Quick, somebody send a team of scientists down to Austin to interrogate these three crazy Ortiz brothers, because apparently they've developed a time machine. How else to explain how they've made a record that sounds like they snuck into the studio while BLACK SABBATH took a drug break from their first album sessions, and knocked out a Texas boogie-rock call to arms in about a take in a half, using the same amps and mikes? This is some exultant lo-fi denim rock that crackles and sparks with more raw drunken moxie than any ten fat ‘n sated stoner rock efforts.
Like any power trio worth its salt, AMPLIFIED HEAT play it slippery and funky, organic as hell, like ZZ TOP before the synths or CREAM at their most rockin'. Vocals are a double-tracked, tossed-off afterthought, something to do during a verse and a chorus, to get us to the next sweet riff or righteous solo. It's the kind of bong-rattling rock and roll that's not deliberately throwback or retro, but comes off that way because so few people know how to rock it this way any more. These guys can dig into some blues ("She Drank That Wine") as well as they can deliver shaggy-headed psych-tinged throwdowns like the gloriously goofy "Man on the Road" or the garage-y raveup "Rambler". It's all tied together with that live, loose sound, all fuzzed-out and full of analog goodness, tumbling out of tattered amps like beer pouring in slo-mo into a frosted glass.
Reference points: THE ATOMIC BITCHWAX, DIXIE WITCH, MUDHONEY jamming with FU MANCHU, dudes with airbrushed art on their denim jacket that matches the side of their rusting Club Wagon van. And I like the sound of that just fine.