This trio's music lies at the juncture of folk, free jazz and a war crime. I would call Witchcraft Rebellion wonderful if I weren't so damn terrified by it. The band's moniker is apt; the music has a very raw, primordial feel as if it were bubbling from some hidden crack in the Earth's crust. Over the course of thirteen tracks, Arrington de Dionyso, Aaron Hartman and The Microphones' Phil Elvrum -- none of them strangers to weird-ass, eccentric music -- create a sound that is the sonic equivalence of an epileptic fit. Guitar, drums, horns and bass convulse as one instrument, occasionally fitting together but more often than not careening off of one another like charged particles. This is simultaneously fascinating and disturbing -- like watching the ravings of a street corner madman.

As an example, consider "Vampire Sushi", a Frankenstein track which sews together a booming tom drum, an insistent bass riff and guitar chaos to create a go-go rump-shaker with Sonic Youth intentions. This would be attention-grabbing enough on its own, but when combined with de Dionyso's vocals, the result reaches shuddering intensity. Peppering his wordless howling with warnings against vampires and witches, de Dionyso channels the wild-eyed passion of a televangelist. In fact, I initially misread the band's bio and firmly believed that de Dionyso was credited as "threat" rather than "throat". Either description seems appropriate as he growls and swoons in tongues.

Elsewhere, as in the instrumental "Mercury Snake", the pace slows, but the mood certainly doesn't lighten. Here, an entrancing rhythm becomes the altar upon which the band sacrifices several saxophones. "Cuniform" scars its jangled guitar line with a growled vocal before making another crippled saxophone dance for tips. The resulting intensity and subtle transpositions curiously reminds me of Pigface's "War Ich Nicht", which featured the brutal voice of En Esch (KMFDM).

This manic approach is sustained throughout the album; this is their third full-length, and the formula is almost perfect. Even when the music coalesces into something that resembles a pop song ("King of Nothing"), it's merely the candy that lures you into the shadows...where Old Time Relijun is waiting to sucker punch your ears again. This is the Danielson Familie turned mean. This is frightening. This is great.