To the unacquainted listener, Lightning Bolt's newest release might sound like 57 minutes of concentrated chaos; however it is in fact their most focused effort to date. Longtime fans may cringe at the notion of an organized album from the frantic drum and bass duo, but one listen to Hypermagic Mountain and you can't help but fall in love.

Perhaps the most intriguing element of Lightning Bolt's sound is that it defies categorization. The layout seems simple enough; there is hardly a genre of modern music that doesn't utilize drums and bass. But through this barebones set-up drummer Brian Chippendale and bassist Brian Gibson create an impossibly dense and complex barrage of sound. It is hard to classify their music as doing so would imply certain limitations, and these two are certainly not willing to be barred by journalistic terminology. Their association with the Providence noise scene and Load Records would suggest that they are post-modern experimentalists, which is partly true. On a recent trip to my favorite local music store though, I found their albums stored in the Punk section, perhaps the complete opposite of the Avant Garde row. While this music does incite violence and aggression, it seems unfair to call it Punk, a genre that tends to eschew the precise, technical playing that Hypermagic Mountain celebrates.

So why is it so important that I can't figure out what the hell to call Lightning Bolt? Because it's an assuring reminder that the best music cannot be pinned down by a short list of cliches, but sets precedents that inspire other artists only to form whole new cliches. Calling Lightning Bolt "Avant" or "Punk" only tells half the story, in the same way it is inaccurate to refer to the Beatles as Pop without addressing pieces like "Revolution 9" or "Within You Without You." Ever since Aerosmith and Run-DMC tore down the studio wall between them and christened the deplorable concept of genre hybridization, the market has been flooded with cheap pop-punk, rap-rock, and other attempts to cross demographics and pull in bigger audiences. These groups are almost always watered down versions of their supposed influences, so it is especially impressive to see a drummer and a bassist become greater than the sum of their parts, both sonically and stylistically. It would be awfully presemptuous to assume that Chippendale and Gibson founded Lightning Bolt as a commentary on popular music's current condition, but they have succeeded nonetheless.

Of course, none of this would matter if the album wasn't spectacular. Hypermagic Mountain is a joyride, plain and simple. Gibson rips through his breakneck riffs just long enough to establish their gloriousness before shifting into a ferocious improvisational stretch. Assisted by a whopping 3800 watt bass amp(!), his playing is as loud as it is fast, resulting in an overwhelmingly powerful sound. Chippendale's playing is equally impressive; his calculated pounding carries the album during Gibson's quieter moments (which,though few, do exist). And of course, for a duo like this to work, both members must be perfectly synchronized and responsive to their pieces' rapid changes. Again Lightning Bolt does not disappoint, delivering airtight performances on tracks with incomprehensible meters. Then again, they could all be in 4/4, but it's much too wild for me to recognize.

If you're still not convinced, then I strongly recommend you head over to Lightning Bolt's website, www.laserbeast.com, and watch one of their live clips to better understand the maniacal intensity of their performance. Or better yet, pick up tickets to the three day festival Terrastock in Providence this April, where they will be headlining. If you're already going, then be sure to say Hi to me. I'll be the bug-eyed kid in the front row smiling from ear to ear as 3800 watts of bass pound me.