1:3:1

Dufus' 1:3:1 is an almost impenetrably dense, genuinely weird record. What it lacks in coherence, it makes up for in sheer chutzpah and ambition. Coming off as a more folkish cross of sound collage-era Frank Zappa (adapted for a live band) and the frantic ravings of Captain Beefheart, 1:3:1 is the kind of record that could potentially change a listener's life, if received at the right age. Dufus' anti-folk blends the insolence of punk with the innocence of youth into a joyful anti-authoritarian stance that manifests itself in unusually musical ways. Songs careen from section to impossible section, changing vocalists, time signatures, melodies, and instrumentation (horns, strings, keyboards, noise blurps) in the blink of an eye. For those not at the right age, well, 1:3:1 might just sound like a bloody mess — a bunch of kids with way too much time on their hands, out to confound the listener at every turn with blasts of true sonic anarchy. Not for passive listening.