Sketchbook of ideas that doesn't rise up and hit you in the face, nor does it assist in sleep. It combines outtakes from the golden era, small reworks to big epics. The guitar soars, whilst Gibby gibbers into the mike. The surreal inter related madness between Paul and Gibby gabber through the speakers.
Someone may be able to make sense where there is none. Others just lay back and drift off to some surreal inane chatter punctuated by guitar workout wierdness. It's not as magnifico as Abortion Technician or the early work. It's a sketch pad that contains enough in its 70 minutes to show that there is life in the Lone Star State of Texass. However it does not supercede anything that came before.
The Butthole Surfers were a strange type of band aiming to transgress the safe worlds composed to fend off the brutality of everyday existence. Shows gyrating with the naked dancers, films of arm amputations, penis incisions and sexual encounters jostling with love epics whilst the band played a psychedelic punk angst wierdness. This created incisions into the bland sterility of endless unrolling job and mortgage payments.
Eventually they hooked up with the bass player out of Led Zep who ironed out the kinks, pushed them to play straight; big hits followed and they nosedived. The music business is a constant rework of the Faustian myth.
Whilst the rock business has meandered into pastiche this holds up as ideas that can be taken further.