Burn One with Creeping Weeds' See Through -- It's Bomb-Ass Shit

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Behind the buzz: As a rock critic, I'm a firm believer that the less attention you pay the palpitating verbs, lascivious nouns, and come-hither adjectives sent winking past you by publicists, the fewer regrets you'll embrace. For purposes of this column, however, I've learned to spot pay dirt in phrases like "otherworldly vastness," and "sludgy nightmares," two evocative fulminations that led me to the sophomore album by this Philly five-piece. Touring to support this follow-up to 2007's We Are All Part of a Dream You're Having will bring Creeping Weeds no closer than Raleigh, NC, so forget toking up a buzz before wobbling in to see them at the Thee Parkside or Bottom of the Hill.

Today's dope: DJ Short's Blueberry Kush, a treacherous indica-dominant strain guaranteed to slow writing speed to a kudzulike crawl.



Notes from the Lemonade Haze: The opening mosquito buzz of "Fountain" is mere setup for an ecstatic round of jangle-pop that would've done credit to any mid-'80s Paisley Underground pavement meditation. "Weekend at the Shore" recalls a lot of Mitch Easter-produced sides of nearly the same vintage, but CWeeds' notions of song structure are pleasingly trickier. "Master Plan" reveals a jaunty wistfulness you won't find anywhere in the sum of their retro-pop influences, "Sirens" is a short gorgeous trawl through someone else's assortment of postcards, and "Waltz and a Half" weaves in and out in a hallucinatory dos-à-dos. "Wrapped in Gauze" measures up to its title, and "Vampires" is suitably sloe-eyed and creepy, with Pete Stewart's nasally Lennonesque drawl getting a noble workout. "Greetings from SLO" and "Outsiders" are delightful swatches of Day-Glo atmospherics and "Light in the Window" glories in hooks of near-Bacharach juiciness. The finale, "Hole in the Wall," fades like a flashpaper memory in a shimmer of fine picking, setting off all that came before as a fine-wrought near-masterpiece of modern psych. No second-album blues for Creeping Weeds.

Psychoactive Verdict # 1: Bomb-ass shit. Creeping Weeds rock at least as hard as any the bad-luck heroes celebrated on Rhino's Children of Nuggets box and the hallucino flourishes belong to today's bitter-sugarpill sensibility.

Psychoactive Verdict # 2: Bomb-ass shit. Insist on DJ B-berry for all your crunk-enhanced musical needs.

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