Maybe I should finally post something that won't leave me vulnerable to taunts and jeers. See, it must be cool since it's on the NWW list. So record scum can let me be for a moment. Pretty soon I'll unleash my onslaught of Joni Mitchell and Fleetwood Mac (love them both without irony). Until then, I might as well post something weird. Before Brice Hampton got co-opted by terrible Phish loving mud people, he was actually an interesting figure. And this album proves it. It's success is probably owing more to the telekinetic guitar interplay than the Col.'s stream of consciousness ramblings, but these Georgia based woodenheads took up the Beefheartian challenge. I can say it trumps the Capt's catalog (what does?) but if you desire something more in that vein of outer limits rock, then don't ignore this peach.