June 20, 2003 at 04:00 AM EDT

Long before the Strokes discovered hair gel or Interpol perfected their pout, Brooklyn’s Mink Lungs were flipping hipster lids with space-pop hootenannies that incorporated live ants, pyrotechnics, farm animals — and the obligatory Jimmy Swaggart impersonator! That flair for bizarro theatrics finally gets a proper translation on their second album, which hurtles through your brain like an out-of-control UFO filled with lovers, pervs, and stalkers crash-landing into a mountain of Pixies discs. Somewhere, Philip K. Dick is flashing the devil horns.

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