Can a band’s name be the reason that band is a constant disappointment? Based on their name, what would you expect from The Brian Jonestown Massacre? This seventh installment of The BJM’s brand of hallucinogenic dirge rock is overflowing with drug-addled riffs and rhythms created by an orchestras worth of musicians and layered instruments. Think early Floydian drone pop with an ether-minded Robert Smith bellowing ruminations on love from within the misty mind of band-leader Anton Newcombe. This psychedelic revival rock, punctuated by the sonic LSD symphonies of his ever-rotating cast of users, contains a few wonderful whiffs of pop whimsy that unfortunately, never manage to take the music anywhere but a different spot on the couch. This is claustrophobic paranoid-stoner pop played by overdosed shut-ins for sufferers of Attention Saturation Disorder. And after nearly 45 minutes of the same lethargic tempo the Repetition and Noise are apparent, but where is the Bravery?
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