One of the most pivotal bands currently infecting the Midwest universe, PUFFY AREOLAS are a pummeling ensemble of free jazz skronk, laid mercilessly on top of a proto-punk nuclear waste dump, still throbbing with orgone energy. A Hawkwind cum-Lucifer’s Crank-era Dwarves killing machine that doesn’t stop until no one is left breathing, or god forbid, unimpressed. A sophisticated mess of noisy, nihilistic bursts of agony and intangible hate-fuck hysteria, that’s as captivating as it is alienating, pushing the boundaries of sanity, each and every performance. And yes, their second full-length is exactly what everyone has been worried about, a toxic bath of spoiled space juice dripping dangerously over the frayed circuits of their demonic WAH, sizzling with nightmarish night trips. A true Funhouse moment really kicks in on side B, a devastating document of human endurance, devolvement, and desecration, and sometimes it seems like this band is less of a musical combo and more of a flashing portal into an unknown Vietnam-like, mind-bending free punk power that summons the inner spirit of self-destruction like you wouldn't believe.