From the sloppy rough-and-tumble rhythms to the orgasmic cacophony of impending explosiveness that summons terror like a fugitive freight train carrying nitroglycerine, Boris tenders the tones deep and fuzzy and the guitars buzzing and molten. The suffocating rhythm section steers the tough, schizophrenic pace into stoner-rock heaven.
The album's title cut is full-throttle psychedelic rebellion; the sludge-heavy "Blackout" steamrolls the landscape with a lava flow of Melvins-inspired swagger; and the mind-numbing "Electric" resurrects the underappreciated cowbell for a brief interlude of instrumental fury before imploding.
Closing track "My Machine" is the 10-minute pièce de résistance, an overdriven juggernaut that delivers a colossal thwack upside the cranium with double-tracked vocals, ambient white noise and an addictive refrain.
Boris continues to trample this planet as systematically as Godzilla flattening Tokyo.
