3 out of 5

Label: Thrill Jockey

Produced by: Lightning Bolt (recorded by)

Do we know the story of why Oblivion Hunter went unreleased for a few years? From the various contemporary and rerelease blurbs, it’s described, various, as lost or shelved in 2008 before being released as an (40-minute…) EP in 2012, but my casual searchings haven’t found a reason. Such a reason doesn’t matter, of course, but I can’t help but be curious; and is the relative aimlessness of the album’s construction part of the reason?

LB have understandably gained a bit more structure over their tenure, starting out as more firmly noise rock – sorry to the band, as they’ve been quoted as hating that construct – and evolving into something with a more psychedelic (though still loud as heck!) outfit. Songs and albums have more focus. But while it wasn’t solely noise that defined them early on, it’s hard to not see that as, well, their definitive trait: the earliest Lightning Bolt albums have an unleashed bravado that’s either offensive or addictive or both, and it’s a sound that’s hard to perfectly replicate.

Oblivion Hunter sits somewhere between these extreme modes, leaning into wall-of-sound indulgence while also zipping through some more “traditional” rocking out, with solos and riffs, and even, like, a pop song? It’s an impressive (and typically exhausting) set of the group’s usual distorted drum pummeling and vocals, fuzzed-as-fuck bass, and some overdubs of effects, played at a pace between non-stop mayhem and aggressive, but it juggles more open-ended, drone-like space rock (Baron Wasteland) with improv-tinged stompers (King Kandy, 13-minute endurance contest World Wobbly Wide), and then tracks that can actually be pointed at as having verses and choruses (Salamander; the aforementioned pop of Fly Fucker Fly), all played with a certain… casualness. That’s kind of the overwhelming vibe here that prevents the album from taking off, and is my narrative for its shelving: just as the sound splits LB’s styles, the same applies to its emotional effect, neither feeling fully unleashed or zipped up, but rather inbetween, executed with both passion and a shrug at the same time.

As this is my first go-round with the release, I’m not familiar enough with the original recording to compare to Josh Bonati’s remaster, but this doesn’t change the LB sound I know: Gibson’s vocals sit on a clear background layer against the heavy instruments, with the extra affections dropping in at a good level to increase the noise without necessarily upping the overall volume.

Though an excellent summary of Lightning Bolt’s various strengths over the years, Oblivion Hunter’s split-the-difference approach also makes it not the most cohesive, immersive listen.