a decent version of the brian jonestown massacre’s new masterpiece, my bloody underground, appears to have surfaced online a couple of weeks ago, (it is a bit different than the preview available from the band’s website this summer). and holy omfg is all i can say about this record. this is by far the saddest, most heartfelt, most disturbing collection of music i have heard from anton newcombe. and by that i don’t mean the typically sad music we have all come to expect from him. this is genuinely filled with an underlying, doomstricken hopelessness that manifests from his proverbial inner hanging gallows. i would honestly not be surprised if this is the last recording the band ever releases. and, in all sincerity, it would be a perfect swan song.

bjm’s first full-length in over four years, my bloody underground mixes the band’s distinguished blend of druggy, neo-psychedelia with an intensified sense of mood and atmosphere. most of the tracks found on this album are much less songs than they are strange, meandering collections of ambience: brain synapses, otherwordly anthems. “we are the niggers of the world” is a brilliantly sad piano piece, littered with mistakes and solecisms which only add to the album’s overtly haunting feeling of solitude. “dropping bombs on the whitehouse“, “yeah-yeah“, “golden frost” and “kicking jesus” bring typical bjm to mind, but these songs are more cruel than their predecessors — almost unsympathetic in a completely paradoxical way. (the songs themselves are rather quiet and most of the time even unobtrusive, yet the underlying tone still comes across as an enthusiastic fuck-you to anyone listening.)

an overwhelming shroud of insanity seems to blanket the remainder of the record: and that’s not a bad thing, as they perfectly complement their counterparts — hurling themselves in and out of existence with a blissful, narcissistic arrogance. these beautifully desperate clips infinitely magnify any feeling mankind has ever felt (the aforementioned “we are the niggers of the world“; the ethereal, mbv-inspired “ljosmyndir“; the hell-on-earth creepout of “automatic faggot for the people“; the despondent, aimless drifting of “dark wave driver / big drill car“).

my bloody underground is neurotic and restless and moody and brilliant. and the ultimate result is an experience that will enthrall and possibly terrify — a flawless coalescence of the band’s fifteen year back catalogue.