Victims of emotional muggings have described the experience as though without warning a predatory force rips their current state of being out of their mind only to have it forged for indecent use and disposal. So the question arises. Why would Ty Segall after all these years treat his fans with such hatred? What new plague afflicts this elephant boy head? Has he found a time machine capable of inserting his once stable fetus back inside his poor mother’s now Zika infested womb?

In this brave mutant world populated by Spud Boys and Candy Cream Queens, Ty sheds the artifice of playfully hard psychedelia and transitions into a powerfully strident cult apparatus requiring the removal of small children. Gone are the man mans, mister mains, and tall man-skinny ladies of yore. Reborn are the Baby Men, Candy Men, and Squealer Men ushered into Valhalla by the Lollipop Children of Orange County via Haight Ashbury.

Case in point, that freaky deaky mask he is wearing right now during his concerts; Can anybody argue with this gleefully bizarre rock and roll Show Time? Take a peak.

Video link: Mugging on Conan

So paired with the nasty fuzz of those guitars and the boldness of his aesthetic choice, you are in for a disgusting little treat. And if you spend some special time with the Drag City vinyl, as well as the cover art and inserts, you’ll realize the baby man mask isn’t that much of a stretch from the visage sweating profusely beneath that rubber. It’s round, chubby, small-eyed weirdness captures the violence and satire of these lyrical intentions, if not so obviously the musical. But it also seems like these guys have an esoteric language much like any gang of trust funders who happen to record a narrative of their self-indulgent lives. All I’m saying is that this album can be summed up like this: A way more smarmier and complicated and way less black and straightforward version of Blue Cheer’s Vincebus Eruptum. Ok!?  But that’s more than just a little jealously and laziness talking, because after multiple listens to this thing somebody might just call it a relatively bizarre yet noodle prone rock record. Hope that helps.

As no lyric sheet accompanies this release (no I’m not just going to look them up – that’s not the point), we have to pay closer attention. Gleaning the clearest story between the screech and clash, consider this b-side Aesop’s fable:

One day after many years at war in the dusty outback the Squealer Man Uncle Sam who had been workin’ overtime came home to his long-suffering family and declared that “the gift of affluent life was wasted on my fickle wife.” Revolted, his wife Candy screamed, “how can you not care about the war!?”, to which he squealed back, “Candy I want, want your candy!!”

Is this a veiled threat against America? Or perhaps a sneery-eyed screed against the super-rich strata oppressing every hilled suburbia in America? Is there something sexual going on here? Is that a sex mask? Of course it is on all fronts. Better yet, is this the medicine the late Hunter S. Thompson would have prescribed as something to play over “a huge obsolete wire-burning Macintosh amp” only to stand back to find it slowly crawling up your femurs?

But of all the always mentioned and previously apparent influences squealing right out the pen on Ty Segall’s new ultimate secret weapon, “Emotional Mugger” say, Blue Cheer, Sabbath, Ty Segall, and even Beatles via T-Rex classic rock, the most pleasant early surprise comes when you hear the bass synth on “Leopard Priestess” echoing the more complex keys of Bill Withers’ “Use Me Up.”

Video Link: Keep on Using

As recognizable as this is to those who know the song, unless you happen to know the guy you might never get your answer as to intent. So go with it. Call it a happy accident or the blessing bestowed upon any hardworking artist who deserves some synchronistic luck. Maybe it just came to him out of the unified left field since judging by his prodigious output it really doesn’t seem like he would have any other time to listen to anything besides his own music.

By the time “Diversion” comes around to reveal the first of a fistful of “fuck finally!” moments, it’s nice to get some time off from trying to figure out what’s going on. If somebody were to hold a glock-9 (Mack-10?) to my head and ask “What the heck does this album sound like Mister!?” I would be remiss to leave out the requisite “FUZZY spaced-out DIRTY psych blues with REFRESHING bursts of melody, surprisingly REWARDING bass/drum/synth lines, and SNEERING political asides SIR!” refrain, but this dude seems to be working much harder than how that sounds. It also appears that in the process the sonofabitch is having a lot more fun than anybody else, a la the irrepressible Mac Demarco. So who are we not to get blown away by any number of legal firearm models for not having the perfect answer?

It’s worth remembering that musical bands often get initially swept under the rug or panned because the sound doesn’t fit (it’s called cognitive disfluency look it up) not because they aren’t any good. Or maybe the sound is too raw to accept at first blush but the impeccable taste of time teases it through the mainstream. Think Stooges or Jesus Lizard. Think Ed Askew or Daniel Johnston. This isn’t the case here. Ty is rightfully famous in real time like Shakespeare and even Job the Oppressed before him. However, the prolific nature of these releases make it hard as a fan to appreciate, reload, and re-explode when he drops one every week. Quit popping the cork on these vintages before we’ve even had the chance to finish off the last bottle. Lots of spirits out there bro. Give it a chance to settle.

Remember that gal Bebe from “Sideways stories from Wayside School,” that book you read in grammar school? For those who aren’t 28 to 45 you’ll probably need to skip to the end where I talk about sobriety as a parameter for good taste. Well she made hella drawings over and over with not much respect to quality. The kids from class lined up in droves to buy the doodles because they were always pretty good and better yet because they were always available in large supply. But yes eventually they grew disinterested because of the basic principle of marginal utility. Think Econ. You failed it twice at your beloved liberal arts college remember? Think Matthew Friedberger. Dude thought he needed to make a rock opera once per year. Think Will Ferrell. Christ Stepbrothers was funny. We could go on and on, but just because you have your shit together and you don’t have a chemical dependence or crippling insecurity preventing you from exercising your voice, that doesn’t mean you should work so god damn much. Your correspondent’s preoccupation with the over saturation of readily consumable media (yes even the heavy stuff) will not be dismissed as folly.

That being said if you still can’t get beyond this nagging temptation to feel like you’ve been left behind on this one, consider yourself a whiny little freak who needs to lighten up a bit. Maybe even try cutting loose. Take a deep breath and take a listen to track 6 near the end of side 2. You the wormy one will be rewarded with the answer about how the drums and bass are working together. After all, per Henry Rollins (as stated in his Ron Asheton eulogy) this duality is the real driver behind successful rock n’ roll submission. Listen to Henry on this one. He hasn’t had a drink in fifty-five years.