What doesn’t get mentioned often enough about The Jesus Lizard’s relentlessly ugly music is how fragile it is. They can make a stumbling noise riff sound like a broken music box (“Hide & Seek”) and a man ranting about giving birth to a perfectly trained dog feel like a secret wish (“Swan the Dog”)—strange, private moods rendered in noisy, explosive music. Like “Louie, Louie,” The Stooges, and Nirvana (whose Kurt Cobain was a vocal and devoted fan), they are both caveman-simple and savant-smart, or at least in touch with a force beyond our earthly realm. Part of what makes Rack such an unsettling listen—26 years after 1998’s Blue—is realizing how prophetic their version of America turned out to be: a violent, mysterious place where the biggest threat is probably that guy next door.