Plasma’s free-range funk takes on enough different shapes to fill a geometry textbook: Obtuse jams, head-in-the-clouds pop, even sweaty stoner metal all elbow for position on this diffuse debut. “I am so high, can’t get over it,” frontman Jason Blair wails early on, and true to his words, Plasma is prone to playful overindulgence. The album cover even comes adorned with a lass sporting what looks to be four breasts.

The band’s sound is similarly buxom. Big, rubbery bass, sub-Yngwie guitar, and Blair’s bipolar wail, which ranges from a soulful howl to a baked murmur, crowd the mix, stretching some numbers past the eight-minute mark. It makes for an overlong, overstuffed album, where wistful acoustic pop, loud blues outbursts, and heaving hard rock vie for attention. These fun-lovin’ dudes are all about excess, so if Plasma’s cup runneth over, all the better to get shitfaced.

This article appears in Aug 11-17, 2004.