When he split with Scott Hill, Fu Manchu's guitarist Eddie Glass recruited two members from the old band (bassist Mark Abshire and drummer Ruben Romano) and started Nebula.

Their stoner-rock sounds a little obsolete on Let It Burn (Tee Pee, 1997 - Relapse, 1999), a collection of mostly unimaginative blues-rock shuffles. Sun Creature, Let It Burn, Elevation, Vulcan Bomber (the re-release also includes Sonic Titan and Devil's Liquid) merely warm up the atmosphere for the instrumental track Raga In The Bloodshot Pyramid, which comes like a shock after so much pointless riffing.

To The Center (Sweet Nothing, 1999) does not particularly improve over the early tracks. The long and slow trance of To The Center (with cymbals reminiscent of Robin Trower's Day Of The Eagle) that opens the collection is misleading: a rapid fire of super-heavy garage-rock rave-ups (Clearlight, Antigone) sets the tone for most of the album. The highlight of the disc, and the only song to redeem the aura of mediocrity, is Freedom, which opens as an epic far-western soundtrack and closes as a driving raga-rock instrumental, while in between coalesces as a noisy ballad in their trademark annoyed style (half way between the Rolling Stones and the Stooges). Otherwise, Nebula sounds like the Rolling Stones before they learned to play (the bluesy So Low), or Led Zeppelin after an overdose (the sitar-driven Fields Of Psilocybin), or the Stooges without Pop's voice and Asheton's guitar (You Mean Nothing), or, surprise, like Fu Manchu (Between Nothing).

Two early EPs will be collected on Dos EPs (Meteor City, 2002).

There is very little that is "stoner" on Charged (Subpop, 2001). Nebula has matured into a high-energy blues unit that can compete with the classics of four generations. Do It Now matches the electrified atmosphere of Surgery's infernal blues-rock (the ranting and the guitar progression are virtually copied from A.K., with the addition of a couple of space-rock meowing solos); the granitic riffing of Beyond was raised at the school of Cream and Blue Cheer; the machine-gun barrage and rocket fibrillation of Giant is worthy of Led Zeppelin's John Bonham and Jimi Page epileptic rock and roll; Travelin' Man's Blues is rural blues with echoes of the Allman Brothers; the martial soul-rock Shaker quotes the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Behind the virulent postures, the music hides a traditional mindset.
The band is more interested in showing the members' technical prowess than in pursuing ephemeral fads, and, inevitably, this takes them on a journey of rediscovery of their musical roots. Despite the loud "stoner" rumbling, Instant Gravitation displays the majestic feeling of acid-rock. The country-rock shuffle This One soars with an almost mystical, gospel feeling (that sounds more like Doobie Brothers than Black Sabbath). Ignition charges with the uncontrolled, graceless power of Sixties' garage-rock over the backdrop of MC5's amelodic bacchanals.
The band leaves on a solemn note with the nine-minute sludgefest All The Way, the "stoned" tour de force of the album, drenched in bigger than life echoes and haunted by Black Sabbath-ian moniliths.
Although there is no ultimate masterpiece, all tracks on the album are brilliant and invigorating, thanks to impeccable execution and stylistic variety.

Atomic Ritual (Sweet Nothing, 2003) is a heap of badly performed cliches, and Apollo (2006) does not even pretend to rise above the average.