Viva Voce are an indie rock duo - one guy, one girl - who filter the sepia-toned sounds of Americana through a hip, minimalist, post-punk sieve. Sound familiar? It should. In the years since the White Stripes' White Blood Cells broke big, more and more of these yin/yang blues revivalists have been crawling out of the woodwork: from the Kills to the early Fiery Furnaces to the Black Keys (okay, the Black Keys are two dudes; but hey, the drummer looks kinda like a chick). The thing is, though, it would be a mistake to view Viva Voce purely in this narrow context. Not only have Anita and Kevin Robinson (husband and wife, not brother and sister) been at it for the better part of a decade, they also draw from a wider pool of inspiration than any of the aforementioned acts: if the Stripes' passion for the Gun Club and the Stooges is well known, and the Kills' vintage drum machine betrays a debt to Suicide, then Viva Voce frame their rattlesnake strum and clap-and-stomp percussion with a healthy love for wispy psychedelia, twee pop, and the art-drone era of the Velvet Underground. And it's fantastic. Take the semi-title track, "From the Devil Himself"; it opens with some insistent acoustic guitar chords and breathy boy/girl vocals that would make the Kills proud ("He had a cheap guitar, and he wrote this tune - it goes: / 'Somebody owes me something, might as well be you.' / Hey now, you're gonna get yr blood sucked out"), but it's only a minute later when Kevin busts out a powerful drum fill and the pair are coasting on fuzz-toned guitar heroics and walls of shuddering reverb. The guitar, incidentally, is courtesy of Anita, who firmly establishes herself as one of the best female guitarists I've had the pleasure of hearing - not content to just stand there and look cute, this woman has balls, melting the speakers on the eight-and-a-half minute "So Many Miles" with one screeching, wailing solo after another while singing as softly and sweetly as Isobel Campbell on a good day. If she wasn't married, I'd probably have a crush on her. Aw, fuck it, I do anyway. But sex appeal isn't the point here (although I'm sure that the Robinsons, indieness aside, can conjure up some pretty interesting onstage chemistry). The point is that Get Yr Blood Sucked Out, while making no claims to being the best album you've ever heard, is a hell of a record, a consistently adventurous listen that suggests familiar elements without ever sounding old or contrived. Listen with headphones, or put it on over your next informal social get-together. Viva Voce might not be the first pair to mine the back pages of American music new and old, but trust me, this is one couple you'll want to invite into your home. by Zach Hoskins Find more music, film and pop culture criticism at The Modern Pea Pod.