Despite being one of the more creative bands to emerge from the lemminglike tide of late 90s stoner-rock acts committed to vinyl by the Mans Ruin imprint, talented British fuzz merchants the Heads somehow never got the Stateside audience they deserved. Straddling Stooges-inspired fury and droning, Hawkwind-esque deep space exploration, the Heads churn out a psych-punk maelstrom that answers the rhetorical question What would Sonic Youth sound like if it sported a massive set of hairy balls? The domestic release of Heads latest effort, Under the Stress of a Headlong Dive, reveals just how developed its corrosive Big Muff alchemy has become over the years. Anchored by the monolithic guitar squall of founder Simon Price and fellow six-string terrorist Paul Allen, the Heads bash out careening, catchy heaviness on Earth/Sun, the conga-driven pass, the void [sic] and Your Monkey Is My Master, standing equal to the best of Mudhoney and early Monster Magnet (before Dave Wyndorf stopped doing drugs). Factor in some loopy, mind-warping psychedelic interludes and a couple of thoroughly engaging extended freakouts (the nearly 20-minute epic Stodgy and Creating in the Eternal New Is Always Heavy) and you have a serious contender for most bongtastic album of 2006.