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Preview: (Nobody Knows) I'm New Wave }---- ||OVERDOSE! >------

(Nobody Knows) I'm New Wave

Things have learnt to walk that aught to crawl.

Updated: 2017-10-20T09:55:48.838-07:00


Requiem For A Trend


former music bloggersWell, looks like blogger might be the new internet-ghetto. Many of the people that inspired me to join in on this whole music sharing/festival of verbal onanism have gone on to newer, greener pastures like podcasts, tumblr porn, twit(ter), and other short attention span pandering suck&fuckeries. Posts have been sporadic or non-existent in many of my favorite internet haunts. I get it. I'm part of the problem. Hell, I'm almost too lazy to even embed links in this post. At one point the constant flood of music I was DLing became overwhelming. I just couldn't find the time to listen to all the sick shit people were posting. I still have albums on my HD that I've never listened to. As a silly man once didn't say, "There's more to life than blogs you know, but not much more." Well, I, for one, always enjoyed the flogging of a dead horse (or a dead hooker), so here I am posting without shame. To all those guys who created and contributed to the blogs over there on the right, thanks for all the good times and awesome tunes. I will continue to haunt these pages, and I will never leave you, until I do. For all the people that have sacrificed their time to read my bullshit, and to those who choose to communicate via comments and e-mails, here's a truly heartfelt "Thank you." Also, I'm really stoked to see Jason and Shelby out here on the Big Island real soon. You guys are champions.And, speaking of champions, here is a truly majestic piece of work by the much-celebrated paragons of getting fucked-up and fucking things up: HICKEY's "US vs. THEM" e.p.  Matty Luv is dead, yeah, but HICKEY is immortal. Ain't nothing in this world makes me happy like a HICKEY record. Matty's mad poetry and  gonzo guitar attack and Aesop's nitro-fueled jalopy pump n' munch drums have inspired many a drunken night's regret-worthy hi-jinx. Great alone or with friends. When is somebody gonna write the book on HICKEY, already? Few bands have ever earned such a wild and debauched (not to mention dumb and crazy) reputation. Aesop said it best, "Hickey is a cult band. When they were around, nobody went to  their shows. Now, everybody says they were there." LONG LIVE THE NAKED CULT OF HICKEY! People are always re-releasing their shit so go and buy some of it. I got the new 2x12" edition of "Various States of Disrepair" with all the extras, and I have already dry humped it twice, built a shrine to it, and stole it a baby; and that doesn't even scratch the surface of its potential."Life is cheap, but living is expensive." (DL)[...]

"Thought it was an alien. Turned out to be, just, God"


Positive vibes!
Okay, so I realize that the last couple of posts may have got ya'll down. I know you didn't come here to listen to me whine and proselytize. You've got problems of your own. But, you should know that I am not always such a curmudgeon. In fact, I'm generally quite amicable.  I'm a funny guy and people fucking love me, yo. And so, in the spirit of being not a Negative Nancy, but choosing instead to spread the so-called P.M.A., we'll listen to an album that is on the gentler, happier side of the coin.
Built to Spill has put out enough material and done enough hard work for them to warrant little introduction. But, maybe, like me, you spend most of your listening hours enjoying the audio equivalent of a freight train full of hogs crashing through the backlot of the world's biggest gangbang/orgy whilst the babbling ghost of cracked-out Whiney Houston juggles chainsaws. In that case, study up: Doug Martsch, Tree People, Idaho. Can I still call this Indie Rock, even though it was released on a very Major Label? Well, it's very easy on the ears, and sometimes I just don't need to be fucking screamed at. I guess it's not, technically speaking, a "happy" album. After all, it is dedicated to Pat Brown after his suicide. But it is about as happy as my collection gets. There is definitely a lot of Classic Rock present here, whilst still maintaining that outsider - indie- quirkiness. Pavement meets Neil Young? It's, uhh... great for "mellow" days. Pipe, and slippers, and a cozy spot to relax, mayhaps? It's cool, our problems will wait for us.

