The Apes emerged from the wet, heavy jungle of Washington DC in 1999 to command the rock subculture. Their modus: uniting great warlords, absorbing rogue factions, and educating red-handed guerilla bands with a passionately wayward rock signal.

Propelled by Erick Jackson's burning, fur-lined bass growls, Amanda Kleinman's horny and celestial banshee organ, and Jeff Schmid's iron-chest-of-cocaine drums, throat chieftain Breck Brunson (ably picking up where previous vocalists Paul Weil and Joe Halladay left off) channels the kaleidoscopic eye and children's black tears into the hearts of all. This overdriven rock assault drives forward as tales of conquest, social alienation, and a perverse spiritual kinship with the universe become trance-inducing incantations. Great armies of spectators prostrate themselves; the overcrowded brains of headphone astronauts are penetrated. Ultimately, a shared enthusiasm for the new aesthetic treasures of Ape magic and sound fury overtakes all. -- E.B.

photos by divya srinivasan except Breck by Jeff

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