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IN A FREE LAND #1
(formerly ALL? NO! ALL!!/ANA)
An Experiment in Free Speech Gone Horribly Right
10/3/93 - 12/13/93
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Distribution:
This E-zine and all information within is (c) 1993 Rageboy
Publications, unless otherwise stated. Feel free to quote
portions, but please give credit where credit is due.
This E-zine can be found as IAFL.00x (x being the issue number).
If this file arrives at your domain by any other name, someone
fucked with that file bigtime.
*** IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER! ***
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The editors of and contributors to IN A FREE LAND will NOT be held
responsible for any misuse of the information within any issue of this
E-zine. All articles are intended for an INFORMATIONAL or HUMOROUS
purpose solely.
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Staff of I.A.F.L:
Matt Shaw - chief editor/contributor
Netrunner - asst. editor/contributor
Neuromancer - Indianapolis correspondant
Contributors:
Q-Man - "Milo Aukerman's Corner"
Jeff Hell - various
-----------------
Table of Contents
-----------------
1.01 .......... Welcome To Our Show/Editorial (MS)
1.02 .......... Uncle Frank's Neighborhood (JH)
1.03 .......... Slam List (Everyone)
1.04 .......... White Punks on Punk - Music and Video releases (compiled by MS)
1.05 .......... Fuck School (JH)
1.06 .......... Clinton and The Music Underground (JH/MS)
1.07 .......... Cooking With Joe (A Review) (MS)
1.08 .......... The Day Punk Rock Came To Parnellville: Part I of a
Series (MS)
1.09 .......... A Short List Of Things That Are Wrong With The World (JH)
1.10 .......... The Wit and Wisdom of My Cat (MS)
1.11 .......... Waiting For The Phone To Ring (MS)
1.12 .......... The Library (MS)
1.13 .......... Milo Aukerman's Corner (Q-Man)
1.14 .......... Why You Should Never Join A Cult (Or Call the Home Shopping
Network) (JH)
1.15 .......... Why? (MS)
1.16 .......... Piss Off/Well, G'Night, Everybody! (MS)
--------------------------------------
1.01 Welcome To Our Show/Editorial
--------------------------------------
Hi, everybody. Welcome to the 1st issue of IN A FREE LAND,
formerly called ALL? NO! ALL!!, or ANA for abbreviation purposes.
The name change came about when I heard of a fascist newsletter
that used the "ANA" name. Seeking both to make a statement about
my displeasure about such things, as well to find a new, cool name
for the mag, I picked the title of one of my favorite Husker
songs. Well, aside from that, I should probably get to work
talking about things that have no relation to the rest of the
issue:
When I was in high school (no, I'm not ranting about that again,
that's Jeff's job this issue), there was this guy who was an
artist and who everybody thought was cool, etc. Why did everyone
think Artboy was cool? Because he drove a BMW and his grandmother
had shitloads of $, that's why. He made it a point to ignore
people he believed were "lower" than him, and then had the sheer
balls to lie and say he treated everyone equally. I just tried to
get along with everybody, which I did, for the most part.
My point of dredging all this shit up is to say that if you're
like Artboy was/is, you might as well go put a gun to your head
and pull the trigger, because you'll never be a productive member
of our society. If you can't get along with people outside your
little clique, you're useless to me and to any employer who's
offering a steady job of any worth.
That's today's lesson, kids, thrive on it. Go out and insult an
ego maniac today! (I suggest starting with Paul Westerberg.)
-----------------------------------
1.02 Frank Black's Neighborhood
-----------------------------------
"Hey, kids!"
"HEY, UNCLE FRANK!"
"Today, I have a special treat for you, kids! I'm going to sing a
song from my album!"
"ECH.."
<Frank extends his middle finger at the kids, then starts playing
"I Heard Ramona Sing">
"Not so fast, Black!" <Kim Deal steps out of the wings, Frank
collapses like a sack of bricks to the floor, but the music keeps
playing. Hmm..>
"Ah-hah! Now I finally have you right where I want you.. on the
verge of DEATH! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" <The other 3
Breeders step out of nowhere and tie Frank up, the scene changes
to:>
<A Studio: The studio is empty, except for Frank hanging upside
down from the ceiling>
"Ah, shit."
<Meanwhile, back on the show, Kim Deal is lecturing the kids>
"Anyway.. I feel bad for the hip-hop thing that 'Cannonball' has,
because we're stealing that aspect of black culture from its
originators."
