Comets On Fire - 'Avatar' (Sub Pop) Released 07/08/06

There's nothing wrong with a bit of noise. In fact, earache-inducing skronk is known to have healthy, purifying effects. No band on earth - or elsewhere - can be more acutely aware of this than San Francisco's Comets On Fire, whose acclaimed 2004 platter ‘Blue Cathedral’ pushed chaotic ultra-heavy psych-sludge racket to screeching doomsday levels of in-the-red intensity.

After that raging cauldron of cacophony, listening to which is akin to standing back in a mixture of horror and awe as fiery rivers of molten lava gush forth from the speakers, you’d expect the follow-up to catapult deeper into the stratosphere amidst lysergic lunge-outs. Instead, 'Avatar' resets the course towards earthier, calmer regions. The cosmic fretboard freak-outs and disorientating electronic squeals still make their pulverising presence felt, but the focus is firmly on the songs, and although selections regularly stretch to epic proportions, 'Avatar' marks the first occasion Comets On Fire's offerings can be described as tunes without stretching the definition of the term to breaking point.

Instead of the reverential nods to pre-metal decibel-hogs such as Blue Cheer of its predecessor, the template for ‘Avatar’ derives from a host of vintage jam bands and classic rock nuggets. The outstanding opener 'Dogwood Rust' boogies like a more loose-limbed appropriation of a number the Allman Brothers Band forgot to roll, until exploding into a string-melting freeform jam that practically drips prime psych extravaganza. 'Jaybird' is even better, a seamless union of a complex riff ‘n’ rhythm patterns that swing like the hippest jazz and a chorus so thoroughly drenched in old-school hard rock moves you can almost see its sideburns swaying in the breeze on a 1974 free festival stage. 'Lucifer's Memory’ tackles soulfully belting blues balladry with aplomb that somehow manages to quote most clichés of the genre without resorting to pub band panto, whilst 'Hatched Upon The Age' resembles the piano-driven peaks of Bill Fay's celebrated 1971 cult classic 'Time of The Last Persecution'. The platter reaches it's soaring summit with the superlative-exhausting 'Sour Smoke', which gets downright funky with a hip-shaking groove that could be the sweet sound of Sweden’s psych revivalists Dungen shimmying with Fela Kuti in the herb-scented Lagos nightlife.

It’s jaw-dropping stuff, after which the slight return to the action-rock days of yore with the screeching rush of ‘Holy Teeth’ can’t help but sound under-whelming, a bit of an olive branch towards any feedback fiends who might scream sell out upon exposure to Comets’ new interest in melody and more controlled assaults on the senses.

Anyone making such unfounded accusations should be ashamed for attempting to block positive development. Comets On Fire remain the reigning embodiments of devastating force, cosmos-straddling experimentation and expanding consciousnesses through the medium of righteous racket, only this time you won’t need earplugs and nerves of steel to join the ride.