Named after a 1971 album by John Lee Hooker, this New York band is a primalblues juggernaut with surprising textural depth. Endless Boogie don’t jam on Long Island, their third LP. They churn, whipping their monastic crudity (yapping-hound riffs; stern, straight rhythms) into a tripleguitar lava of eccentric precedents – Can, Captain Beefheart, the Groundhogs – charged with the fury of the ’69 Stooges (“Occult Banker”) and the unforgiving drone of the Velvet Underground (“The Montgomery Manuscript”). Endless Boogie can’t help sounding like hip rare-vinyl freaks. But it’s a gag with legs – and hypnotic force.