"Seeing? It seems minor, to me..."(DL)

American Youth Propose A "RADICAL NEW APATHY!!!"


[A letter from the editor]:    A new cultural and social movement has been struck up amongst the world's working class, aged 18-35. A revolutionary style of living and interacting with our peers, marked by a total lack of of willful momentum. Teens and young adults of the world's wealthiest nations have never before been more content to sit in our chairs, play video games, and allow fast food and cable television to slowly turn our bodies and minds into toxic mush. It seems that many of the poor have decided to behave just as simply lazy and ignorant as the (Rich, White) powers that be have long proclaimed them to be. People are disheartened because it turns out that less than one percent of the so-called '99%' of the oppressed in America actually showed up to the Occupy movement's protests and rallies. Of that, most  were unemployed and had nothing better to do. Others only showed up on their lunch breaks from menial, low paying jobs in corporate behemoths to eat a Subway sandwich and snap a quick photo with their iPhone to prove that they were "there when the shit went down." It seems that most of us were depending on our friends and neighbors to go down there and get shit done for us. I was hoping for something with a lot more push. It seems that the latest manifestation of our collective anger and resentment towards a corrupt and dysfunctional system amounts to nothing more than typing in all capital letters and adding unnecessary exclamation points when communicating via privacy raping social media. Yelling really loudly about a personal mish-mosh of proto-anarchist tripe whilst guzzling down trendy beer at crowded bars in hip metropolitan areas has replaced any sort of informed political process. Stay indoors. Stay tuned to watch your favorite "programs." Post your every movement to the web. Twitter is the new "News." Your only real "friends" are the ones you interact with the most online or via text message. I, the author, I am only a ghost. Just a disembodied voice composed by a human, but filtered through the circuits and protocols of the machine. I am not even here with you anymore. Moved on. Need I  remind you that every decision you make has power? Reality isn't shaped by intangibles like morals and economics. It is created with every choice we make. Every dollar we choose to spend dictates the operations of the giant global conglomerates. The brand names on our sneakers are written in the blood of decades of cruel labor practices. The meal on our plate is genetically modified, unrecognizable, and probably going to kill us. Our cars, our computers/electronics, and our garbage is fucking ruining the only planet within any universe that we have found inhabited by life as we know it. We, as living thinking humans, are a one in a billion shot, and we are acting as if the threats being waged against our very existence are not dire and immediate. I suppose that this is all some kind of bummer. It doesn't have to be though. The children are not the future, don't leave it up to them. Educate yourself, now in the present. Act according to your beliefs, regardless of public opinion. Establish yourself as model of human excellence by following your passions. Be generous when you can afford it, you'll find yourself with many a helping hand when you are in a pinch. Read books - real ones, printed on paper. Knowledge is truly the greatest treasure one can acquire. Spend time in the real world, preferably outdoors, with people you love. Tell stories. Create art. Spread knowledge through whatever means you find most enjoyable. Write a song that will change the world. Make a stranger smile. Fuck somewhere you're not supposed to. Fight the police. Grow your own food. I for one shall refuse to modify my behavior according to any codes of conduct established by any authority outside of my own intellect and intuition. We already have all the power we need, if we have each other. Fuck the system, but good. - RyGar(For putting up with me, here's a very [...]

"I Wanna Piss On You"


Sick fuck.I am so fucking sick of everything. Sick of bullshit politics. Sick of hearing nothing but lies from mainstream media. Sick of obnoxious drunks. Sick of trends/posers. Sick of feeling disappointed. I'm sick of going to work to serve rich, old, white people food I can't afford to eat. Sick of getting in confrontations with crackheads on the street. Sick of coming home hungry to empty cupboards. Sick of socializing with people who never got past highschool-ish social cliques. Stereotypes make me puke. I am ripe with nausea every time I hear make someone make an ignorant and racist remark. I'm sick of the internet. I'm sick of writing this post. Fuck off, you make me sick. allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="" width="420">GG knows. (DL)[...]

