Fehr Beach announces its existence with Martin's giddy count-in, hooking you with a little subversion on "four", and the greatest rock band in history is off to the races.

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It is hard to describe the feeling of listening to Riffersnapper for the first time, as one who has listened to the Plutos for all my life, but whose lifetime did not overlap with any of theirs. Initially, I felt a sort of morose trepidation that wasn't my own. During Martin's count-in, it was as if I was feeling sorrow for all of those who had loved, adored, analyzed, and deified the Plutos, and had not lived to see this, their final artistic stamp on this world.

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But as soon as the double-tracked dual guitars thundered into the soundscape, my "morose trepidation" became elation.

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Rolling up an ambiguous chord in E minor - perhaps the titular chord or B minor - the back half of the riff stutters down the scale, wonderfully syncopated against the driving steadiness of the kick and the layered lumbering of the snare. It has been said countless times, but when Frier is settled into the pocket, that pocket is full of riches.

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The mirroring of the riff by the bass is delectable, creating a pulse-pounding rush with the offbeat nature of the melody that always pulls you towards the next measure, which is all the more satisfying when they resolve - either to the next line of the verse or to the introduction to the refrain.

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Davy's vocals and exuberance are a snug fit for "Riffersnapper", though the melody in question is nothing special. Both his melody and Brugin/Martin's harmony do their job and nothing more. Admittedly, at times it feels a bit repetitive. And the solo is a bit weaker than the rest of the song both stylistically and sonically. It has that punchy-pick sound that Davy became infatuated with in To Live Without Repose. Especially considering the chords beneath it are alien from the rest of the song, you'd be forgiven for describing it as "jarring".

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It does resolve quite nicely to the familiar riff, though - once again aided by stout drumming from Frier.

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A note on form - Davy, as per usual, penned this rocker in the most basic consumable form: Verse, Refrain, Verse, Refrain, Solo, Refrain. My patience for this lack of innovation is longer now that the beginning of the album that during it, and given that the world has been waiting fifty-five years for this art, I dare not find any qualms with it.

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Like the singer, who doesn't appear to know if he should stay or go, the central riff appears to climb up Bm and Em, or even F#m - however, at the very end of the song, it resolves at "home" - presmably where "the music and the light" is - on the tonic E. Presumably, that is where the wandering melody belonged from the start.

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This is a catchy rocker that doesn't presume too much about itself, nor overstay its welcome. An ironic beginning for a lost relic, but an enjoyable one nonetheless.

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★★★★☆