Three-quarters of Pelican - Trevor de Brauw, Larry Herweg, and Laurent Lebec - incorporating guest vocals atop epic sludge-rock.

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Avant, progged out, psych, helicopter grind - Tusk's aural barrage has been categorized with some random appellations. Truth of the matter is, the more out-there the genre description, the more obvious this fact: Its fucking out there. Amidst surgically precise blasts, frenzied vocals and fret board savagery to make devout fans of all matters of harshness raise a horned-hand salute, youll find a willingness to experiment: sitar, slide guitar, mandolin, swirling keyboard passages.

Basically, they're to bedrooms in Chicago suburbs what Lightning Bolt and Arab on Radar are to Providence, R.I. Get it? No? Try this on for size: It's Discordance Axis by way of Yes' Close to the Edge or a German-schooled Acme maelstrom played by fans of This Heat and Don Caballero. And a singer who professes his lyrical "chaos bordering on collapse" owes a debt of gratitude to Tom Waits, though he sounds more like a strangled banshee or the Germ's Darby Crash.

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