This song works on so many levels. The opening crashing E power chord, Craig Moore calmly invoking "the universe is permeated with the order of kerosene," the screamed vocals, the infectious guitar riff, the creepy-crawly sound of the cheap organ, the humorous twist at the end when the reason for the "blackout" is revealed. It all spells the best of mid-'60s garage rock, raw and unpolished but tuneful and well-played nonetheless, touching on protopunk, Stones-ish "Satisfaction"-style social commentary, Yardbirds/Count Five-style instrumental rave-ups, early psychedelia, and the tongue-in-cheek humor of perpetual rock jokesters like Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart (Don Van Vliet). There is no song from the '60s quite like it, much as it invokes or touches on all these influences and contemporaries. These five unjustly-obscure guys from the rural southeastern corner of Iowa were the equals of Lou Reed or any other nonconformist finding his voice in that wondrous and lost era.
This song works on so many levels. The opening crashing E power chord, Craig Moore calmly invoking "the universe is permeated with the order of kerosene," the screamed vocals, the infectious guitar riff, the creepy-crawly sound of the cheap organ, the humorous twist at the end when the reason for the "blackout" is revealed. It all spells the best of mid-'60s garage rock, raw and unpolished but tuneful and well-played nonetheless, touching on protopunk, Stones-ish "Satisfaction"-style social commentary, Yardbirds/Count Five-style instrumental rave-ups, early psychedelia, and the tongue-in-cheek humor of perpetual rock jokesters like Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart (Don Van Vliet). There is no song from the '60s quite like it, much as it invokes or touches on all these influences and contemporaries. These five unjustly-obscure guys from the rural southeastern corner of Iowa were the equals of Lou Reed or any other nonconformist finding his voice in that wondrous and lost era.