"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)

Stress Builds Character

Seriously.

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.]
(DL)

Back and Bloody

Jesus, two weeks is a long time to be away from home. We just got in, and I'm worn out. I've got a new feature that I hope will become a regular fixture coming in this week. It's a surprise, but hopefully you will be as stoked as I am. (See how I am tricking you into coming back all week? I learned that from watching cable Tv, while on vacation.) I won't bore you with my vacation pics, or stories. Pretty much we saw some friends, saw some family, and stayed drunk for the whole thing. Hope you all had a nice time while I was out. Thanks for not trashing the place.

Now, onto some tunes. I'm lazy, so this is an easy one: Slayer's, "Reign In Blood". I have this thing about finding something that can be used as a "perfect example of..." Track 10: "Raining Blood", is the "perfect example of Metal." If aliens were to land, and they were from some horribly weak suck of a planet, a planet with only Pop music say, and they came and asked us, "What is metal?" This is the track I would play. It hits you in the face within the first ten seconds. Soon, there's a spooky, atmospheric interlude, lulling you into believing that, maybe somehow when Tom asked, "Do you wanna die?", and you said, "Um, no thanks, sir." Maybe they heard you, and now you're out in the rain, cold, but safe. Then, POW! Two guitars come galloping out of the fog, and you're picked up by the throat. You're carried off on one of the greatest riffs ever, into a battlefield of double bass and frenetic picking. The General orders one last rush, and the solo comes in to annihilate what's left of the enemy. In less than five minutes, you're ass is totally handed to you, and then... nothing. That, my friends, is metal.

Perfection