Sometimes a band is a group of people who play music together regularly because they love it. And sometimes a band is a collection of a National Park Ranger, a pop-punk guitarist and a painter who have played five shows in five years and recorded an album under continuous coaxing from the owner of a very small label. And in extremely specific circumstances as the previously mentioned ones, that band is called FOOD.

FOOD exists in limbo -- not only as a band, but musically as well. Their thundering drums and heavy guitar drone put the band somewhere between the Melvins and Sleep, but played with all the ferocity of Bleach-era Nirvana. There's something rugged and ragtag about the whole operation, but it all builds into the energy of the affair, even if the songs hover in between the six-to-ten-minute mark.

And whether it's the pulsating opening riff of "Oxbow" or the low drone that kicks the album off on "The Captain," it's clear that a lack of performance and time together really isn't detrimental to the group. And perhaps it's the creative space given that has let the band fully realize their potential in their debut release. From start to finish, FOOD is an album that feels spontaneous, but is impossible to imagine being executed without precise songwriting and time spent in the studio.

And perhaps it's the open spaces and dense forests that lay a sense of grandeur to the guitar. And maybe playing guitar in a pop-punk band leaves a lot of aggression that needs to be released on the drum kit. And perhaps a painter is the only person who can understand the importance of composition and the roll that bass should play in a band. In either case, FOOD's FOOD may just be the album most people regret not hearing in 2009.