Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac

The Butthole Surfers turn tape hiss, backward yelps, and dual drummers into a funhouse where the floor keeps dropping out beneath you.

"Lady Sniff" makes the case fastest: burps, coughs, a fake-country twang and buried scraps of conversation get spliced together until the song feels like it's leaking from a broken radio, and the band treats that decay as the actual music rather than an accident. Gibby Haynes screams through cheap distortion on "Cherub" like a man hollering into a fan, so the words dissolve into pure noise-shape. What holds it together is the two-drummer engine underneath, a pulse steady enough to make the chaos feel deliberate instead of merely broken. That balance — real rhythm carrying total sabotage — is what a decade of noise-rock bands would spend years chasing.