Early in Rosenberg’s career, R. Stevie Moore’s name popped up often in media coverage. A prolific, macabre underground icon with hundreds of outsider releases to his credit, Moore was the Bob Dylan to Rosenberg’s Beck. On Ku Klux Glam the duo make their mutual admiration society official. (Unless you’re a diehard fan of either or both, do yourself a huge favor and stay far away from the 63-track edition, which is a nightmare of eye-rolling in-jokes and fucking off that dilutes the actual rock these two get up to. It’s a gas on first listen, then interminable.) “No Zipper” is primo, untucked bar-band sludge; “Lo-Fi No Cry” transitions to skeletal beat programming to drug-trip Northern Lights gazing in a way, achieving a mad brilliance that Rosenberg’s solo journeys into wordless ponderous rarely achieve; “Sacred Snow” personifies tuneful insanity; “Stevepink Javascript” laughingly sends up the idea that weirdos of different generations would find working together a complete nightmare. A head-trip respite from Rosenberg’s more palatable records, Ku Klux Glam is nonetheless a bleary, unkempt good time in all the best possible ways.