<The kids are asleep! The Breeders have done away with Frank
Black! Can anything be done?>
<No, I guess not. I guess this bullshit ends here, too..>
------------------
1.03 Slam List
------------------
Scorn, hate, spit upon, curse. These things, that is:
* Teenybopper BBSes run by 13-16 year olds who think they're hot
shit (in our area, at least)
* My old high school
* church
* The recent morality attack America has suffered (import porn is
the way to go..)
* Paul Westerberg
* Top 40 Radio
* Whoever the dumbass was who claimed that Kurt Cobain was on the
same level as Darby Crash
* Frank Black
* The 90's, because it already looks like this decade is going to
fellate donkeys
* Anyone who calls the '90s "The Grunge Generation" because there's
too goddamn many people who want no part of being called that
* Major labels, because they're fucking killing the industry
* Neanderthal men who had nightmares that they were playing the
Brad Pitt role in "Thelma And Louise"
* Madonna, because she's pretty much showed all she can show and it
ain't getting any better
----------------------------
1.04 White Punks On Punk
----------------------------
We reserve the right to review things old AND new. New to us, in
our minds = new to you, as well.
Music:
_Strong Reaction_ - Pegboy (MS)
--------------------------
All I knew when I got this was that there was an ex-Naked Raygun
guitarist in this band. I found out, after listening to it, that
it's a hell of a great album. The title track, which kicks it
off, has an awesome mix that basically makes it all very very
LOUD. (Nods to Iain Burgess.) "Strong Reaction" and "Field Of
Darkness" were my favorite tracks from this one, mainly because of
their somewhat traditional 'core sound. "Field of Darkness" was
slightly different.. kind of like the Clash meets Big Black and
manages to make the song sound mostly like them. (Does that make
ANY fucking sense?)
Advice: Play it LOUD, as all good hardcore is meant to be
played.
(The CD also contains the _Three Chord Monte_ EP.)
- 1/4 Stick Records/Touch-N-Go
_Last Splash_ - The Breeders (MS)
----------------------------
I could spend the entire review raving about how beautiful the
Deal sisters are. I could easily do that, but what would be the
point of this being an album review rather than a text version of
toned-down locker room conversation? So, here goes..
The sound of the album is a lot more refined than the stark,
basic sound that greeted _Pod_'s listeners in 1990, yet manages
to add an all-around "hey-we're-in-the-studio-let's-party"
atmosphere, evidenced by the (overplayed) single/video
"Cannonball". (I really didn't notice the "hey now" during the
"in the shade" part, is what's sad.)
Seems like the group's tighter now than on _Pod_, since Tanya
Donnelly left to go form Belly and Shannon Doughton left
(presumably to go back to Slint.. hell, I dunno). Doughton was
replaced by Jim MacPherson, nicked from a Dayton band by Kim Deal,
and Tanya was replaced by Kelley Deal, who (as if this hasn't been
overstated by many a shocked MTV/Rolling Stone pawn) had no
idea how to play guitar when she joined for the _Safari_ EP (which
is out of print last I checked and which I keep forgetting to buy
when I'm in Indy).
In my own personal opinion, this is a hell of an album. Don't
let the fact that Kurt Cobain likes the band sour you on them,
if you're not a big fan of Nirvana (or Kurt himself, for that
matter.)
- 4AD/Elektra
_Red_ - King Crimson (MS)
--------------------
Okay, so I'm about 19 years late in reviewing this one. I just
discovered this group two months ago, give me a break.
Anyway. King Crimson went through about five lineup changes
(give or take) before they reached the _Red_ lineup, that of Robert
Fripp (guitar), John Wetton (bass, vocals), and Bill Bruford
(drums, percussion). This incarnation is, and always will be, my
personal favorite. Only the early '80's version comes close, but
only because I think Adrian Belew is cool.
The title track is the album's opener, a complex
progressive/metal instrumental in some weird guitar tuning that no
one I know can figure out. But, IMO, the best track on the album
is "One More Red Nightmare", with occasionally indecipherable
lyrics, and some interesting percussion.
In summary, if you can find it, get your hands on it and don't
ever let go. Something else that's fun to do is try to find
Fripp's pre-Crimson album, _The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles,
and Fripp_, and listen to it, then listen to _Red_. Those who
have heard both will understand the humor of my suggestion.
