One

Fuzz begins with weight — not the sudden violence of a punk attack, but a slow, deliberate heaviness, the kind of riff that arrives like weather rather than an event. The guitar tone on this track is enormous and warm, indebted to the classic heavy rock vocabulary of early Black Sabbath and Blue Cheer but filtered through a more contemporary understanding of psychedelia. Notably, Ty Segall plays drums here rather than fronting the project, and you can hear the difference in how the rhythm functions: it breathes differently, more physical and improvisatory, sitting slightly behind the beat in that way that makes heavy music feel genuinely heavy rather than merely loud. Charles Moothart's vocals have a plaintive, slightly distant quality — not screaming, not crooning, but pitched somewhere in between that suits the song's lumbering, meditative character. The composition doesn't rush toward a resolution; it circles, repeats, digs deeper into its own groove with each pass. There's an almost ritualistic quality to the repetition, as though the song is trying to summon something rather than simply communicate it. This belongs to the world of stoner rock and heavy psych — patient, riff-obsessed, designed for a specific kind of surrender. Play it at dusk, somewhere open.