"Bloated on Mammalian Flesh"



IllCon Illuminati. This 6 song Apocryphon disc was discovered in a cave located outside modern day Afghanistan by Ancient Astronaut Theorist, Giorgio A. Tsoukalos. Nearby were a pile of post-Cretaceous period fossils and humanoid remains. Tsoukalos has speculated that "The demented tones contained within this recording were probably made by aliens, maybe. It definitely is advanced technology, and the square shape of the wooden container leads me to believe that it was manufactured by extra-terrestrials, because aliens like four sided things. Like the pyramids. Totally aliens. Probably." Other "experts"
have agreed that the guitar-shreddery is definitely super-human, and the vocals far too disgusting to be created by human vocal organs. The thunderous cacophony of the drums call to mind the hideous rites performed by the Tcho-tcho peoples, as captured in field recordings by noted Occult Scientist, Obed Marsh (RIP). [Also, there is some killer bass playing. However, this is a metal record, so we're just gonna ignore it. - Ed.] According to legend, the Tcho-tchos descended from a race of dwarfs known as the Miri Nigri, who in turn were created from the flesh of prehistoric reptiles. The Tcho-tchos indulged in an unknown hallucinogenic compound during their worship of the Great Old One, Hastur. Ceremonies involved orgiastic frenzy and human and animal sacrifices. Expert Theorists have speculated that Apocryphon was one such cult of The Unspeakable One. To listen to this recording may cause one to become possessed by Hastur. In that event, one's bones become gelatinous, the skin turns to scales, and they will become the embodiment of entropy. I highly recommend it.

Mortals bow before your masters (DL)

Give them some money for stuff here.

"Wear something sexy and meet me at midnight."


[Originally, in this space, I had just listed every naughty word or phrase that I could come up with at two in the morning. It was a pretty long list. Then I realized that the spike in the amount of unwanted traffic/trolls my misanthropic little blahg would suddenly experience could be very annoying. So the dirty talk will just have to stay between me and the cat. This is a compilation of songs about horizontal action, or "doin' it." I like to talk about fucking and getting high, because if I am an expert at doing two things, it is fucking and getting high. Ok, maybe not an expert, per se. But, unlike Ian McKaye, "at least I fucking tried!" I already covered the subject of "Drugs" over at iLLcON, so here I am giving you, "Sex." Not literally, of course. That would not be enjoyable for either of us, seeing as how I finally got both my tentacle surgery, and my marsupial pouch (photos soon). As Burroughs said, "we see god through our assholes in the flashbulb of orgasm." Your girlfriend will hate this because it reminds her of how inadequate you are in the sack. Also, she will shave her head and grow her armpit hair. You're going to be eating hair pie, and that's if you're lucky. I still can't figure out how to get the tracks in the order I want, which pisses me off because I grew up in the age of actual "mixtapes." Lovingly crafted, handmade pieces of art, which were way more intimate and meaningful than this blogging business will ever get. You were gonna masturbate in twenty minutes anyway, why not let this compilation set the pace. I'm off to youjizz, myself, as soon as I finish these nachos. Love you. - RyGar]

download smut (DL)

On the "Countless Backs of Sad Losers"


I fucking love this cover art.
Do you know what is kind of scary? Seeing David Yow perform live. The man is like GG Allin, only with a wicked-sharp intellect. Charles Manson with out all the marketing. He doesn't have to drop his pants to shit all over your fancy (sub)Urban Outfitters "vintage" tee shirt, no party tricks here.  His sweat will probably leave a stain, though. He's one of the few real singers out there. Like Danzig, Yow is unafraid to explore his range and use his voice as an instrument. Witness this classic by The Jesus Lizard. Buy a lovely deluxe version here. Then go catch one his current bands. You will leave a better person.
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Testify. (DL)

Only CRASS is punk enough...


