The Mars Volta
– De-Loused in the Comatorium
De-Loused in the Comatorium is what happens when a prog-punk fever dream collides with jazz fusion, Mexican folklore, and the sound of a body disintegrating in space. Cedric Bixler-Zavala screams like he’s being exorcised, while Omar Rodríguez-López wrings his guitar like it owes him money. Nothing here is safe. Nothing here wants to be.
Best of…
The record rips open with a surreal story loosely based on the life and death of Julio Venegas, but don’t worry if you can’t follow the plot—most listeners can’t. That’s not the point. The point is feeling like you’ve been yanked through a wormhole made of rhythm changes, ambient chaos, and Spanish-screamed poetry. Rick Rubin’s production reins it in just enough to stop the album from flying apart, but not so much that it ever feels domesticated.
This is prog rock dragged through the punk gutter, then wired to a defibrillator. Songs stretch past ten minutes, flip styles mid-measure, and explode without warning. Yet somehow it holds. It swirls with manic precision, barely giving you time to catch your breath before plunging into another movement. It’s not built for casual consumption—it’s an endurance test. And for the right listener, it’s exhilarating. It’s the band’s most feral, focused statement, before they chased even wilder spirits.
Choice Tracks
Inertiatic ESP
A compact burst of controlled chaos. Cedric howls through an apocalypse over a riff that never sits still. It’s a theme park ride for people who hate theme parks.
Roulette Dares (The Haunt Of)
Lurches between quiet tension and full-bore explosions. The guitar work is wild, but it’s Jon Theodore’s drumming that really runs the show—precise and unpredictable.
Drunkship of Lanterns
Borderline unhinged. Latin percussion, psych noise, and guitar solos that sound like they’re bleeding. It doesn’t ride a groove so much as tumble down a staircase and land on its feet.
Cicatriz ESP
At over 12 minutes, this track is the record’s centerpiece. It veers into ambient space jams, then punches back with volcanic force. Like six songs duct-taped together—somehow it works.
Televators
The closest thing to a ballad here. Eerie and restrained, full of ghostly atmosphere. It’s the album’s deep inhale before the final plunge.
Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt
Ends the album like a closing incantation—wild, winding, and unsatisfied. No clean resolution, just more questions and the faint echo of things coming undone.