Khanate’s self titled debut (2001) has all the pleasant ambiance of a plane crash site, a bleak urban waste of mangled and torn metal beams and hissed alarms. When Khanate first issued instructions to the void in 2001, the band was embraced as the next iteration of guitarist Stephen O’Malley’s tube-cracking forays into amplifier variance; a fascinating further step of vocalist Alan Dubin and low-frequency shi+er James Plotkin’s space charts; and a warning for the crawling-pace hammers of Tim Wyskida’s drums. But Khanate was not preaching of coming doom or o,ering emotional catharsis. The band was totally post-dread. The worst had already happened, and would continue to happen, over and over. The 5 songs on Khanate sound like an “orchestrated root canal” (Julian Cope).