move along. nothing new to see here.  aye.  an album that could’ve been spunked out at various points over the last fifty years, that wears it’s influences on it’s sleeves like metallica patches on the back of cut-off denim jackets.  so it’s no surprise that guitar slinger / caveman grunter paul major’s some major demonic record dealer.

seem to remember the boogie being one of the few highlights (melvins, bad wizard included) of the diet coke blandorama that was the slint curated atp a few years back.  strange that all three brought the rock (and the yow (and the deep purple t’s)) and everyone else left it at home with their charisma and spark and energy…

so focus level.  the only record they’ve put out that doesn’t require you to be a level five mage in vinyl collecting.  no funny masonic greetings or codewords or handsies in public toilets required to pick up this bugger.

all songs about drinking and smoking and cooking meat and women.  and if not well they fucking should be.  who’s listening to the goddam lyrics anyway.  just some dude coughing and rumbley grumbling like the good cap’n (beefheart) way back when over some primordial three chord jiggerypokery and a shit load of wandering lead schkeeeng.

first song on the record, smoking figs in the yard, sets out their stall in able fashion anyway with seven and a half minutes of this amalgamated mélange of southern (well new york southern) and slidey blooze and againagainagain six string stomp.

like i said it’s reinventing the wheel.  in fact it’s positively prehistoric, pre-wheel.  so really i s’pose they’re reinventing the club.  or tar pit.  or something.  i’m gibbering.  damned caffeine.  anyway what you get invented, reinvented or otherwise is some primo boogie rock smeared in liberal doses of jam.

named after john lee hooker’s sleazy jam album, they indulge in his repeato riffing except take it to knowingly near-moronic transcendental levels, where the pentatonic meets the catatonic.  they’re also a bit like a bar band who instead of cranking out the r&b instead intersperse it with semi-motorik noodling.  i’ll drop some names and you’ll get the idea, skynyrd, bo diddley, early zz top, ac/dc, canned heat…

for seventy odd minutes.  so not endless after all.

s’fucking grand though.

no quarter