It seems funny to talk of notoriety when discussing Xiu Xiu—a band who are unheard of in most circles—but it’s quite appropriate. The handful of people that have actually heard Jamie Stewart and Co’s output are divided between the fanatical and the horrified. Which camp you fall into depends on your tolerance for a range of factors: naked confessionalism, discordance, and pretension.

Xiu Xiu’s output to date is unsettling and polarizing. The music is a mixture of folky acoustic guitars, sputtering drum machines, odd percussion, and random bursts of ear-piercing noise—veering erratically between beautiful melody and utter cacophony. Jamie Stewart’s vocals are ominous, dramatic, and naked.

To say that Stewart wears his heart on his sleeve is an understatement. Absolutely everything is on display—spleen, lungs, genitals. No effort is made towards self-preservation. Think of the way that your ears recoil upon hearing nails on a blackboard. Xiu Xiu’s music can make you have the same response with your soul.

Of course most people will probably walk away the instant they hear Stewart screaming that he wants to cut your head off with a roofing shingle. This is a sensible response, but those who leave early miss out on the entire benefit of extreme music—the adrenaline-like rush of taking your consciousness to places it would never otherwise go.

One of the best examples of Xiu Xiu’s ability to make you uncomfortable in your own skin is the title track from 2004’s Fabulous Muscles album. The closest Xiu Xiu have ever gotten to a ’subdued’ sound, it’s still prone to outbursts of feedback and lyrical confrontation. The words to “Fabulous Muscles (Mama Black Widow Version)” convey with gutting empathy the delightful agony of unrequited love and degradation. It’s a fragile acoustic song that takes the idea of “He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)” to an even more disturbing place. I wince every time I hear Stewart pleading “cremate me after you cum on my lips,” but I keep returning.

The new disc, The Air Force, is along similar lines. The lyrics are equally bleak and despairing and the music makes little concession to listener comfort. Nevertheless, like previous efforts it has a few almost catchy songs that provide some respite from the horror. “Save Me Save Me” has a stuttering beat and a well-defined chorus. It even sounds a little bit like Sufjan Stevens with its sweet vocals and complicated orchestrations.

“Hello From Eau Claire” is even prettier, with Caralee McElroy lending her sing-song vocals in place of Stewart’s melodrama. Of course, it wouldn’t be a Xiu Xiu song if it wasn’t a peculiar and androgynous declaration of independence (or is it dependence?).

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