There's just something about an album that opens with the cutting tear of a McCulloch chainsaw firing up to slice human flesh. It warms the heart and stimulates the mind, especially in this holiday season. The macabre lyrics and hot licks which follow that ear-catching start are provided by Angry Johnny and the Killbillies, four guys out of Massachusetts that know how to scare a pair of feet into tapping. Their CD Hankenstein is at times a textbook example of "psychobilly," a musical genre brought to life (or "death") by the seventies punk band the Cramps and featuring twisted lyrical themes built around that wacky mix of country and blues that is rockabilly. At other moments, it embraces the nuances of traditional country music, with every song on the album characterized by truly inspired songwriting.

From the start, it's obvious that Angry Johnny and the Killbillies have the "psychobilly" formula down pat. The opening tune, "Life, Love, Death and the Meter Man" tells the sad story of an angry lover who kills the meter man with a chainsaw, believing that he's a man having an affair with his girlfriend. VERY edgy stuff, and not exactly the type of musical fare that the Spice Girls or Imani Coppola are waiting in line to cover. On "Life, Love..." and throughout the album, Angry Johnny's voice is a dumptruck full of gravel lathered up with grease. It both tears and slides its way through the lyrics, evoking more sympathy than disgust for the characters he sings about. Also notable on "Hankenstein" is the work of the Killbillies: Al Camino on lead guitar, Jim Joe Greedy on bass, and Sleepy Animal Kaisla (hey, I'm just writing these names as I see 'em) on drums. They really know how to kick up a fury right quick, with Camino's searing guitar leading the way while Greedy's bass hops and jumps around the guitar line and Kaisla's drums nearly annihilate the beat with their power.

On tracks like "Prison Walls" and "Big Bang," the chainsaws and dead meter men are abandoned in favor of more focused songwriting and a traditional country sound. "Jesus, Please Come on Down" is a potent mix of a surf instrumental and Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues," and the definite high point of the CD. Angry Johnny launches the song with an intro verse in a slow drawl before Al Camino's guitar steps in to kick the 6-minute epic off. The drums come crashing onto the scene, the bass line dances and flirts with the lead guitar, and you can't help but be swept up into the tumult. DON'T flee from this album in terror before hearing "Poor Little Raccoon," a song about a dead raccoon bloated to the size of a pig by the maggots in his stomach; and "Brand New Girl," a tune in which the singer wants to skin an ex-girlfriend alive and make a suit out of the skin, so that he can wear it downtown and experience life through her flesh. Certainly not for the squeamish, but for those with the stomach, "Hankenstein" must be heard to be believed.

This is uncompromising music, with a passion and sincerity that never falters throughout. Even when Angry Johnny's singing about maggots and chainsaws, there's no trace of irony. The characters and creatures that populate the songs on "Hankenstein" are not to be feared, but to be understood. That's the true brilliance of the album. In an industry where the sardonic sneer has replaced the sincere, longing look as the approach of choice, Angry Johnny and the Killbillies are able to approach their dark and macabre topics with intense passion. Encountering Hankenstein is sorta like running into one of the dancing zombies from Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video: you may not like the smell or the look, but if you can handle the gore, you won't be disappointed.