I flipped out the first time we saw Portland, OR’s Yuma Nora play in a cramped Riverside living room – Jake and Aaron were both shirtless and Amy had on this stained white slip and a silver-sparkly medieval chainmail hood/mask and they unleashed the wildest set of free noise-jazz soulful sex-scattered percussion explosions to the speechless swaying crowd. We’ve been ranting about this next-level trio for months waiting for the slow stupid world to wake up to their “genius” (Wire-fucking magazine!). Amy’s voice and hand-built oscillator rig is alien but sultry, Aaron’s kit is a psycho-circle of tribal blues, while Jake’s no-wave improv-guitar scratches subtle accents. And so, finally, the Oregon rain clouds did part, revealing Yuma Nora, brewing up their own storm. Pro-manufactured CDs in jewel-cases with hand-inserted green rubber snakes in the spine and bedecked with jewels. Edition of 500.