We fell in love with Chris Rush in the early 70's, when his first album somehow escaped from a major record label. His manic, free-associating humor - sort of like Lord Buckley on speed and pizza - was happy grist for the thinking hippie (an oxymoron if ever there was). Come the late 90's, we find Chris Rush's profoundly silly outrage intact. To our amazement, despite its constant percolation mere inches from supernova, Rush has somehow managed to keep most of his brain inside his skull. He's not been homogenized, politically-correctified, nor sanitized for your protection (although, thank the deities, he has calmed down a bit). Sharp as a tack and a thousand times funnier, Rush confronts the human condition with crazed tales of Bomba the Gorilla, Don Testosteroni and naked hang gliding. Sundazed couldn't be prouder to reintroduce the world to Chris Rush, a bloody hilarious/borderline-dangerous genius who's never strayed from his own, weird trajectory.