But, sorry, dude - CRASS ain't even on this comp. However, it is a crASS records comp. CRAss. CrAsS SSSsssss. ... oops, I got distracted by something shiny. This comp is at least 60% great. I'll let you decide who gets the credit for the 40% suck. I never really waved the CRASS banner.They're swell, and all, but I'm just not gonna pledge whatever proto-anarchists pledge instead of allegiance. Anyway, they aren't even on this comp, so it's not really worth debating. What is worth mentioning is that you get tracks from A Flux of Pink Indians, Conflict, Rudimentary Peni, D.I.R.T., Zounds, and a few others. Dig in sweet lambs.

Anarchy, duuuuuude...(DL)

(In case you are wondering, I'm still not done doing this blogging biznasty. I just like to unplug and get outside when the weather is nice, and that is what I've been doing.)

"I don't want to live like this."


I am not a music journalist, and I have no aspirations to become one. It's quite strange then that I should feel pressured into creating thorough and entertaining write-ups about the bands and albums that I post here. Part of it stems from the amount of respect I have for the music and the people who create it. Everything I post here on NKINW is intrinsically linked to my perception of self. I have defined myself, for the most part,  by the music that I listen to and the politics, jokes, and values contained within these recordings. That isn't to say that I agree with everything a given band has to say. I can get past ignorant lyrical content if the music is good enough. I don't worry about whether my wardrobe is punk or metal. But, my point is, all of these records mean more to me than they probably should. I think in fragments of song lyrics. I drum my fingers on every available surface, keeping time with the playlist in my head. I rally behind bands that value integrity over mainstream appeal. And, sometimes, I can't think of a damn thing to say about a band that I feel does justice to their art. I get bored of trying to find new ways to say an album is heavy, or fast, or what-have-you. Of course, no one has asked me to do any of this. I'm only up against myself, and today, I am kicking my ass. I don't have anything clever or funny to say about Apeface. I don't know how to tell you that their take on crust is both unique and necessary. I can't tell you that it sounds like mid-90's Black Metal without feeling like I'm only trying to sell it to you by alluding to a passing revivalist fad. Look, Apeface is from San Jose, Ca., just like me. They were nice dudes whenever I met them. They sometimes played shows with the lights out, the stage illuminated by desecrated nativity scene lawn figures. Some of the other bands in the Bay Area made fun of them for writing songs that were too long. Or for not being punk enough, and too metal. Apeface rules, and that's all I can really tell you. Is that enough? Will you click the DL link? Am I only talking to myself? Do I care? Stay tuned for the answers to these questions and more, here on The 'Wave.

"No monkey story will do." (DL)

Now Hiring, Assholes


I really like doing this blog, but I don't get around to posting all that often. Sometimes I'm busy. Sometimes I'm lazy. I mean, just look at my post history on the right - totally slacking. It's hard keeping a fan base if the posts only get updated as often as your mom gets laid. So, because I don't want to see this thing die, I figured I'd bring in a couple more employees. What does a job at The 'Wave offer as compensation, you ask? Well, it doesn't pay $$$, and nobody popular is going to change their opinion of you, but I promise that you will get a grip of underground credibility and a t-shirt whenever I get around to printing them. Oh, I get good weed, and I'll totally get you high sometime, if you want. No experience necessary, just shoot me a message about why you would want to write for the blog and maybe a few of your favorite albums, or something. Nothing you write will be censored, or edited for content. Take a look around the older posts and ask yourself if your are ready to succeed where only Robert Downey Jr. has failed. Join us and transcend the banality of non-blogger existence.Rejected applicant R. D. Jr. on the downward spiral.[...]

"The Luckless Lands of the North."


