When this came out on Fedora Corpse last year, it was the first new offering from Akron, Ohio's mighty Black Mayo since their (his?) previous album on Resipiscent all the way back in 2008. On Dissipative Structure, Black Mayonnaise's glacial "lunar sludge" is as psychedelic and brain-melting as ever, sprawling across just three monolithic tracks of abstract creeping drone and extreme fungal doom. Side one is a single side-long epic titled "Radiation", with glacial pounding drums drenched in delay and echoing through the churning tarpit fungal slime like a dub remix of Godflesh, a chugging doom metal riff uncoiling underneath, blanketed in amp fuzz and low end rumble, while the "vocals", as usual, emerge as wordless gastrointestinal rumbles and bestial flutterings that have been processed through extreme pitch-shifting manipulation. It's like hearing a Saint Vitus song slowed down to 4 bpm and cut up and remixed by King Tubby. This just goes on and on, glazing your frontal lobe with an endless syrup chug, but halfway through the side the song shifts into swarming electronic noise, garbled voices, and other warped sonic crud that stretches out for several minutes and sounds like a hard drive being consumed by a mass of squirming space-maggots, or maybe a chopped n' screwed KK Null track. After awhile, that Vitus-on-Robitussin riff and the dubbed-out mechanical drums slide back in like a moist fungal mass into this squirming, chirping clot of electronic noise, becoming even more lysergic and nightmarish as it crawls inexorably towards the end of the side.

The second side features two tracks; the first, "The Drunken Stupor Of The Waking World" is an abstract electronic doomscape that starts off with flanged electronic sounds and then drifts off through a cosmic abyss of sparse, mortar-like drums rumbling in the depths, chirping oscillators, and bell-like tones that slip in and out of focus. The second, "Our Senses Are Mysteries To Us, And We Are Mysteries To Ourselves" returns to the bubbling, primordial sludge-slime of the first side, the drums on this one even more spread out and glacial, the riffage sparser, a single thunderous downtuned chord rumbling overhead, the sound infested with those burbling, buzzing insectile electronics and waves of oscillating space-hiss...but then in a bizarre turn, the muck fades away and we're suddenly joined by a cavernous banjo tune, the instrument sliding and twanging in some huge echoing space. Weird.

Pressed on green vinyl in a limited edition of three hundred copies, and includes a Black Mayo sticker.