Lightning Bolt has been a concern of many since the dawn of the new (and rather screwed) millennium. Those who frequent blogs about Freemasons and Illuminati schemes might construe that there is something to the band’s frantic, absolute-highest-octane percussive workouts that fits in with the onset of at-home terrorism. They are probably right. The idea of panic—and not the panic of “oh no, I’m late” but more the panic of “oh god, I’m screaming into the abyss and no one can help me”—seemed to manifest in the wall of sound made by these two Providence-based nutcases. Six albums in and theirs is still a wall of foot-on-monitor guitar riffs repeated against drum patterns that seem to defy most rock structures. This may be Lightning Bolt’s most hi-fi release yet, but its combo of dark energy and chopped and screwed rock-and-roll heroics make it as essential as ever.