There is really only two ways you can attempt to truly review an excellent jam.

1) Get technical and alienate 95% of your audience

2) Launch into some Pseudo-Gonzo hyperbolic bullshit that really doesn't tell the reader anything except for "Look at me, I can say 'The Jam Got Louder!' by going "Like a goddamned storm surge cresting the levies, the masses below the high water line were inundated with ten thousand tons of dead dogs and 2x4s with rusty crooked nails, a grotesque Creole MeeMaw turning her milky eye on you so knowing as the angry gelatinous avalanche disintegrated her bones while simultaneously absorbing them into the collective. Great Scots! Is Trey Locutus of the Borg? Page perhaps quotes Walls Of The Cave. Is this resistance futile? A million crystalline nanofilaments exploded from the diarrhea deluge ensnaring the entire audience in a cybernetic web- one tightening and bright lines of crimson blood criss-cross every slack-jawed layabout- two tightenings and the sea of trust fund children are torn asunder in a sickening eruption of chunks of flabby flesh slapping against each other like that MeeMaw striving with all her strength to just kill PeePaw with one last taste of her gritty jelly roll and spare him the heartbreak of seeing the Old Liquor Store dragged beneath the waves- MeeMaw's eye stares at you. It's the entire sky. The stars are swallowed up in her iris. Trey teases Crosseyed to great effect. The stars blink out one by one to be replaced by starving one legged badgers, slowly dragging themselves in a sad lopsided circle, leaving a trail of bloody shit and shameful semen as they stupidly grasp for one last shred of pleasure in this world. The whole crowd is choking on the oily water. Somebody coughs up a fish. Somebody coughs up a crab. Somebody is coughed up by a reconstituted biokinetic gator with a jaunty eye patch and a stunning command of French. Trey starts up Backwards Down The Number Line"