We'll simply call it 400 Boys because the attempted Mayan transliteration is unpronounceable, perhaps intentionally so. After all, the 400 Boys are Mayan prankster gods whose antics are somehow thought to be integral to the cosmic scheme of things. Perhaps Hochenkeit was searching for patrons in whom the ludicrous and the celestial were married, whose worship walked the line between ceremony and play. The cover of 400 Boys is divided into two parts: on the top, an austere black and white sketch of a Mayan temple; on the bottom, a photograph of kissing fish. Down the side runs the hieroglyphs of the boys themselves dancing, laughing, chopping their own heads off, all as if to warn: whatever is taken seriously can be rendered ridiculous. One might scarcely be able to swallow an hour of high-minded psych-trance noise if not for the lurking suspicion that, behind the experimental gush, someone is laughing.

400 Boys seems to thrive on playful self-subversion. Formed from the ruins of Portland's incredible Irving Klaw Trio in 1997, Hochenkeit's Jeff Fuccillo, Jason Funk, John Vasallo, and Matthew Arnold seem to have inherited the Trio's lunatic approach to experimental music. While 1997's solid I Love You labored under the dueling influences of Can and John Fahey, 400 Boys seems to channel Live at Pompeii-era Pink Floyd right down to the ruins. But the long drone jams that comprise 400 Boys revel in their clamoring oddity. There is a perverseness to the whole thing that's simply contagious. Rather than aping the solemnity that Western ears tend to bring to world music, Hochenkeit treats every new instrument and sound as a fresh occasion for delirium.

The opening track, "Seen," emerges with junk percussion from the austere drone of the harmonium, while the acoustic guitar flutters playfully on the sides. As the song coalesces, an electric guitar attempts reggae rhythms in sputters, periodically blooming into bright psychedelic clatter. "Seem" resolves into the sample of a girl moaning breathily in terror or ecstasy. It doesn't matter which. By the time you've given it any thought, Hochenkeit have launched into "Two Fish Kissing," a long percolating drone piece with nods to Floyd's "Careful With That Axe, Eugene." Languidly rhythmic guitar melds with the foreign strains of the Turkish saz echoing in the distance. "Two Fish" saves itself from simple-minded orientalism by virtue of its loose, basement aesthetic of jagged guitar lines and understated percussion.

"To Be Born Drunk and Die Dreaming" shatters the somber organ drone and piercing electronics with shimmying maracas, and the whole track proceeds to strut with the deep funk bass-like saunter of the guitar. The track approaches the country-surf-raga of Glenn Jones' inexplicably underrated Cul de Sac before exploding into a tribal freak-out of screaming violin, Thai reeds, pouting harmonium and thick, jungle percussion. Snarling and mischievous, "Give Them to the Ants" recaptures the bottomless funk of the previous track. Under bubbling electronics, the serrated guitar and prowling bass recall the sharp, lysergic jams of Funkadelic's Maggot Brain, while curling the Middle Eastern flourishes that dominated the previous album. One might be hard-pressed to find "experimental music" as immediately irresistible as "Give Them to the Ants" on any release this year.

The squall of the title track is a good deal denser: equal parts Muslim prayer call and whale song. A swarm of rising horns, distorted guitar and electronic noise, "400 Boys" is oddly reminiscent of Briggan Krauss' heavily treated sax solos on this year's Descending to End. Fuzzy, brash and somewhat indulgent, the fourteen-minute "400 Boys" lasts a few minutes longer than it should but nevertheless manages a few moments of incredible loveliness amidst all of its interminable cacophony.

"Please Turn Out the Sun," the extended final track, offers the obligatory spoken-word weirdness, backed by chimes, cumbus, and watery percussions. But at some point midway through, the musicians begin to ignore the foreign woman's yammering and a loose, twangy jam develops like a bad Mediterranean impression of country-western music. Eventually, "Please Turn Out the Sun" evolves into a lumbering post-rock epic of blissful psych-noise layered over dirty guitar clatter. What began as a novelty track emerges as one of 400 Boys' most astounding pieces.

And when the hour is up, it's safe to say you've been a little fucked with. By Hochenkeit no doubt, and perhaps by the trickster gods to whom they've dedicated this outstanding album. Nothing is ever as it seems on 400 Boys. What sounds like self-satisfied drone becomes ass-shaking funk. What introduces itself as funk transforms itself into primitive howling. What begins in tape-loop nonsense resolves into transcendent psychedelia. It probably reads like bait-and-switch but you can't trust your ears and your expectations. What the Boys can give the Boys can always take away.

-Brent S. Sirota