- EG Records (orig. Atlantic)
--------------------
1.05 Fuck School
--------------------
There comes a time in the life of every student when they must
say, "Fuck school!" Perhaps such an event is a direct result of
being taunted beyond human endurance, as in the case of Rodney
Flarg, from Backwoods, IN:
"One day, as I was walking to class, this group of jocks ganged up
on me and forced me to worship their stinky shoes. So I decided
I'd had enough, and jumped the leader and beat the crap out of
him.. I can say 'crap', can't I? And the school suspended ME, for
fighting. So, I had to say.. 'F--.. er, SCREW school!"
Uh, yeah, Rodney.. cut down on the caffeine pills. In another
case, that of Monkey-Face (a pseudonym; real name withheld by
demand), also of Backwoods, grades can be a real problem:
"Me no smart. Me no get good grades. Me eat schoolbooks; only
Home Ec book taste good. Wonder why."
Down, Mongo.
Our final example is that of Joe, of that famous Backwoods TV
program, "Cooking With Joe", who succinctly summarizes his point:
"Getting up every day and dragging your ass to school is a real
fucking drag."
We hope that these examples have given you the courage to simply
stand up and say, "FUCK SCHOOL!"
------------------------------------------
1.06 Clinton and the Music Underground
------------------------------------------
By 1996, by our prediction, the only music allowed to be played in
the United States will be saxophone music, reflecting His
Cluelessness's affinity for the somewhat phallic instrument. In
some circles, it is said that playing the sax is the only thing
Clinton can do without his wife or a friendly Cabinet member
pulling his strings, but this is far from relevant to the current
point.
By such a decree, major corporate machines will be put to pasture,
and only the independent labels will survive.. albeit illegally.
Imagine this: a world in which you have to go to an "album
pusher" to get the newest Bad Religion or Spooners album. If this
thought in itself is not frightening enough, consider the decreed
punishment for only BUYING the music: locked in a room in the
White House and being forced to listen to Bill's saxophone
playing, fully coherently, 24 hours a day. Such a torture would
quickly make a sane man into a babbling, mindless fool.
Frightened? Scared? Guilty because you voted for him? One way
to repair it now: Impeach the fucker. Say it loud and proud (but
without a gun in your hand, because then they'll have an excuse to
arrest you): IMPEACH THE FUCKER.
Thank you, and good remainder of term.
------------------------------------
1.07 Cooking With Joe (A Review)
------------------------------------
Well, this popular Backwoods cooking show sure brings out the
usual sense of watching two guys fuck around in a kitchen, making
a mess, and being entirely too camera-conscious. This, of course,
is the show's appeal. Joe and Bill's apparent fear of the camera
make for some wild moments, as their notably halted motions cause
all kinds of trouble for the stalwart pair.
Joe and Bill seem to spend every week's show trying to make toast.
When, at the end, the finished product is brought out, it's
declared either too light or too burned to be proper toast.
Occasionally, there will be the perfect toast, but Joe will move
haltedly toward Bill, grab the toast out of his hand, and take a
huge bite out of it, and smile at the camera, shakily.
Why simply toast? We may never know. Why never right? Joe and
Bill are a dying breed; Joe and Bill are culinary perfectionists.
No wonder Joe takes such a bite out of the "right" toast on the
rare occasions it is made.. he has earned it. For that matter, so
has Bill, who restrains himself. May this country one day
recognize the value of these two men, and may it repay them for
their toasty contributions!
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1.08 The Day Punk Rock Came to Parnellville (Part I of a Series)
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(fiction by Matt Shaw)
My cousin Tony had always been a rather unassuming type. In
school, he never got called on; seemed like the teachers just kind
of forgot he was there. So did the students, fortunately for
Tony. If the tougher types had realized the existence of a human
such as Tony, they would have instantly fell upon him like a pack
of really stupid lions.
At home, he had to remind his parents of the fact that he lived
there. I remember one Thanksgiving that Aunt Vicky looked at
Tony, her own son, and said, "Excuse me, are you lost?" I had had
to remind Aunt Vicky that time. Usually, Tony was able to
convince them well enough, and usually, Uncle Tim would accuse
Aunt Vicky of fooling around with the milkman, because, as he
would say, "the kid sure ain't mine!" Uncle Tim usually had a
bottle of Corona in each hand when he began these rants.
Finally, after about 16 years of being nearly invisible, Tony
couldn't contain himself any longer, and exploded one night.
"Look, you stupid hicks," he yelled at Aunt Vicky and Uncle Tim,
"I refuse to be invisible any more. I'm going to do something,
and it's going to be soon. Something that will make sure no one
will EVER forget me again." And he stormed out of the house.
