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For three guys considered lo-fi, Space Needle certainly has its finger in a lot of sockets; it’s knee-deep in electronic gizmos and raging against the four-track on The Moray Eel Eats the Space Needle. More than a year since Voyager was recorded in a Long Island basement, the second Space Needle album shows that the trio has irritation down to a mad science. The opening track, “Where the Fuck’s My Wallet?” is a gigantic ear-ringing car crash, where time (more than 13 minutes of it) has no meaning, songs have no form, and punctured eardrums bleed into deep thoughts about life, lunacy, and REO Speedwagon. But out of Moray Eel’s sonic maelstrom come gorgeously paced tear-jerkers like “Never Lonely Alone,” where Jud Ehrbar’s sweet, lilting vocals loll around in fuzzy junior-prom dreamscapes. Moray Eel sustains a captivating balance between all-out guitar wrecks and hypnotic pop. Just when your apartment sounds like the launching pad at Cape Canaveral and your brain feels like charcoal (“Old Spice,” “Hot for Krishna”), a coffin calm opens up with the perfumed cloud of “One Kind of Lullaby.” With no persistent lyrical themes or song structures, The Moray Eel Eats the Space Needle is an open-ended question, a hard-as-Sphinx riddle. For an answer, you must not think in terms of notes and rhythms, but of shapes and colors. Once entranced, you can readily succumb to the beast, to the razor-sharp teeth of the eel. —Cathy Alter