Kathleen Hanna’s seething siren howl blaring over Johanna Fateman’s chunky, fuzzed guitar and JD Samson’s writhing and cranking beats is perfection to my ears.
While Jamey Jasta and the boys still lead the charge with fists out and heads down, it isn’t hard to notice the music has become a bit safer and toned down.
The biggest complaint about The Mars Volta is that, although their full-length is damn near impeccable, their live shows feel like an exercise is wankery.
Simple words and descriptions don’t even come close to capturing the shapeshifting, mind-bending, soul-purging madness these six men put human ears through.