The Sonics are a band of polarity. Across their career their music offers up some fascinating contradictions, and nowhere is this more apparent than on their 1965 debut Here Are The Sonics.

Originating from Tacoma, Washington, The Sonics arguably gave birth to the Seattle music scene which still thrives today, reaching its zenith when Nirvana became the band you had to love and, sonically, you can hear the link.

In many ways this is a forebearer of the punk movement that Nirvana were clearly enamoured with, mixing observations of life in the 1960’s – cars, guitars, girls, and surfing – with darker subject material like drinking strychnine, psychopaths, witches and Satan.

Here Are The Sonics is all about amalgamation; whether it’s subject matter, the blend of classic rock ‘n’ roll and what would later be termed ‘protopunk’, and incorporating original material with a slew of cover versions, including Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, and Little Richard.

The opening track, “The Witch”, demonstrates this blend of musical styles and seems to exist in a place where tuning and timing are entirely incidental, while both being things The Sonics didn’t feel they should be concerned about. Everything on the track peaks, and consequently sounds fuzzy, creating a dark shroud around the song, the squelchy, tuneless guitar adding to this effect and also giving it an almost jazz like feel. It’s unsettling, blistering and completely enthralling. This song gives way to a cover of The Contours’ “Do You Love Me”, but, as with all of the covers on this record, The Sonics make it sound utterly original, owning the song for its entirety.

“Roll Over Beethoven” matches “Do You Love Me” in terms of frantic energy, classic rock ‘n’ roll piano stabs piercing the boogie-woogie guitar as effectively as the screams. The standout track, “Psycho” delivers an unpredictable structure, full of twists and turns, pauses filled with devastating drum fills and a completely unanticipated key change. The track listing also boasts the superior cover of “Money (That’s What I Want)”, delivering a psychedelic edge The Beatles never did. The record continues in this fashion, dark original songs composing the spine of the record with enthusiastic re-imaginings of other artists’ songs.

The constant peaking of vocals and intermittent screaming from Gerry Roslie, along with a throw-everything-in-the-pot approach to instrumental arrangement, as well as the mixing process, clearly echo the ethics of punk music a decade before it would arrive. More than that, it also gives the record its unique mood, rattling along through dark subject matter at a terrific pace, maintaining a frenetic energy for the duration. This is hardly the most impressive point about the record, though.

It’s most arresting aspect is the succinct and focused mission statement that The Sonics lay out here. Coming across like an especially scary version of The Beatles, they clearly know how they want the record to sound, and what they want it to achieve. Whilst, eventually, the light succeeds over the dark here, with the fun rock ‘n’ roll tracks peeking their heads above the clouds upon first listen, the darkness is always there, even as an undercurrent.

Here Are The Sonics is rewarding, not just in retrospect but also upon repeated plays, the manic energy perforating anything it touches, creating a new genre of music as it does so – that’s why this record is so vital.