Hella

There’s No 666 In Outer Space

[4/5] After spending years in the anti-social, we-don’t-give-a-fuck, noise-spaz category, Hella have finally come in for a landing and actually delivered a (cough, clears throat) listenable release with There’s No 666 In Outer Space, albeit in a totally off-kilter, Hella sort of way. And just think, it only took founding drummer Zach Hill and guitarist Spencer Seim upgrading from longtime super-duo status to a full-fledged quintet. Make no mistake-this more-realized Hella still blast, blungeon and splatter their way through the 11 tracks, but they do so with a cohesive and poppy bombast, all the while oozing the sort of primal goop that reeks of a new birth, which makes sense. By adding second guitarist Josh Hill (Zach’s cousin), bassist Carson McWhirter and singer/butcher Aaron Ross, Hill and Seim seem to have gone through some sort of religio-musical conversion. There’s an uneasy yet triumphant spirit, like Primus on crack, and as the first chords of “World Series” sound off like a cosmic call to arms, Hella crash through heart-skipping time changes (“Dull Fangs”), otherworldly semitone choruses (“Let Your Heavies Out”) and Jeremy Enigk-infused caterwaul-jazz (“The Ungratefull Dead”), all of which has a charm that transcends your typical noise-splunk band. (IPECAC) Casey Lynch

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