of its tracks possesses its own static-laden identity, tied together with a bellowing rage that can’t be faked.

“I want people to understand where I’m coming from,” says Mayes of his vocals. “I was kicked out of my house at 12, I grew up on the streets of Vancouver. A lot of people get advantages, a lot of people don’t. It’s not fair, and life’s not fair. And everyone’s a scumbag, no matter where you’re born. Everyone’s animalistic.”

And that’s something that’s evident in the band’s carnal ferocity. Which, says Martin, isn’t always a good thing.

“I don’t envy the guy who masters our stuff,” he laughs. “There’s super highs that are only audible to dolphins, I’m sure. We have a huge dolphin following in San Diego. And Miami.”