Sure, big-time stoner-rock signifier Black Sabbath are a valid reference point, but so are Hawkwind, Neil Young, Jethro Tull, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin - and then there are the oddball prog-rock whimsies that pop up now and again both on Black Mountain's self-titled 2005 debut (also on Jagjaguwar) and their new sophomore effort. Elements of maybe King Crimson, perhaps Rush - OK, definitely Rush, thanks to a few choice synth motifs as well as an unapologetic use of sci-fi/fantasy conceits. Oh, and look at that cover, for Christ's sake!:

Album cover of the year already, and it's only January? It's absolutely perfect: the Pink Floydian design element, the muted color scheme, the "aww, ain't that cute" exposition of a supposedly serious topic like "this is what the future will look like." Then, of course, there's the title, which should give you pause upon considering how determinedly retro these folks are - is this irony? Should we be laughing? I am, anyway.

In the Future kicks off with "Stormy High," a bulldozer of an anthem fueled by McBean's full-throttle guitar crunch, surging bass drum-and-hi-hat duke-it-out rhythms courtesy of Joshua Wells, and the vicious glow of Deep Purple-recalling organ work from Jeremy Schmidt. Meanwhile, percussionist-secondary vocalist Amber Webber, along with a pair of guest back-ups, set a world-on-fire tone to the proceedings with devil-gospel whoa's and woo's. Quite an eventful 80-second opening, indeed.

Then McBean rushes to the mic to warn about "witches on your trail, my lord" before going on to howl about "huntin' hounds" and "barbed wire toys" as the level of urgency heightens and heightens. By the time he reaches the confession, "It wasn't arson that drove us to flames," I'm not sure which gut-rumble wins: exhilaration or trepidation.

Track two, "Angels," offers a woozy, baked-in-the-sun respite from the opener's apocalyptic mania: McBean's slow-drawl delivery of "c'mon, lay your halo down," accompanied by Webber's impeccably casual harmonies, is about the furthest thing possible from the troubling imagery of "Stormy High." A gentle, slightly countrified mid-tempo number given a warm sheen by glowing mellotron - it's perhaps the band's finest pop song moment. Its follow-up, "Tyrants," arrives in total-overdrive mode: the first 75 seconds feel like war, a chugging-guitar-and-pummeling-rhythm assault helped along by death-approacheth keyboard work.

After such an auspicious intro, where do you go from there? Into a slow-burning, icily-sparse confessional reminiscent of Low, of course - with McBean even resembling Alan Sparhawk for a brief passage - until the half-way point, anyhow, when Webber takes lead and re-directs the band into what can be best described as Grace Slick-meets-Dark Side of the Moon-era Pink Floyd.

From there, the gear-shifting lands them in deliciously sludgy riffage - and so on and so on. A lot can happen in eight minutes, and "Tyrants," with its countless key and signature changes and blindsiding stylistic shifts, manages to succeed in messing with the space-time continuum - a concern I could imagine the band having, if In the Future's lyrical content is any indication. By the time the song has finished, it does indeed feel like a journey has been taken - a blood-streaked, vengeful journey ("Tyrant, you know your time has come / As soldiers marched on/your empty skin"), but certainly a journey nonetheless.In less accomplished hands, such an undertaking would collapse under the weight of its own ambition - the fact that the epic remains enthralling (and avoids ridiculousness) is testament to the band's daring vision.

Speaking of epics, "Tyrants" is downright dwarfed by "Bright Lights", a 16-minute shapeshifter that moves easily between mesmerizing psychedelic folk-rock - with McBean and Webber repeating the phrase "bright light" over and over, back and forth, against strummed acoustic guitar, occasional electric fuzz, and a vaguely Medieval keyboard motif - and caterwauling, vein-popping bedlam, along with a few other notable stops along the way. While this gauntlet-thrower may be lyrically sparse - other than "bright light" and a slowly-but-forcefully-delivered list of words beginning with the letter "H," the only other line is the not-to-be-understated "We love the night and all the witchery" - both vocalists are exhilaratingly expressive here. Merely listening along is enough to make one feel like a co-conspirator of evil. Methinks I'll keep coming back to this one.

"Night Walks" ends the album - and washes all that pesky sin from the skin after the unholy din of "Bright Lights" has finished doing its psychic damage - with a more spiritually pure high note. An ethereal dreamscape sent a-billowing by sustained church-organ notes and Webber's brokenhearted-angel vocals, it's a much-welcome bright white light amidst all of the devil-doings and blood-lust, offering a considerably different strain of intensity from most of the rest of In the Future. "Night walks with me / and the moon leaves me just enough light to see / and my shadow my only company," she reveals in ghostly flutters, and the admission of vulnerability is disarming. Still, there's hope in there somewhere, and what's a forecast of the future without any hope?

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any In the Future-related video clip-age, but how about a quick hello to their self-debut? Here's the sweet Super-8 of "Set Us Free," shot throughout gorgeous gorgeous Vancouver:

Oh, and a gentle reminder: Black Mountain will work their witchery this Monday, Feb. 4, 8 p.m., at the Independent, 628 Divisadero, SF. Tickets are $14, and - how's this for a bonus? - Howlin' Rain is the opener.