Torture! ahhh! baby ... 'cause I like it, baby, I like it raw!" That outburst, found near the tail end of Acme, pretty much distills the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion to their 200-proofessence. Over six unwaveringly manic albums, guitarists Jon Spencer and Judah Bauer and drummer Russell Simins have committed themselves to channeling the chain-saw fervor of a long-gone era in which extremists like Link Wray, Hasil Adkins and Hound Dog Taylor made their instruments scream for mercy.

Unfortunately, the Blues Explosion's slavish devotion to the knuckle-dragging dawn of rock & roll sometimes makes them sound like a high-octane revival band, or worse. Cursing in fake Southern accents on A Ass Pocket of Whiskey – their 1996 collaboration with Mississippi cult figure R.L. Burnside – the members of the Explosion verged on blooze caricatures. Far more intriguing were the band's earlier attempts to connect its scuzzy roots trip with hip-hop's cut-and-paste aesthetic, an experiment partially realized on the 1995 Experimental Remixes EP. Acme finishes that job in impressive style as it filters guitar-drum mayhem through a postmodern Cuisinart of studio effects, with help on a few tracks from Dan Nakamura, a.k.a. the Automator, formerly of psychedelic hip-hoppers Dr. Octagon.

As usual, the Blues Explosion don't offer much in the way of songs. Acme is more about moments, recorded with brutal precision by such indierock auteurs as Calvin Johnson and Steve Albini: the Southern guitar riff that greases "Magical Colors"; the Harley-Davidson power chord that blows up real good midway through "High Gear"; the vicious drum fill that pole-axes "Give Me a Chance." Besides shout-outs to getting gree-say and hev-ayyy, it's that rare party album with a reference to road kill.

It all packs a surreal wallop. In "Talk About the Blues," guitars veer from foreground to background in the mix before making way for a shortwaveradio break, while a distorted drumbeat churns through a sea of wheezing, whinnying sound effects. It's the blues in the land of the break beat, and it sounds real, real gone. (RS 799)

GREG KOT