Shelby's post about Finnish metal over at Illogical Contraption a little while ago really stroked my shaft. Uh, musically, that is. I did however notice one glaring omission, which I can only attribute to the overwhelming obviousness of it's inclusion in the canon: Amorphis was left completely out of the discussion. Along with Cannibal Corpse and Deicide, Amorphis was one of the first DM bands to defile and corrupt my teenage mind. Or, more likely, they satisfied demented adolescent longings which had been theretofore repressed and dormant. After all, teenage boys don't spend much time worrying about things outside of sex, death, and self-gratification. Unlike their 'merican counterparts, who relied on speed, over the top gore, and cartoonish Satan-worship; Amorphis relied on a much more grandiose, melodic formula. Much like their neighbors in the Norwegian Black Metal scene which was at this time taking it's first iconoclastic steps, Amorphis chose to forge their Metal on the coals of their cultural history. This album, in particular reflects themes of national identity, as it is based on The Kalevala, The Epic Poem of Finland. So, as you might expect, if one wanted to describe the sound and themes of "Tales From The Thousand Lakes", the adjective "epic" might be more appropriate here than almost anywhere else. This is Finnish Metal in its purest form. Amorphis is still going, and I hate to be the "I only like their old stuff" guy, but this song off their newest one sounds like that awful HIM band that all the mall kids were so excited about a few years ago. Bad, but at least Amorphis gets credit for being wimpy first, and pioneering that sound. As a general guide, any Amorphis release with this logo: = probably really good.If it has a variation of this logo:= probably not so good.At least they made it convenient."From the Land of the Sky Blue Water - Amorphis, The Metal Refreshing." (DL)(On an interesting side note, I found this map showing people of Finnish descent in America. Not, surprisingly, they are all here in Minnesota, "Land of 10,000 Lakes." Also the word "Tundra" is of Finnish origin. "Frozen Tundra" is my favorite way to describe Minnesota.)[...]

Mary Had A Little One


I had meant to do a Jucifer post way back in October, after I finally got the chance to see them live. I have some photos from their set, and I was waiting to transfer them to my PC. Unfortunately, I don't have a card reader, or cable to transfer them over, thus the delay in posting. But, this isn't about my photos, or my experience - it is about cluing you in to an extremely good band that you may have slept on. Jucifer is a two-piece sludge/heavy metal band from Athens, Georgia. For 18 yrs., they have relentlessly pummeled crowds around the country with their music. Just look at the wall of amps and the size of that Vistalite kit:Going through their discography, one finds a band that is not content to be static, yet never lacking in direction or intent. While most of the music is pounding and threatening, Amber and Edgar aren't afraid to slow things down and lull you into a false sense of comfort with passages of clean vocals and minimal drum beats, whose placid vistas are soon firebombed with more HEAVY FUCKING METAL. They've got a lil' something for almost any niche-minded headbanger. The newest album, Throned in Blood, even incorporates elements of Black Metal without hopping on any bandwagons or pretending any claims. Blast beats and wailing, tortured screams abound, and I highly recommend you go buy it, dude. It's "It." However, I would feel bad cheating such a hard-working band by posting their latest release, henceforth I have reached back into their catalogue and pulled what I think might be their least known release, 2001'2 Lamb's EP. Here you'll get a glimpse of the bands range and dynamic songwriting abilities, along with a sore neck and some broken furniture if you've got the volume up. Hide the cat."Off to the edge"(DL) title="YouTube video player" src="" width="425" frameborder="0" height="349">[...]

