by Thom Jurek
Who knows when the hell it was actually recorded, but this Wabana CD is actually a reissue of the group's first self-titled LP of the same name. In typical fashion it comes in a generic-and we mean generic-plain purple digipack with no information other than the skull and crossbones logo on the back, and a clear sticker on the front with acid dripped lettering proclaiming Sunburned Hand of The Man. There are four longish, untitled cuts here, though each of them blends into one long performance. Simply put, it's pure rhythmic, dope-fueled, primal freak-and this is n not a catch all here, it's precise-folk strangeness form the only band worthy of being named under the "new weird America" moniker. Sounding like a cosmic jam that takes nothing into account but varying pulses with guitars, basses, flutes, garbage cans, synths, chanted, intoxicated vocals, by who knows how many people, this is for those who've ever wondered but haven't heard. This is Sunburned Hand of the Man at their absolutely most untethered, unfocused, and free. And yet. Somehow it flows, like lava ruining everything it ouches, this baby just goes, and goes and goes, and there aren't any record to put on after; it feels like it should be on endless loop to loosen everything in your synaptic mind and just let it melt. Killer.