Like a lengua burrito on a frosty San Francisco morning, this CD is at once soothing and invigorating. Also like that burrito, it can be enjoyed equally with or without intoxication. If Blue Cheer had hired a mongoloid Lou Rawls to sing, and switched from their regular marijuana weed to a variety with more sherm content, they might’ve made this record. Wanda calls em “the white BellRays,” I say, “that’s ridiculous – this guy doesn’t play guitar anything like that guy.” In fact, Rich plies this sort of wig-shaking, Chuck-Berry-on-an-airplane-glue-bender guitartistry that knows few equals, though he knows when to tone it down, as on the laid-back “Evening Sun” (presumably about a newspaper, but don’t ask me; I haven’t understood the words to one Zen Guerrilla song yet). Also slightly off topic is the gospel raveup “Where’s My Halo?” and the trancy loopy “Subway Transmission.” My advice: don’t be alarmed when your assrump commences to some kind of furtive waggling behind your back. Jump up and let it fly!
–doug (Sub Pop)