Uncle Tim looked at Aunt Vicky, and said, "Who the hell was that?"
Aunt Vicky looked up and said, "Who, dear?" Uncle Tim just shook
his head.
Somewhere, right now, in some collector's glass case, there sits a
Fender Jaguar, one of the world's.. weirdest guitars. I hear that
the annoying guy from that Nirvana band plays one now, or
something to that effect. Anyway, years ago, Tony went to buy
himself a guitar, and brought one home.. the Jaguar. With a cheap
$20 amp that kept going out until he replaced a fuse, he annoyed
his parents and siblings with his practices. "Noise," declared
Uncle Tim, darkly. "Noise, endless noise."
If the noise from Tony alone drove Uncle Tim up the wall, his next
step must have nearly driven them insane. Tony formed a band,
with two of his friends, who played their first gig outside Uncle
Tim's barn.
General alarm and consternation was our reaction.
One killer hot day in August, Tony, Billy Barris, and Tommy Joe
Davis plunked down a drum set, two amps, and a microphone stand
outside the rundown old barn. It took awhile to set up (they had
to get extension cords - Billy had been in charge of getting them,
and Billy wasn't precisely the brightest light on the Christmas
tree), but around noon, they began to play, and Parnellville
changed forever.
Punk rock had come to Parnellville.
The next day, in the Parnellville Cafe, Buford T. Jefferson said,
"I asked the Barris boy what they were doing - he said, 'We're
jamming econo!'" We heard this and shivered at the use of this
sinister-sounding phrase.
This punk thing had to be stopped, everyone said. This was a
small Alabama town, and punk rock was not meant to invade God's
country, everyone said. Yet there was, as there always is, a
faction that disagreed with this thinking. Tony's group (called
the Fairy Godfathers) had gained popularity with the teens in
Parnellville. Sally Williams had a kid a while after the
Godfathers' first appearance at Parnellville High School, and
named the child Tony. The significance was obvious; the child had
been conceived at that legendary first PHS show. Tony (my cousin)
had been asked to be the child's godfather, and he readily
accepted.
The town's ultimate authority caught wind of all this, about a
year after it had started, and he left his office for the first
time since the previous election. This authority was Rufus J.
Parnell III, town Mayor and direct descendant of Rufus J. Parnell
I, who founded Parnellville a century before. His official
statement was "No more punk rock." His off-the-record statement
was "Get that shit out of my town!" according to Mary Lou Bagley,
who was Parnell's secretary.
As a result of this statement, punk rock and any references to it
were outlawed in Parnellville. Anyone mentioning the Fairy
Godfathers were to be arrested, and the Godfathers themselves were
barred from playing any more shows. Tony's past anonymity was
gone forever, and there were days that Tony wished he'd never left
the cover of his invisibility.
Yet after three months of being outlawed, Tony, Billy, and Tommy
Joe remembered the core of the punk rock ethic, that being
rebellion, and began to play shows again -- underground. Quite
literally underground; most of the shows were in friend's
basements, while their parents were gone.
The Godfathers' fans devised a new way to express their devotion
to their band of choice: the fan would cough sharply, three times
in a row, when they felt like letting the world know that the
Fairy Godfathers were still alive and well in the Hooper family
basement.
Soon, however, the Godfathers' resentment of Parnell's decree went
outside of the boundaries of the literal underground. Tony's band
made their last stand outside Uncle Tim's barn, in an ironic
reference to their first show; Tony and the rest of the teenage
populace of Parnellville pretty much knew that this would be their
last show.
Of course, the police department and town hall caught wind of the
show about 10 minutes after it started, and Mayor Parnell rode
down to Uncle Tim and Aunt Vicky's house in Patrolman Buck's car.
Once there, the Godfathers' renowned "wall of sound" nearly
deafened both the Mayor and the patrolman, as well as the other
police officers that had accompanied the Mayor on his mission.
Somehow, though, the Mayor and his blue-clad entourage made their
way up to the stage, where two patrolmen unplugged the six-bar
from the extension cord, leaving only Billy bashing away at the
drums until he realized he could no longer hear Tommy Joe's
thudding bass lines or Tony's relentless guitar and vocal
screeching.