Any Cockledoo


I told you about how I used to ditch school and hitchhike to Santa Cruz as a teenager, right? Well, this one time two of my friends and I were doing just that, to score a vial of liquid acid. We punks three, posted up at the entrance to Highway 17 and stuck our resin coated thumbs in the air. There's nice enough folks in the area, so you'd usually get a lift within 15 or twenty minutes. It wasn't long before a white pick-up truck with a Black Flag sticker on the back pulled over and let us cram into the cab. Let's call this guy, Jared. So Jared seems like a cool dude. He's in his twenties, kind of a rocker/skater looking bro. We get to talk, and it turns out we have some mutual friends. We blaze. He asks us why we're going over the hill, and we don't bother lying. He's pretty stoked on the idea of tripping on some legit lsd, so he gives us his number and the ride was unmarked by any weirdness or misfortune. Jared drops us off by the Boardwalk, where he says he has some business to do involving his Dad's electrician company. We speedwalk through the flats, avoiding the cholos who are virtually shoving coke and heroin at us. Once down on the Pacific Garden Mall, we skip over to hippie corner and within minutes, a guy named, get this, "Christ", says he can hook up a vial (100 doses) for $75. This is pretty decent deal, so we go with it. Cut to us down at the levy eating full eyedroppers of the acid and smoking some of that lovely Santa Cruz Mountain goodness. Jump cut to a film of us stumbling down the mall doubled over with maniacal laughter. Faces red, pupils like dinner plates, waving cigarettes around like some twisted interpretive dance. We decide that Taco Bell sounds like a good idea. Maybe not to actually eat, but rather to just observe and discuss. Why does that guy in line look familiar? Oh, shit, he's trying to talk to us? It's Jared. I can remember that much, but my attention span is completely shot. I can't really hold up my end of the conversation. "So, I take it you guys got the acid?... ride back... trip, too." I know he's trying to tell me something, so I just nod and try in vain to keep a straight face. Speaking of faces, this dude is just way too close to me while he's talking. I'm outside smoking a cigarette. My friends are there, too, but they're moving across the parking lot. Oh, yeah, the white pick-up w/ the Black Flag sticker... We're headed back over the mountains. Jared is driving, it seems, way too fucking fast. He must have eaten some of the doses, because he's rambling about the skidmarks on the center divide looking like rainbows. No shit. The stereo is on and it's really loud industrial metal. But it's kinda groovy, too. Sweaty sounding. I know this sound, it's gotta be an Al Jourgenson project. There's a lot of kinky samples, and someone keeps repeating, I think, "Gee you're looking good." [The actual lyric is Linger Ficking Good - ed]. It's really fucking me up in the best way possible... great fucking peak whilst snaking through switchbacks. The evening fog rolling down from the summit is alive... this song is fucking crazy... good times, people. Stay tuned. I'm out for now, but let the Revolting Cocks fuck you up with their psychedelic blend of grunts, and groans, and malfunctioning equipment....maybe you're in need of a trip."It's a RevCo World" (DL)[...]

"...You're the only one - 2 - 3 - 4!"


I really wish I could tell you more about Manson Youth. I know that they are from SoCal (Riverside?), that one of the dudes is a well known tattoo artist, and that these two kick ass E.P.'s were recorded around '84, but didn't see a release until the early nineties. As far as I know, that's all they released, which is a damn shame. I picked up "God's Fun Children" at Streetlight Records in San Jose, Ca., back when they had a legitimate selection of punk on vinyl ('95? '97?). I haven't stopped spinning it since. Seriously good, old school punk rock jams. Maybe you can fill me in on some of the blanks? Did you go to school with these dudes? See them live? Get beat up by them? Maybe you've got a rip of some third generation, cassette dub of demos or unreleased goodies. School me holmes. My two favorite tracks would have to be "Karen" and "Vulnavia", those songs do not get old:

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"Some people think that she's really dead [DL]"

Social Fools


Just a heads up: you can follow the 'Wave on Facebook. I'll be doing occasional facebook-only mini posts from time to time. Just shit that is overshared, or when I am too lazy for a complete post. Recently, I put up the "Songs the Mummies Taught Us" compilation of garage classics. Check it out over here:

"Bury Me Next to Robert Palmer"


(This isn't the cover art, it's what comes up when you search for it.)

(image) Alright, so... way back in the first post on this lumbering, somnambulistic, half-rotten and stinking blog, I told you about my lust for Apocalypse Hoboken's music. Then, a short time later, I had the delightfully twisted, handsome, and well endowed singer of that band come by and share some thoughts with us. Todd Pot is many things. At least eight if you hear him tell it. Well, my dear, neglected little blog trolls: I'm half aroused when I tell you that there's more. As was mentioned before, Todd keeps pretty fucking busy in the world of music. Amongst his many projects that are currently playing and recording, there exists a fucking slice of key lime heavenly hair pie called The House That Gloria Vanderbilt. You'll forgive me if I'm brief, but let me just tell you that you're going to love this band. Exactly from the first track in. I don't know exactly what genre you expect me to pigeon-hole them into, and I'm not gonna try. Instead, I'll leave you with this metaphor: The House That Gloria Vanderbilt are the voluptuous swollen breasts of Lilith, as she methodically brings you to orgasm whilst you die, smothered. Buy their stuff on iTunes. Or, just contact Todd, he's a sweetheart, and he'll probably let you have it for free, you fucking peasant. Here's "Heavy Like A Feather."

