...whooah dig it,'n digit long 'n hard cos this outtasite monster slab has gotta be one o' th'alltime future/primitive thuddin' beat rackets ever laid on a cat'n it burst upon the scene in that pivitol '66 year...the sound here is behind/outta/all over time in style yet wayin' front 'n forward lookin' with its attack squadron ferocity...th'way their weapons mesh with retardo/militaristic strummin' banjo that just keeps on 'n on 'n on, th'frenzy of squeaky otherworld keyboards that does place it in th' garage slightly but this aint no kids rockin' out th' best they can, these are pilots o' th'future come to save rocknroll from becomin' stranded as art which was entirely possible given th'year...guitar manglin' that not too many cats have ever come close to, this pure abandoned freeform yet tight noise, once heard never forgotten...oversized tambourines that are relentlessly thumped when needed 'n the drums poundin'n poundin from start to finish...as a whizzo bonus to all this gaggle they were amerikkkan g.i's doin' time in th'land o' th'autobahn keepin' everyone free from communist invasion 'n any cats gettin' to see any footage dig how their audience hardly ever put a peeper on them 'n when they do its quickly sneaked glances as if to stare at these mighty gods could invite vibrations too heavy for normal humans...must be handled with care 'n respect'n it will repay like not too many other slabs could ever think o'matchin'...one o' those rarefied biscuits thats number one in a field o' one,'n thats rare, somethin to treasure in these times of comformity 'n delusion...