Once Billy stopped, the Mayor spoke up. "By the power vested in
me by the last election, I'm placing you under arrest for
violating the Anti-Punk Law of Parnellville. Buck, take them
away." As the cuffs went on, first on Tony, and then on the other
two Godfathers, the crowd dispersed, with occasional screams of
"Fascist pigs!" and "We're behind you all the way, Tony!"
The Godfathers' equipment was confiscated by Parnellville police,
and each member spent 60 days in the town jail, located within the
scenic police HQ. Once released, the trio left for another town,
to buy newer, better equipment, and were never heard from again,
in Parnellville at least.
One day, however, young Tony Williams, who kept his mother's last
name, claimed that the previous night, he had heard a station come
in from Birmingham, playing a punk song, which had a very familiar
"wall of sound" effect to it, as well as a very familiar screaming
voice hollering the lyrics. He didn't catch their name, but he's
sure that somewhere, somehow, the Fairy Godfathers still exist.
As for me? Some days, I get to remembering. And when the
nostalgia strikes me, all I have to do is cough sharply, three
times in a row, and it's like I'm living back in those days,
when Tony was larger than life, and I was Sally Williams'
boyfriend. Other days, I don't need to get nostalgic; I look at
my son, the son Sally and I conceived while Billy Barris bashed
his drums, Tommy Joe plodded along on bass, and my cousin Tony, my
best friend, made himself unforgettable at Parnellville High. I
look at my son, and I remember.
Copyright (C) by Matt Shaw
-------------------------------------------------------------
1.09 A Short List Of Things That Are Wrong With The World
-------------------------------------------------------------
Everything but a few things.
Almost everything.
Not quite everything.
Wayne Newton.
Paul Westerberg.
Nirvana.
Articles that nearly duplicate the Slam List just for a cheap
joke.
-------------------------------------
1.10 The Wit and Wisdom of My Cat
-------------------------------------
I find that, looking back, my cat has always been one of the
greatest philosophers of our time. I remember sitting one day in my
kitchen, staring dejectedly at a picture of an ex-girlfriend, when
Arch would come up to me, rub against my leg, and purr loudly.
When I looked down to see what he wanted, he would look up at me
and say, simply:
"Meow."
And I would be consoled, for Arch was well-used to loss, himself.
Arch lost his mother when he was 7. Although for a cat, this is
advanced age, he was still despondent. (His mother, Kit, was
about 9 or 10, so it was kind of natural, I suppose.) Even in the
depths of his own mire of depression, Arch would still influence
my life's decisions. When I was choosing what college to go to, I
had narrowed it down to two choices, and I asked Arch what he
thought, and he replied:
"Meow."
Arch's response immediately illuminated some darkened corridor in
my mind, and I made my decision, knowing that the beneficial
wisdom of my cat, Arch, had guided me to make the right choice. I
would later credit all my scholarly success to Arch's guidance,
and would regret that he didn't get more recognition as a result
of my support.
Another situation in which Arch proved to be helpful was when I
fell on my ass one day, trying to run across a freshly waxed floor
wearing socks, rather than shoes. As I attempted to regain my
previous position of being upright, Arch's wit reached my ears
from the opposite end of the room:
"Meow."
After Arch gave me his opinion, he turned and walked away,
possibly in search of some Kit and Kaboodle. I felt that I was a
better human being for hearing Arch's say on the subject, and I
felt less foolish and resolved to never run across a freshly waxed
floor again, unless I was wearing cleats.
Daily I give thanks to whatever powers may govern our affairs, for
giving me this furry philosopher whose knowledge and experience
offers such a wide range of things to learn. So, I will take my
leave, leaving behind some of Arch's wisdom for you. I'm not as
good as he is at being a philosopher, but I hope that you'll at
least get my point:
"Meow."
--------------------------------------
1.11 Waiting For The Phone To Ring
--------------------------------------
Some nights I sit, entranced by the words and phrases, and
eventually, sentences and paragraphs that form upon my screen, and
realize it's all just a diversion to keep me from waiting for the
phone to ring. Then, I stop, and simply wait for the phone to
ring, thinking, "Hey, this could be Net, this could be one of the
Kids in the Hall, or maybe it's God Himself."
But then I wonder, why would God call me? I mean, He can just
connect with me telepathically, or something, right? And Net's
not even here, anymore. And the Kids in the Hall? They're in
Canada. Why would they call here? Eh?
Oh, I don't know. But one day, the phone may ring. Just maybe.
And maybe it'll be one of those people. Just maybe.
(I know this article made no sense. Nod your head and smile, and
go onward..)