Bonus video!
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Get Stunted (DL)

"I Can't, I Can't, I Can't Cum!"


Why do I love the sound of angry women so much? You would think I'd have had enough of all of their shouting by now. Between my six sisters, my mom, and all of the grrls who were damaged enough to deign me suitable boyfriend material, I've heard enough raised female voices to fill a whole hard drive. Why then am I such a sucker for the female vocalist in abrasive music? Possibly it is the juxtaposition of the typically 'male' traits of violence and anger in the lyrics and attitudes of these wholly feminine creatures. It could be that I've just grown accustomed to the sound. Has it become a need? Maybe I'm such a dick because I want to hear the cracking of a petulant woman's voice as she struggles to tattoo her message into my thick skull with her screams. Who knows? I don't, but thus is my burden. Regardless, here's my favorite Bikini Kill release. I don't think I need to give any of you a lesson on the bands history or importance. Washington state, Kill Rock Stars, Riot Grrrl movement, etc. All of that is well documented, and I don't mean to slight the significance of it, but... Well, but, I will. It's all well and great and life-changing if you are a teenage grrl. I don't know if I get many of those around the 'Wave. Even if I do, I'm hardly an authority on the subject. The important thing here is that you give "Pussy Whipped" a listen for it's sheer, punk-simple, unadulterated ugliness. It's been a favorite of mine since '95, and I hope you can dig it, too. Emasculation is such a nice word, don't ya think?

Chiseled from stone.


Just a heads up: I've recently moved. Why should you care, right? Well, unfortunately, my computer access is limited. I do have a laptop, but it is practically steam powered. It hates blogger, and slows to a dead crawl whenever I try to log in to this site. I do have all of my files, but no way to post anything at this time. I'll see what I can do to get things up again soon. In the meantime, enjoy the archives and visit the links on the right. Thanks, everyone, for all of your support.

Strange Transmission...


It seems that a signal containing the fifth album by Man Or Astro-man?, Intravenous Television Continuum has been accidentally intercepted by our satellites here at NKINW headquarters. Our team of experts has been anxiously deciphering the materials, hoping to find some insight as to why the signal was broadcast in the first place. Formed in Alabama in early 90's, MoA_M? released a slew of data collections in the form of vinyl phonographic audio plates and silicon digital discs. The exact intentions of the group are unknown, as most of these caches were devoid of any direct lyrical statements. Samples of film and television dialogue on the discs, from sources such as David Cronenberg's Videodrome and Rod Serling's Twilight Zone, suggest that the group may have had malevolent motivation. There are certainly a few fringe neurotics and peddlers of the fantastic who suggest that the band were aliens themselves. That the music was only a cover-up, the real message being beamed via subsonic waves directly into the cerebral cortex. These cracks have even gone as far as to proclaim that the band is merely an advance guard from some other galaxy, and that their transmissions were intended to ready us for First Contact. To speed our evolution. Recent breakthroughs in the crypto-linguistics division has discovered that the group may again be becoming active. Rumors of a 'tour' beginning immediately have sent shockwaves of fear and awe through the scientific community. You can view their old website here, but it hasn't been updated since 2005. Better off checking the HTML code at their Myspace, if you want to prepare yourself for your inevitable demise at the hands of these goons.
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ITV file #7734onerth: Status: Strictly Classified (DL)

You know what is like, so awesome?


