XTRMNTR : Primal Scream : Review : Rolling Stone

Primal Scream's previous albums sounded filtered through a drug haze. But if the U.K. band was occasionally stunning on its landmark acid-house soundtrack, Screamadelica (1991), and on the dubby dance exploration of 1997's Vanishing Point -- even its lame 1994 attempt at Stones-y cock rock, Give Out but Don't Give Up, had its moments -- the highs usually didn't last long.

Primal Scream's new album, Xtrmntr, is a sober, brutally visceral experience. Frontman Bobby Gillespie dabbled in political rhetoric on Vanishing Point, but this time he goes whole hog, hurling the most bilious rants you've heard since Rage Against the Machine discovered Noam Chomsky. Where Rage set their cross hairs on specific targets, Gillespie is just plain pissed at everybody. But like Rage, the Primals spew vitriol that is powerfully, unwaveringly in the pocket. Fascists and oppressive governments draw most of his wrath on tracks like "Kill All Hippies," which is anchored by a chunky beat while the keyboards whine like air-raid sirens. The club-friendly "Swastika Eyes" rails against global military powers as a dance groove careers at lightning speed. The hip-hop-flavored "Pills" simply ends with Gillespie screaming, "Sick, fuck, fuck, sick," at the top of his lungs. Somehow, the Primals' fury never seems misguided: This is one ball of aggression that hangs together, thanks to the band's smarts and funk. Just call Xtrmntr the Battle of London. (RS 840)

MATT HENDRICKSON