Pitchfork

For years, noise didn't make headlines-- or even show up in mainstream magazines in the first place. Yet, recently, the aesthetic has enjoyed a more jovial reception by the press and from indie rock fans-- thanks in large part to Wolf Eyes, Black Dice, and Lightning Bolt. This critical feedback has allowed noise bands to go on increasingly lengthier tours with larger audiences at each stop, and those higher-profile peers have fostered a larger, less incestuous noise community. For Lightning Bolt's Brian Gibson and Brian Chippendale, fortuitous cultural circumstances and their improvisational acumen have rendered them the toast of the current noise-rock crop-- all the while they've continued to tweak their post-hardcore/Harry Pussy formula.

Hypermagic Mountain is Lightning Bolt's fourth, most well-oiled album: song-by-song it chugs into rockier Van Halen, Fucking Champs, or Orthrelm territory. Somewhere in the middle a lack of variety creates a dull patch, but even the more homogenized tracks slip by on the upped energy as well as subtle, virtuostic additions to the violence. The set was again captured by ex-Small Factory jangle-popper Dave Auchenbach, who mostly harnesses the band live to two-track (with some live mixing) and DAT. Because of the approach, Hypermagic Mountain breathes like a battering ram: The drums are gargantuan and, conversely, the vocals fold nicely into the buzz.

The sound's crowded-- the Boschian cover art is a solid visual analogue-- but Lightning Bolt make room for all their key ingredients: brief space excursions, lessons in dynamics, monster riffs, semi-humorous politicos, sugar-dosed energy. Everything you'd expect to find is here and in amped form-- festering bass (with that slippery balloon sound) and machete-slinging, crazy-climber drums. The components establish LB as more rock, less noise-- though they've always treaded closer to that realm than to Merzbow or Whitehouse.

The Brians' break the gate with "2 Morro Morro Land", upchucking a noodle before opting for the overdrive of a jaunty lick. The heavier, somehow portentous "Captain Caveman" connects for a second punch with Chippendale shouting somewhere in the midst of the commotion that "this is the anthem." Well, actually, it's one of many.

The next movement's spacier, focusing on ghosts: "Riffwraiths" and "Mega Ghost" include more entropic loops and echoed vocals-- especially on "Mega", which begins ambiently with dead-soul vocal echo. Fittingly, the first few minutes of zoomed drums and bass on "Magic Mountain" sound like an uphill climb. Like the best of immediate-minded rockers, LB kindly deliver. So no, none of that avant-noise tease: Despite still working on the outer edge of rock dynamics, when LB build to something, you can be assured it'll explode.

Elsewhere, there are anti-Bush theme papers ("Dead Cowboy") and sludgy bass over cryogenic drums and brackish vocals ("Mohawk Windmill"). Continuing in the vein of lovely slower pieces-- i.e. Wonderful Rainbow's "Hello Morning" or the title track; Ride the Skies' "The Faire Folk"-- "Infinity Farm" is pitched pulsation and rattle with mellow baby squawk vocals. Think Black Dice and a little coterie of puppies.

As I just confirmed by peeking out my Brooklyn window, heavy metal's enjoying hipster popularity; it's entirely imaginable Lightning Bolt could impress fans of that middle world with this rock-oriented sound. But even with added hooks and sharper flavors, LB's previous release, Wonderful Rainbow, still possesses more variety and a certain je ne sais squall. So where does Hypermagic Mountain rest in the canon? Like the opening train ride of Thomas Mann's novel Magic Mountain, it finds the band climbing toward some unknown peak, and while it attains great heights, there's also a now-again sound of wheels spinning, and every reason to believe LB still haven't reached their ultimate destination.