As longtime Boris fans can attest, you can always expect to be surprised by the Japanese trio. On the heels of Pink, the band's straightforwardly eager garage burner, a resurfaced Dronevil emerged, followed by Altar, their swirling/droning/drum-soloing collaboration with Sunn0))) and friends. Now Boris have thrown another curve ball with Rainbow, their collaboration with Michio Kurihara. The seminal psych guitarist played with PSF legends White Heaven, helped Damon & Naomi reach an apex, and continues shredding in Ghost. So, basically, the collection finds a few of Japan's most consistently face-melting, soul-stirring artists intersecting. They land near the late 1960s then continue onward, radiating a dusky Siltbreeze sound, Kurihara expanding Boris' reach with his gauzy, moody, fretwork.

Pink's just about always described as a rock'n'roll album (see above), but despite the critical frame, a certain strain of Jesu and Ride fans pointed toward the opener, "Farewell", as the album's sublime apex. If you're in that hanky-holding camp, Rainbow should be a treat: It not only revisits that shoegaze moment, but also includes lounge weirdness, toy-box balladry, and moody, stringed pyrotechnics. Throughout, the addition of Kurihara staggers: Opener "Rafflesia" takes what "Farewell" did so well, but pushes it even further, Kurihara managing to nail stars with hypnotic tone-benders.

There are other new sounds: Guitarist Wata handles vocals on the slinky title track. "Starship Narrator" takes off Siamese Dream-style, locating a bluesy guitar scorch before it dries out amid a flood of Can-loving amplifier worship. Continuing the haze in a gentler realm, a Loren Connors-esque guitar unwinds to full flutter on the moving, all too brief "My Rain", with tape-noise lapping up the dampness in the background.

The closest we come to Ghost's fathomless psych-folk is "Shine", its troubadour rattle eventually blooming into a somber, echo-chambered sound. There's a depth to the production here that's quite different from the upfront immediacy of Pink. Helping slightly to warm the vibe, "You Laughed Like a Water Mark" seduces downcast, stoner-friendly, monotone psychedelic rock: Kurihara's guitar steamrolls as the song continues its seven minutes, ending in a flurry, even as the rest of the band maintains a consistent doze. The hazy "Fuzzy Reactor" would've made an excellent finale: With its unidentified wind source and backward tape, it sounds like a retreat.

Inevitably, Boris keep pushing: "Sweet No. 1" closes this quiet-is-the-new-loud ramble with a rock dervish. It starts slow (much of it feels more like a strum exercise) before a stutter-step guitar strut. But this isn't Comets on Fire: It's burnt, damp, and saturated. Thing is, it also seems a bit unnecessary. And it's a solid track-- don't misunderstand-- but it comes across like a party crasher, drowning out the slow-release of what came before, only to return to the quiet toy-box mini-orchestra outro, "...And, I Want".

Sick of Boris? It's easy to feel worn out amid the big-time magazine features, hectic release schedule, and endless touring (and, well, seemingly endless live sets-- sorry folks)? I was almost at the end of my own Boris rope, but Rainbow gave me a jolt, sounding a lot like something that would've set up camp on my turntable a dozen years ago when I memorized those Forced Exposure catalogues. It's vintage and totally invigorating. The immediate Pink punk-slap isn't here, but where the former nails one hue and keeps running with it, I can imagine this new, deeper set keeping me cozy for years to come. It's already eerily familiar.