A chaotic serotonin kick lies at the core of Portland power trio Sun Angle’s bracing debut, which opens with a blast of echoey urgency worthy of the Pop Group. Recorded loudly in the numinous hinterlands of Zigzag, Oregon, Diamond Junk often suggests a lysergic flashback to the gnarly heyday of Deadhead-punk founded SST Records — so imagine an overdriven and smeared Meat Puppets, even a disco-version Minutemen. Guitarist Charlie Salas Humara creates a glorious off-the-cuff caterwaul throughout, wah-wah-ing his way through dizzying half-riffs that split the difference between Hendrix and Curt Kirkwood. Nailed to the starry sky by Marius Libman’s cumbia-core bass and Papi Fimbres’s Keith Moon beams, Sun Angle makes music of muscle and allusion with the attention span of a spun-out gnat. The trio cover a lot of ground in three-minute cerebral symphonies such as “Yes Beach,” which gets fast, then slow, then weird very quickly; or the epic “Time Snakes,” which captures an Animal Collective-like sense of the divine before accelerating into a multi-dimensional reverbogasm. The result, as the album’s title implies, splits the difference between precious and disposable.
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