Discerning Mutant Inclined Toward Maximum Moshing

I'm moving a million miles a minute as always, but I'm getting better at managing it. To that end, you get what you get this week. No tellin' if we'll ever actually get those Advanced Perspective releases, but either way, you should check out that label's output, especially the new Side Action and Result of Choice releases. They're doing a lot of good shit with that end of hardcore and I hope they keep doing just that. We should be getting in copies of the Warp LP on Thrilling Living, the NEON LP on Square One Again, and the Das Drip LP on Sorry State, which has my vote for 2019's Hardcore Punk record of the year. Read on, True Believers!, and see ya in seven.

NNT#004 RazorXFade - Demo CS (2010) 

Lean in close, True Believers, for venerable Uncle Ralphie is gonna hit you with a secret never before uttered. No, not even Tyler knows (which is funny because it pertains to him), that I did this release as a guilt-driven favor. See, RxF’s first show was Cold Shoulder’s last and, believing I had plenty of time before the whole thing kicked off, I did the only thing any self-respecting, veghead, Albion House Show attendee CAN do before a gig there and hit Grande (RIP, gone but not forgotten) for a fat sack of fried tofu, THE energy source of choice for any discerning mutant inclined toward maximum moshing. And if you’re reading this, then chances are you know or remember what it’s like there, especially after Bryan and Sarah moved out. Odds always leaned toward a punktual start time of half past ten, but alas, not this sultry summer night. The rest of the night played out like this: I ignored the Duress set though I’m sure someone did something cool and crazy and Clevelandesque with a chain or cinderblock or some bullshit, Born Bad played at being as mean as Canadians could hope for, Weekend Nachos (years before Caution’s pro-cop gaffe in Carbondale Ray’s poor MRR-facsimile) killed it (you can admit it), and we agreed to produce, sight unseen and riff unheard, the finest Chicago straight edge demo of the twenty teens. 

Trivialities: This bad boy was the first NN release to sell over 300 copies, spread out over three separate runs. First run of 100 had black shells with white imprint, xeroxed J-cards and double-sided insert. This run has an incorrect tracklisting, with, I believe, Holy Hands and Last In Line flipped. Second run of 100 is the same with two exceptions: the tracklist was corrected and the J-cards were printed at National Audio Company after a supreme botch-job by a local printer. Third and final run of 150 was divided between two slick ass color ways. 100 on red shell with white imprint and packed in blue norelco cases AKA 'Merican edition; 50 were the same as the first two runs, but the cassettes were that sweet, sweet gold foil with black imprint to celebrate our first "gold" record. A stupid endeavor all around, only to be outdone by their LP a year or so later.

NNT #005 Pukeoid - Demo CS (2010)

Feigned or not, my family periodically shows interest in the wellbeing of the label and I can confidently say this one (along with the brilliantly stupid cover art of the Wrong cassette years later) will always be left out of the quarterly recap. Imagine, me, at Christmas dinner, my 94 year old great grandmother asks “Mijo, how are you doing? Still releasing music?” “Why yes, grandma, the most recent release has a naked woman shoving her head up another’s pussy.” I dunno, I could be way off base.

What isn’t conjecture is that this band shouldn’t have existed. Not a goddamned person did what they should have done in the band. Metal Mike, known shredder from the tender age of 12, relegated to drums. Little Joey Seger, the best drummer the region has ever produced, playing a fucking bass probably twice his size. And shy-guy, heartthrob Clay on vocals. Motherfucker probably spoke more in their first set than in the five years I’d known him prior to that point. Only Mat, arguably the greatest songwriter of this generation, on guitars seemed to be given more than a second of thought. And yet, to the roughly 18 people paying attention, they were untouchable. Too NWI to benefit from Culo’s rapidly expanding reign as punk schlock kings, too late to ride the No Way “throwback” wave, too early to be bung or slime or glue or chain or egg. Not straight edge, not hardcore, not en vogue mysterioids, just idiot, midwestern boys playing some rabid dog punk rock. 

Trivialities: First run was 100 copies, white tapes with blue imprint, xeroxed covers and insert, in black norelcos. Second run was a whopping 50, blue tapes with white imprint, in blue norelcos, and the covers and inserts again printed at NAC due to the same local printer bungle. I don't know if anyone has ever caught this, but I like that Clay comes in an entire measure early on the last verse of TV Junkie and no one thought to correct it.