This record feels like an accident. I mean that in the nicest way possible- it's a fractured, dissonant, psychotic blend of experimentation and noisy post-punk; going from odd piano-driven tracks about creeps to insane babbling mayhem to quiet, almost funereal organ dirges to funky-ass, down-home psychedelic dirt blues soul rock.
This is the missing link between all that late-'60s acid-damaged stuff like Beefheart, Syd Barrett-era Floyd and '70s satirists/experimenters The Residents and today's bands like Liars and Black Dice. You can file the Surfers somewhere midway in that lineage; at least their first three records. If you have any of that radio-friendly alternacrap stuff from the nineties (especially Electriclarryland) please smack yourself in the face.
I'd recommend listening to this album at full volume in a dark room.
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