A lot of people got excited when Led Zeppelin (kinda) reformed last year to play a benefit show. I didn’t. There’s nothing to be gained from a full Zep reunion – their catalog is almost flawless, and their legacy speaks for itself. Them Crooked Vultures, on the other hand, is a much more enticing proposition. Dave Grohl, the closest our generation has to a Bonham, teams up with super-charismatic Queens of the Stone Age frontman Josh Hamme and Zeppelin’s own secret weapon, John Paul Jones: this isn’t a supergroup, it’s a dream team.

Of course there’s always the possibility of this turning into some newfangled version of Damn Yankees (see: Audioslave), but I’m happy to report that Them Crooked Vultures’ self-titled debut is an awesome and essential slab of prime swamp rock. The reliably magnetic Homme has pulled Grohl and Jones deep into his scuzzy orbit; the record could easily pass for a new QOTSA disc, except it’s head-and-shoulders above everything those guys have done since Rated R. The twist is provided by Jones, who supplies his usual variety of textures and tones and lends the album a dynamic variety that makes it, even at a somewhat mellow-harshing seventy minutes, compulsively listenable throughout.

The basic format here is established right away: opener “Nobody Loves Me & Neither Do I” showcases everything that makes this band special: Grohl’s thundering fills, Jones’s background flourishes, Homme’s clever double entendres (“Don’t hold it against me / Unless it gets hard”). And the album steamrolls forward from there; most of the tracks settle in for five or six minutes, building atmosphere with circular, repetitive riffs and hypnotic rhythms. You probably won’t find a better record to simply get high and zone out to this year, but there’s some straight fun on offer too. “Bandoliers” and “Elephants” both take lumbering, Page-y riffs and slow them down to a crawl before exploding into righteous fury and then settling back down again; “New Fang” and “Mind Eraser, No Chaser” are pure punk blasts with delightfully sweet chorus melodies.

If you’re looking for a shot of Zep, “Scumbag Blues” would fit nicely on the first half of Presence, and “Reptiles” sounds like a sequel to “Trampled Under Foot.” Foo Fighters fans might be disappointed – Grohl doesn’t get any mic time – but people who still like getting blitzed and playing In Utero at full volume can really rejoice. Dude still has a special gift for running his shit and making it look easy; he drives every song here, probably with a grin on his face. And Homme is in especially fine form, too – his playing is creative and varied, with slinky, seductive lines giving way to master-blaster power chords giving way to masterful solos giving way to psychedelic freak-outs. Them Crooked Vultures always feel one step away from the edge – there’s just so damn much of it. But these guys earn the run time, building atmosphere and then blowing holes through it.

You already know if this is your cup of tea; all three personalities here are well-defined brands at this point, and the combustion that results when they’re in the same room should come as no surprise. The only real shocker here is how damn good these songs are. None of the thirteen tracks sound like leftovers, and spontaneity and song-craft carry equal weight. The musical touchstones are obvious, but here’s a visual: think about the astral ballet near the beginning of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001, with the massive spaceships gliding around, huge but still dwarfed by cold, dark space. Listening to this record, you start to get an idea of how those astronauts inside feel.