The haze is thick as smoke fills the darkened room. Lava lamps glow and bubble, black lights illuminate psychedelic tapestries and marijuana, incense, and spilled beer can all be smelled as three men take the stage. Suddenly, Andrew Stockdale, the man in the middle with the huge, backlit afro, lets out a primal scream and attacks his guitar with fury previously unseen. It's a rock & roll extravaganza, with amps cranked to 11 and hair reaching epic proportions. Except the scene above is imagined; Wolfmother merely evoke these images with the down-tuned, expansive classic rock explosion that is their self-titled debut album. Vibing like Supergrass raised on Black Sabbath instead of the Kinks and The Jam, this Australian cavetrio brings the primal rock like it's 1972, opening a virtual portal to a time when love was free, bottoms were belled, and the youth rallied around causes and enacted change. Tunes like "Dimension", "Woman", "Colossal" and "The Joker and The Thief" make you want to jump in your Camaro and drive to Joshua Tree, do peyote, and get in touch with your inner burnout. Or perhaps, with Mexico's new loosened drug laws, Wolfmother make you want to drive to Ensenada. Regardless, when you make that trek, you now have the soundtrack. Happy tripping.