The cover tells you exactly what to expect: A baby stands before a perfect blue sky while the sun explodes behinds its head. It is a clever visual introduction to the stunning hour of music that Japanese noise veterans the Boredoms pour over the listener. You see, this is nothing short of a rebirth of rock, not in adherence to old-fashioned roots, but in trying to go for the liberation of sound, the expanses found in psychedelic noise. This howling ode to the sun plays like one long track, although in true psychedelic style its peaks and valleys can loosely be divided in nine parts. There are oblique chants, prog style riffs, endless drum rolls, explosions of noise, and - best of all - recurring minimal bits that evoke Can, Neu!, and Kraftwerk overdosing on adrenaline whilst recording the complete works of Suicide. When they soar, the Boredoms truly set the controls for the heart of the sun. You think this can't get any better, so they gently take you down for a while, after which they hit back with another sublime sound. It all ends in a glorious extended wall of My Bloody Valentine-style feedback, then, after moments of silence, the beginning is reprised, but knowingly since, through experience, we have become wiser. And so it ends, the most adventurous and rewarding psychedelic rock album since Butthole Surfers' 'Hairway to Steven'.