My Bloody Underground
Brian Jonestown Massacre
A Records.
This record came out at the perfect time. Its moaning, drugged-out guitars seemed to melt the last of snow from downtown sidewalks, its slapdash waves of distortion beckoning an early summer sun from April’s uncertain skies. Most of all, there’s a freedom to My Bloody Underground that fits well to the strip-down, wake from hibernation essence of Spring; it’s free of expectation or burden, free of self-doubt, and sometimes suspiciously free of ingenuity and songcraft. It’s free-falling, it’s unpredictable and it’s downright insulting but it’s never malnourished; while BJM’s songs may occupy more noise than organization these days, Anton Newcombe always has an angle in mind. Euphoria, rage and obsession; this is the closest we’ll ever hear to his idea of perfection.
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