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yucca lost-tribe fellowship is what happens when you pit a dexterous improviser with a boorish anti-drummer whose only music vocabulary is slaughter high. this may be one of those unbelievability awkward recordings you would show your granddaughter once you've shot her up with a couple ounces of gin and her sent her around to meet your wet-nurses at the brick yard. sounds like porter wagoner meets foot village or captain beefheart meets sudden infant. death-folk, naturally.