Behind the buzz: Though the well-written original post namechecks Sparks and Captain Beefheart, it seems plain this wedge of reconditioned freakbeat owes as much to first-wave crunk-rockers like The 13th Floor Elevators, The Standells, and the Jeff Beck-era Yardbirds. These original psychedelic nuggets were not only among the first rock music made by dope-suckers for dope-suckers, but also exerted -- in the form of the bestselling 1973 Nuggets comp -- a decisive influence on what would become punk rock. Ozzie, a doomed and dead-game parcel of underground Sacto-brats, would thrive locally for a while in the Seventies and vanish by 1981.
The point you know you're high: You notice you're pogoing around the room.
Psychoactive verdict: In the best sense of the word, sick. This exhumed joint goes off with the perfect balance of hard-charging brio and breathy cockblocked urgency entirely fitting for the story of love with a metal-and-velvet girl, a literal bombshell with "a nuclear blast in a cellophane shell." The snaky bass line, choppy drumming and claustrophobically chugging guitars give an impression of unbearable lust to shove The Buzzcocks' "Why Can't I Touch It?" into the cheap seats with the masturbators. Enough unrealized hit potential to land it at Number 13 with a bullet in some long-gone alt-America where Philip K. Dick served three terms as president.
The point you wish you were higher: When you knock a framed Stanley Mouse vintage poster off the wall after your forehead's unplanned contact.
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