Here's the brilliancy of a set like this: Take a band whose '90s vinyl output, even its lone Matador-released 1995 LP, has been findable only on the thorniest of paths, and nonexistent on CD, dump the lot onto four discs, add a DVD of random concert footage and backstage drooling idiocy, and sell the thing for $16. Then the question is, "Do I need all of this?" One can hear the record-store clerks now, nodding their heads while snatching this thing off the display wall and chanting, "Oh, you do, you do!" Like you need a good thrashing, a downsizing, a re-configuring.
Led by guitarist/singer/instigator Daniel Saxton Bunny, this revolving troupe of mental patients and sociopaths oozed out of Connecticut's stony landscape in the early '90s, upping the ante on rock 'n' roll stupidity to nearly unreachable peaks with shows that started out at total meltdown and proceeded to use electricity as torture. While comparable to early Flipper or the escapades of the Butthole Surfers, the Brains lack the focus, the control or even the song structure of those two. Instead, they rely on improvisation and instant poetry of the vilest sort. Imagine the Grateful Dead jacked to the gills on PCP and paranoia while someone butchers sheep behind them and you might get an idea of what these guys are about. Then again, you might not.