Portland, Oregon's STRFKR makes you understand what it would be like if the sun was thousands and thousands of miles closer to the Earth than it actually is. There would be an irresistible pull to want to touch it. It would be an urge unable to be suppressed. You would feel your hand shakily gravitating to place itself on the burning surface, just to feel what it's like, knowing perfectly well that you were already dead, burnt up in the approach. You would foolishly, dreamily just walk straight into your cremation. You just MUST feel that kind of heat. You want it in your body, working itself throughout all those lazy veins of yours, the ones that are too busy carrying the same old stuff all day, every day. The songs on the group's newest album, "Miracle Mile," are the parties that we'll all be invited to when the world is done being tortured and just wants to shake us fleas. These will be the parties when we've completely worn out our welcome, but there's still plenty of expensive drink to take with us before all of the pillars have crumbled and the club's have had their last last calls. This is JUST before everyone recognizes their futility. This is when there's still a sense that we need to show good cleavage, slick our hair back and wear the most expensive and fashionable clothing - as if attraction and mating mean a damned thing in these days of broken promises. These are songs that hang themselves on the hot stuff, on a glaze of sweat and a dance floor where it only makes sense to dance closely, stickily. They are songs from groping, for dripping, for last-ditch efforts and for that brilliant flash that will finally mark the gasp and the whistle-stop. It's where everyone gets off, however they see fit. The explosion is theirs to do with it what they please.