This here mixtape I put together for you. These are selections from my top 25 most played tracks on iTunes. Most of the artists on the comp can be found either here on NKINW (use that handy search bar at the top of the page), or on the blogs in my link list on the right. If there's a track that you really like, feel free to request more from that artist, and I'll probably have something to post for ya. These are the jams that I play almost every night of the week. These are the songs that get me pumping my fists, shredding on my air-guitar, singing along, dancing, stumbling, and sometimes they even give me a boner. That last bit was a lie. This is a decent place to start if you're new to the blog. I've been shamelessly pimping this thing like a motherfucker, but I still don't get too many hits, and almost no comments. What up with that? Well, now this shit's even on Facebook! Yup, once again, I've buckled to peer pressure and hopped on that shitty "social-networking" crap. Enjoy, fuckers.

I'm not sure what the actual track order is, because I'm too lazy to figure out how to get them in the sequence I want. (Click the image below to enlarge. Yeah, click it. Ooooh, just like that.)(image)

"Heaped upon impassive floors. Defeated by forevermore." (DL)

The state of things.


Everyone knows that irony has eaten itself, and parody has replaced subjective reality. I'm not the biggest rap fanatic, but I can appreciate some quality jams. In the last few years, there haven't been many of those, though. Here's a couple clips that pretty much sum up where commercial rap is at.
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LOOSEWORLD x Waverly Films: Reggie Watts in F_CK SH_T STACK from LOOSEWORLD on Vimeo.

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Are you offended? Good, then we've got your attention:
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B-Boom. Da-Blap. Da Boom-boom Blap!


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"Love Just Ain't A Game I Play"


Having said that, I do enjoi a good love song. The Queers have been writing love songs, for retards like me, for days. I think this album, "Grow Up", has the best balance of the bands ooey-gooey, "girl, I love you" sap, and straight out rockers. Especially on side B, which opens with two of their toughest jams, "Junk Freak" and "Gay Boy"(combined here as one track). If they really were a Ramones rip-off, as some fingers have waggled, then these would be the songs penned by Dee Dee. This is a good go to album when you've got girls on your mind, but you've got beers in your gut.

Some Notes from the back of the LP:
The Queers Are:
Joe Queer Guitar Lead Vocals
B Face Bass Vocals
W/ JJ Rassler Guitar, Greg Urbatis Bass, Magoo Pirhana Bass, and Jeebs Pirhana Drums.

Remixed by Ben Weasel

"I'll Be True To You" by somebody else.

3rd in our Retro series.

"Boobarella, it's funny, that's her name." (DL)

[On a side note: shortly after ripping this LP, my needle bit the dust. I'll be posting some CD's or digital rips for a while.]

Your Mother ate my dog!


First, I'd like to thank the anonymous reader who sent me a link to this one. I hope you don't mind that I'm sharing it here (w/ my own zip and link). Your Mother were from Pleasanton, Ca. and played a hybrid of punk, hardcore, and complete dorkery. Your Mother isn't "cool." Hell, Your Mother isn't even good looking. But, Your Mother was always hilarious, and most importantly, fun! Yup, I know, fun isn't tough, or metal, or punk. Neither am I. Or you, you friggin' posers. I swear I must have seen these guys play a hundred times growing up. Probably more times than I've seen any other band. Gwar and the Swingin' Utters follow close behind. The zip contains their CD, "One Big Inside Joke" and [ I accidentally included] a bunch of tracks that they have posted for free on their website, including a wicked sweet cover of Weird Al's "Dare to be Stupid" (which, by the way, is the best DEVO song that DEVO never wrote). This is one of the CD's that really got a lot of rotation when I was a teenager. I'd have to say it influenced a lot of who I am, even. Because I am a fucking dork sometimes.

One Big Inside Joke (DL)
(Certain songs run across multiple tracks, and some tracks are just a couple seconds long. This is intentional. They're fucking with you, dude. Uh, doi.)

Stress Builds Character



My life is fucked,
as is yours.

Go to work.
Pay your bills.
Do not question.

Stay asleep.
Marry and reproduce.
Stay in debt.

Put it on credit.
Wait until tomorrow.

This is what we get.
The end is now.

[This album is perfect. I can't believe you don't own a copy.]