| Oh but it just gets better from there. Like a warm, invigorating glass of barbeque sauce, it’s real weird, and just like I don’t trust anybody who never eats barbeque sauce, I’d feel a little iffy about anybody who couldn’t get behind this record. It’s just so utterly lost, and loud, and dripping with sweetness. It makes me wanna rant instead of explicate, which is what I’ve done this week. Go forth, therefore, and chow down in a meatless way on several bottles of Zeke’s ‘Q Redeemer, while Comets on Fire get busy on the boombox. You gotta lose yourself to the music, the moment, it’s quite loud, it’s got an awful lotta wah, you only get one shot, or hell, maybe two, or three, this opportunity comes etc etc. It’s spectacular psychedelic rock with all the anguish of the third straight sunrise without sleep pencilled in around the edges. Go on, have some. You will thank me when the sauce is drying on your chin. |