The fattest sound in distorted guitars and deep, heartfelt singing that make me feel like a child getting a big hug by St. Nick every time I listen to Fluf.
The more aggressive stuff works pretty well, but doesn’t make enough of an impact to support the anticlimax of the two folky meanderings that wrap up this disc.
Sound of Confusion, their ’86 debut, is first-embryonic Detroit-via-Rugby fuzz-drones that light up the firmament with incandescent bursts of beauteous fury.