When the sax throne set out by Portuguese sludge merchants Black Bombaim became vacant earlier this year sagacity dictated the walrus of Wuppertal adopt the slot on a stop-off in Porto. Brötzmann's willingness to hang with such stoner tyros should come as little surprise. His penchant for rockier realms has deep roots. Entanglements with noise and metal in the 1980s peaked with his genre-mangling ops in super-unit Last Exit, exposing the lung-buster as a musical extremist determined to erase the lines demarcating renegade disciplines. Incendiary alliances with everyone from electronics noiseniks Defibrillator to pedal steel-player Heather Leigh uphold this zeal for cross-genre into-the-red subterfuge. On this blistering blowout it's the saxophonist's past jousts with the shamanic Keiji Haino that confer the biggest clues as to the prevalent decoding of rock's tired scriptures, as cantankerous rhythm section and Brötz's bestial bawls puree into volcanic emission. Like Major Stars' wondrous, recent Motion Set, this four-part pulse-piece stands on the heft of its stratospheric skyrocket strafes and pugilistic psych pounding. Yet little of that record's tang of woodbine or patchouli bouquet surfaces here. Tie-dye gets trafficked for greased leathers and patchwork denim, the prevailing stink is of musty belly-shovers riding the gumballs off souped-up hogs along the highway to Hades. And there, in those fiery depths, Laswell reaches down to the late-great Lemmy Kilmister, and finally puts the seal on that bottlenecked deal between Brötzmann and Motörhead. Only 35 years too late.