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.
Not since Four Non Blondes have I been so moved by vocals. Her bubblegum cute whisper turns into a tormented croak, and the haywire vibrato must be heard.