The sophomore record by bore the curse of having to follow a monolith of their own making. sold extremely well for an independent; it was a favorite of virtually every critic who heard it in 1981. showcased a different lineup as well. replaced (temporarily, at least) on guitar, and there were a ton of guest performances, including and . produced the album. Off the bat the disc suffers from a thin mix. Going for a rougher sound, left the instruments at one level and boosted 's vocal. There is plenty of guitar here, screaming and moping like a drunken orphan from the Texas flatlands, but next to its predecessor it sounds drier and reedier. Ultimately it hardly matters. Going for a higher, more desolate sound, frontman and slide player and his band were literally on fire. The songs here, from among others, centered themselves on a mutant form of music that met the ethos in the desert, fought and bloodied each other, and decided to stay together. This is hardcore snake-charming music (as in water moccasins not cobras), evil, smoky, brash, and libidinally uttered. Their spooky version of an already creepy tune by , runs the gamut from sexual nightmare to voodoo ritual gone awry. Finally, and company pull out all the roots and reveal them for what they are: is a squalling , with the heart of the country in cardiac arrest. proved to be a fine replacement for , in that his style was pure Telecaster (a la ) revved by was given a rough go when it was issued for its production. But in the bird's-eye view of history its songs stack up, track for track, with and continue to echo well into this long good night. ~ Thom Jurek