I dunno, man. Lobo probably doesn't go in for intergalactic space-psych—he's always struck me as more of a Foghat-favoring sort of alien bounty hunter.
Layers upon layers upon layers. Faujas crafts urban sound art from field-recorded flavors captured in his native Spain—angling garbage-truck grumbles against incidental scraps of conversation, honking horns, the pft-pft-pft of a bicycle's spokes, the so-high-it's-almost-not-there squeal of commuter bus brakes, children's jacks scattering on hard concrete, whatever—all the while folding in just enough static crackle, rustle bustle, and low-impact ambient white noise to keep the listener guessing.
You know those Peanuts panels where Snoopy is doing that dance where his face is one big grin, his forepaws are outstretched, and he seems to have a million rear paws? Ponytail's amped-up Jackson Pollock rock is kind of like that, only to the millionth power, and you can bump it on your Bose car stereo system.
Even if you're well-versed in this sort of thing, you may well find yourself throwing ironic air-punches to "Fight" long after you should've switched over to Slayer or something.
"I exist," vocalist Kevin Barry caterwauls, shattered. For optimists, sentience is a blessing; for the rest of us, it's more of a mixed bag.
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