--------------------
1.12 The Library
--------------------
Too many teenagers today, driven insane by the lack of any place
to go to hang out, end up going on shooting sprees and destroying
half of their town. I think there's something we can all do about
this: extend the library's hours to about midnight, and invite all
the kids in from the city and surrounding towns. Think about it:
the library becomes the city's cool new hangout, boosting reading
levels citywide.
But, then, the other downtown buildings will want to compete. The
banks will start offering their waiting areas to the kids; that
barber shop on the corner will be chock full of teenagers making
fun of their friends, who are getting their hair cut; the music
stores will let everyone come in and have a big ol' jam; and the
bookstores will start selling more import porn, and put down
chairs all over the store for everyone to sit in.
Then the competition would extend outside of the downtown area,
and the places the teens once frequented will be deserted.
Noticing their flagging business, they will start a huge
advertising campaign to get the kids back in, which would probably
succeed. Then it would be downtown v. Wendy's until the end of
our society.
Just think, man. We could start a revolution and no one would
care.. too busy running from the library to McDonald's and back.
But what would we revolt about? I say that we revolt to build a
new KFC. But that's just my opinion.
-------------------------------
1.13 Milo Aukerman's Corner
-------------------------------
Dear IN A FREE LAND Readers,
Nice name change, Matt, you asshole. [Thanks. - ed.]
Living in Backwoods, IN, this week, staying at Miss Ellie's
Boarding House. Thanks to Miss Ellie for making me feel at home.
Next week, I'm leaving for Asia. Not the band, the continent.
Backwoods isn't too bad of a place, if you ignore that bullshit
about the guy that drank all those beers in one sitting. He's
like a legend around here, or something, but he just looks drunk
to me. Some of the racier stories say that he pisses like a
racehorse. Hell, if I'd had fifty-something beers in one sitting,
I'd be pissing until the Judgment Day, so I can't blame him.
Bought ALL's _Breaking Things_, and got slightly pissed off at
Bill and everybody all over again for getting a new vocalist.
But I can't complain.. I sing backing vocals on a song or two. I
still think they should have kept Scott Reynolds [No kidding. -
ed.].
There's no DQ out here, so I had to miss seeing any more action
like what I did in Westfield.
Actually, it's fucking boring in Backwoods. How the hell can
these people stand to live here? I'll have a more exciting letter
next issue, guaranteed.
Later!
Milo
-----------------------------------------
1.14 Why You Should Never Join a Cult
-----------------------------------------
1. Chanting non-stop will give you a sore throat.
2. Those damn dues that they make you pay (Swaggart/Tipton cults
only).
3. It's no picnic (for you, at least) getting out if you get bored.
4. Unexplained loss of pets will break the kids' hearts.
5. Unexplained loss of kids will break your spouse's heart.
6. They force you to make lists like these. [Thanks, Jeff. - ed.]
-------------
1.15 Why?
-------------
Every issue has it's "Why?" section. Every issue will. This
issue's question is:
Q: Why do people think grunge is punk?
A: (Matt Shaw) Grunge has some of the attitude of hardcore/punk,
but is more commercialized. When's the last time you saw Jello
Biafra advocating major labels? Artist-owned is the way to go.
Before anyone can shove Sub-Pop down my throat, most grunge
acts have gone to major labels, leaving Sub-Pop a well-known
independent with nearly the level of popularity as SST/Cruz,
supporting more and more non-grunge acts.
The major problem with grunge is that it's treated more like
fashion than like music. Top 40 stations are playing grunge;
in fact, the first time I heard Nirvana was when I was being
forced to listen to a local Top 40 station. Top 40 stations
would be offended by and scared of real HC/punk. I like Pearl
Jam's music, but I'm not a voracious fan, and it's kind of a
pity that all these high school kids who play football and
don't know what the fuck alienation is like pick up a Pearl Jam
album, listen to the songs, and actually think they can relate
to Eddie Vedder's lyrics. All I'm saying is leave the music of
punk/hardcore/alternative where it should be: off MTV and Top
40 stations. Give alt rock back to the real alternative; give
it back to the underground.
-------------------------------------------
1.16 Piss Off/Well, G'Night, Everybody!
-------------------------------------------
We've reached the end of our sojourn into Backwoods underground
culture. Go and spread the word of our gospel; tell all you meet
on the Net about reading (and living) IN A FREE LAND.
This one's been a blast!
- Matt
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dope smokin' moron.. don't make me yawn."
- The Replacements, 1982
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