THE MOTHERS OF INVENTION: WEASELS RIPPED MY FLESH

One of more bizarre records to bear the name Bizarre (and a candidate for the shortlist of great album titles), Weasels is just, well, weird. THE MOTHERS are pushing the envelope in all sorts of directions, stretching it past ready comprehension in some cases ("Dwarf Nebula Processional March and Dwarf Nebula", "Prelude to the Afternoon of a Sexually Aroused Gas Mask"). In between these islands of confrontational noisemongering couched as art are instrumentals with genuine merit ("Toads of the Short Forest") and actual songs. Given how offputting some of this is to the unprepared listener, history has latched onto the relatively conventional songs like "Directly From My Heart To You" and "My Guitar Wants To Kill Your Mama." However, going in with the idea that the rest of Weasels will sound like these songs is to set yourself up for disappointment. The album is apparently a pastiche of performances dating back a few years, live and in the studio, which is born out by the difference in styles here. Some of the songs are extensions of earlier efforts ("Oh No"), some proved to be artistic dead ends. If I lump Weasels in with Rats and Weeny, it's with a caveat: listening to "Weasels Ripped My Flesh" is like having your brain poked with a stick. It won't allow you to marvel at THE MOTHERS' genius, juxtaposing brutal ugliness alongside beauty lest you actually begin to admire or understand them.

So what you're left with is a few classic songs wrapped in standoffishly strange instrumental sections, some quasi-orchestral and some unrepentantly cacophonous. Still, if listening to conventional music has led to unsightly brain stubble, Weasels could offer the close shave you're after.