Halfway between a drum circle and a fistfight, a coarse beat kicks off Taiga before pummeling listeners with guitars jutting in and out, which are then matched by rolls of staccato chants from four fierce women. The eight songs here wash together, spaceless and clean like a well-tuned DJ set, and eventually the little bleats stretch themselves into long riffs of total joy. The open structure is hardly unusual for OOIOO; their MO has always been ethereality, but this time out they come closer to aural spirituality than ever before.