Bush Tetras have made punk music at the fringes for over four decades. Flashes of reggae, bursts of noise, guitars that rattle, shakeand snake, born out of a gutter behind CBGBs. Over the years theyhave respawned time and time again, contorting their sound, tweaking the vision, remaining singular and indispensable.In the late 2010s the group-Pat Place, Cynthia Sley, and DeePop-reformed again, releasing an EP, Take the Fall, in 2018. Itwas their first offering of new music in over a decade. A few yearslater in, 2021, they released a career spanning box set calledRhythm and Paranoia. The New York Times called the box set anartifact that "proves for decades [that Bush Tetras] continued toevolve in surprising yet intuitive directions." Around the same time, the band began working on a full length record, writing sessionsduring the pandemic over Zoom. Right before the release of thebox set, beloved drummer Dee Pop passed away. Determined tocomplete the record to honor his memory, the Tetras went into thestudio to finish what they'd started, once the timing was right. Theybrought in a new drummer, Sonic Youth's Steve Shelley, who alsoserved as producer. Enter They Live in My Head.The band's 3rd official LP (a misleading fact when viewed alongsidea catalog as expansive as it is influential), They Live in My Head is acollection of songs that sometimes reflect on the past and sometimes reckon with our current reality. From "Ghosts of People, " onwhich Pat Place's legendary guitar meanders through closed doorsand portals, to the scorching "2020 Vision, " a matter-of-fact callto arms to get on the streets and get something done, the albumaddresses new and old, in both abstract and specific terms. Butwhether they're looking forward or backward, Bush Tetras havealways been a political band, a band that calls out all kinds ofbullshit. And, in that sense, They Live in My Head is absolutely noexception.