Ever get the feeling that indie rock's only challenging about two thirds of your brain? Ever feel as if the genre's really good at hitting up the cultured reasoning your ego loves so well and makes a strong attempt to at morally justifying artistic progress as a cultural imperative, a la super-ego thinking?

That's all fine and good, but rock's always been a medium that's primarily concerned with the baser, primal drives that stem from our id. The thrill of sex. The joys of losing yourself in a dance. The raw energy of a great riff. A soundtrack for your violent impulses. They're all not just reasons so many parents used to hate rock music. They're an essential building block of the music.

The Red Eyed Legends pack away all higher-brain functions on Wake Up, Legend and create a hedonistic feast for your id. Tapping into the same garage/punk vibe as Rocket From the Crypt as it delves around in post-punk and indie rock's dank, creepy basements, Wake Up, Legend is all wild abandon, barely controlled guitar work and yelped vocals. It's the antithesis of cultured artistic discourse, densely literate lyrics and pure-pop stewardship so prized these days. That's just the point.

In a mess of tinny, garage-rock guitars -- which sound all the gnarlier as they're chewed up and spit out by buzzing, overworked amps -- and organs, The Red Eyed Legends are all fury. "Monsters" opens the album as singer/guitarist Chris Thompson manages more ragged punk-rock soul in the song's first 30 seconds than many acts get over an entire career. "Don't Make it Go Too Fast" and "Je M'Appelle Macho" have equal love for Fugazi's angular and fleeting dynamics as Rocket from the Crypt's penchant for getting down and dirty. "Ghetto Hulk" smashes through garage-band expectations with arrangements that twist and turn with all the unexpected spasms of post-punk breakdowns.

By its very hedonistic-rock nature, Wake Up, Legend extols the values of rock traditions. Because of that, it can't really rock the boat in too many unexpected ways, even when its post-hardcore roots take over. Pushing the envelope's pretty overrated, though, and The Red Eyed Legends prove that, once again, rock's throbbing, dirty underbelly's always going to be as important as its highbrow, high-art cranium.