Surely, an album that sputters the bradenghe.

UH!

Looking closely, any album by Lightning Bolt is perfectly useless. Why? Well. Quickly said, quickly done. No subvùfer can handle it, the one hundred and fifty thousand and one point two watts of your cutting-edge hi-fi stereo are worth nothing (UH!). To digitally trap the sonic ambaradan of this aberrant duo onto a sheet of metal material glued onto a 12cm diameter polycarbonate optical disc - that is, a CD - or, even worse!, to resort to a lossy type of audio compression algorithm - an MP3, that is; and you do resort to it, silly passers-by, oh!, if you do use it! - I was saying, doing all this, if in other cases wouldn’t change a blessed fig, in this case makes us totally lose the most important dimension of Laitninbolt’s music: the physical impact. Talking about "songs" makes absolutely no sense, they're 1% music and the remaining 99% physical impact. If you take away the physical impact, what's left? Eh.

Like listening to this album while driving and almost hitting a Blechtrommel, such was the energetic madness that got to me.

So: the only thing to do is lift your bare asses (which here for Debbi are highly appealing, it seems) and go see them live, if they come by (but even if not). I had ringing ears for 3 days and bruises everywhere, even though I didn’t understand a thing of what had happened, but in return, I greatly redefined my conception of interaction between audience and artist (and you’d say: stikazzi! Get yourself messed up alone, cojùn!).

Otherwise, be satisfied with this pale fetish simulacrum. Which remains nevertheless a divine album, more so than that of the Divine Othelma. There are two of them, okay. And they're "only" bass/drums (/distorted howls), double okay. But with a drummer on ketamine and a bassist buried under a billion fuzz and octavers, what comes out is

BAM BAM BAM BAM!

(And in any case, in the midst of all this chaos, I want to see if it won't happen to you to unexpectedly hum "13 monsters").