For godsakes, you boys of Your Highness Electric. Where the hell have you been all my life? After eons of holding out in vain for smart, groovy riff-rock like yours, praying that someone someday would hit upon just the right formula, I was about ready to give up hope. (One can only heap so many expectations on Clutch, after all.)

It’s been hard, living without you. I mean, sure, there are others who came close enough to tide me over temporarily. Late-model Fu Manchu was a reasonable but ultimately hollow alternative. Puny Human had me convinced for awhile that I’d found my soulmate, but after the honeymoon period was over, I realized they lacked the psychedelic element I so dearly crave. When I met Wolfmother, I nearly threw The Party of the Universe to celebrate that my search had, at long last, come to an end… but they betrayed me by only meeting my needs half of the time.

But you, Your Highness Electric - you and this Grand Hooded Phantom of yours are the real thing. We have a real connection; I can feel it. Don’t deny it. You wax poetic about mustaches and pestilence, twisting in and out of a guitar-laden madness that makes me simultaneously compelled to trip balls and dance like an unbathed, violently happy flower child. Maybe “weed child” is more appropriate. Whatever. You regale me with fluid basslines and not-so-subtly sanded-down vocals. You berate me for thinking I’d never find you with rhythms that seep into my unconsciousness to wrest me from slumber. And where most bands fail miserably taking their name from their idols’ lyrics, your nod to Jon & Vangelis’ “Deborah”- that’s right, don’t think I didn’t notice - is upheld by your formidable songwriting ability, coming off as a true homage rather than tawdry coattail-riding.