With over 25 years of musical mayhem under their belts Melvins have always been at the forefront of forward-thinking rock ‘n’ roll. Last year they released a complex and dense remix album, where artists such as Japanese noise mentalist Merzbow and Sonic Youth’s Lee Ranaldo were encouraged to compress a complete album into a single track. The results were an exciting, if slightly exhausting listen. But Buzzo, Dale and the gang are back with studio album number eighteen – as always it’s best to expect the unexpected.

There is no beating about the bush – The Bride Screamed Murder is the sonic equivalent of a coach trip for the criminally insane. At certain points it might give the impression that everything is under control. Inmate 67439 calmly chats about the weather, lulling everyone into a false sense of security before dashing off to bugger a swan in the Welcome Break car park. These schizophrenic leaps are not limited to individual tracks, occasionally mid-song the rug can be pulled from under foot with no warning whatsoever.

If there is such a thing as a traditional Melvin’s track ‘Evil New War God’ and ‘Inhumanity & Death’ come pretty close, dirty and nasty sludge rock box ticked. Yet when set amongst such psychotic brethren their straight-laced approach still incites an air of trepidation; expectation of the uncertain is often more tense than discovering what’s actually hidden in the box. And there are plenty of surprises. Call and response chants like an overexcited football team? Yep! Cheerful hummed ditties on the end of tracks – akin to a serial killer merrily strolling through suburbia, after the bludgeoning yet another victim in his basement? Uh-huh! Songs that end over and over again like some recurring nightmare? Sure thing! At the halfway point if King Buzzo leapt from your speakers to feed you cheesecake it wouldn’t seem out of place.

When playtime is over and it’s time to go home the party draws to a close with a super-slow version of The Who’s ‘My Generation’, which soon drifts off into a garage-rock-psyche jam session. But that’s just the appetiser, as the true finale ‘P.G. x 3′ epitomises the experimental nature of this record exquisitely. Opening with a lonely home-on-the-range harmonica before the male voice choir (yes, I know, just stick with me here) kicks in – next it’s another echo rich guitar psyche-out before ending with an increasingly demented computerised voice counting down. Many artists’ careers don’t cover as much ground as this single track does in just a few minutes.

Overall it’s an unsettling but also welcoming experience. At several junctures the question “Where the fuck are we going now?” has to be asked. This may well be one step too far for fans of their less eclectic work, but if you want a challenging and exciting listen you aren’t going to find many albums better suited to this in 2010.