Sunday

...where th' rakkit known as mayhem starts...titles right on th' money 'n that dont happen as often as a cat with a true heart would like...gettin stiffed by th' money grubbers is whats th' usual 'n any biskit givin up th' true primal spirit gotta be taken with some seriousness...way below th' depths o' most basements this is substrata recordins, taped missives from deep within th' protagonists soul...from th' caverns o' chaos come primal screams lettin th' world know they are not satisfied with their surroundins...th' blandness o' square culture is so oppresive to them that pure scrapin rock noise is th' only xcape...like a killdozer rollin a fetid swamp to yesterday this sound is loaded with tape hiss/feedback/pummel/screamin from beyond walls o' pain...there is some grounds for thinkin along lines o' this bein a random outburst o' nihilistic thrashin but with all th'xtra curricular activities these cats got into like church burnin/murder, combined with furtive meetins away from straight society 'n a code o' recognition that appalls th' patriot to th' point o' jealous hatred 'n desperation this could wella been a beatnik injection given by th' rocknroll overlords to help get th' scene goin, wake up those that can be woken...any heads down with und'rground metal jamz need to know this is th' 9trk version so its nearly double th' swill spillage 'n for cats in th' know thats too good to miss...prime scrape from a quarter century after blue cheer first annoyed th' purists'n 'liberals', more aural damage from one o' th' greats who kept faith with th' eternal NOW o'rockin'n rollin...

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