ruth be told, all the talk surrounding the live document Los Valientes del Mundo Nuevo has been slightly incredulous. PR firms and Rolling Stone have promoted Black Lips with the impression that they never existed before this album, seemingly unaware that hundreds of kids with flattened soft packs in their jeans and beer-soaked hair already think they’re the greatest band in the world. 2005’s Let It Bloom barraged the eardrums of bored teenagers and self-destructive twentysomething punks stretching from the trash-soaked streets of New Yawk to the chestnut-chalked California desert, and apparently no one outside of zines and maybe one or two internet mags took notice.

So while all y’all were diddle-daddling with mystical hippie garb, clumsily wriggling to jerky guitar pop, or obsessing over the minutiae of microhouse productions, Black Lips were having a blast not giving a shit. They toured the country, undeterred by the weariness of the road and night after night of drunken debauchery—and not solely because they loved rock ’n’ roll, but they love the carefree approach it affords them. See, what Black Lips have is balls. Not balls like when Pete Wentz takes a picture of his dick and puts it up on the internet. That doesn’t take balls. The guitarist for Black Lips pisses in his own mouth.

Black Lips are part of a generation of kids, myself included, that are enthralled by people (and possibly get off on) doing the most outlandish things to themselves and their surrounding environment. But where this generation differs from the one that saw Iggy cut himself on stage, or even the Gen-Xers who saw Krist Novoselic throw a guitar into his face, is that the purpose of present-day masochism isn’t to inspire awe towards the possibilities of the human will, but to simply one-up what came before in an attempt to escape boredom. This is how we get Jackass, gangsta rappers, free porn, just about the most disturbing media coverage in history, and retrospectives on VH1 and MTV ironically trying to recapture the original shock of seeing Black Sabbath or the Ramones. And it’s also why kids keep going back to see Black Lips: they’re desperate to reproduce (in their music) the era when shock-rock was birthed and (in their performances) surpass other bands in terms of how crazy they can be.

Vice Records’ signing of Black Lips was a no-brainer. The magazine, which prides itself on obliterating any barometer of what is tastefully, morally, or socially acceptable, is a perfect fit for the band. Where Vice Records eclipsed the obvious was by releasing Black Lips’ first disc for the label in the form of a live album. Since the band is notorious for their stage show’s outlandish nature, adolescent overtones, and primal energy, it’s only natural to present them to a mainstream audience in the shoes they’re most comfortable in.

Appropriately recorded in Tijuana, Los Valientes del Mundo Nuevo is neither the best introduction nor the best representation of Black Lips (that would be the aforementioned Let It Bloom). It also does very little to capture the outrageous physical acts that take place during the band’s performances. What it does is present, sonically, what makes Black Lips such a dynamic live band. They play sloppily and sometimes sing terribly, but they never, ever sacrifice their resolve. Even in Mexico, presumably playing to a crowd not nearly as large the ones they would draw in major cities, they blaze through their set like a cigarette in a newspaper factory.

Producer John Reis is Los Valientes del Mundo Nuevo’s unsung hero, recording a live album that is strikingly similar to the sound of Let It Bloom, but without any second-guessing as to whether or not it was recorded on stage. Every song, from the unhinged “MIA” to the woozy, wringing “Not a Problem” is a hoarse, rousing shakedown, with nary a lull or dry spot throughout.

That’s it. Los Valientes del Mundo Nuevo needs no additional description. It’s a lacerating, joyous set of psychedelic-tinged blooz; one that intends—and should succeed—to convince new listeners to seek out Let It Bloom. And if watching brilliant buffoons bulldoze for kicks is your druthers, then you should get on this right now before you set your wallet on fire.