"Napalm makes you vomit as it sizzles off your weenie."

"I am a fetus, I am a tumor, I am the local slime mold."

"Leeches! Let 'em Live!"

"I am the Peacemaker. I'll pound sand right up your ass."

Strange messages from space? No, just me and the guys sharing a few of our favorite Naked Raygun lines with each other. Except for that last one. Shammy was looking right at Mickey when he said it, and I think he kind of meant it.

Throb Throb, recently re-issued on Quarterstick Records, gets our vote as the best of several fine LPs by this Chicago band, and one of the dozen or so best US punk albums. Borrowing Buzzcocks' rhythm guitar chug and "whoa-oh" backing vocals, and showing a remarkable facility for hooks, Naked Raygun managed to inject their songs with equal parts menace and humor.

The first 45 from Phantom Records, which would later bring the world such acts as the Hoodoo Gurus, Hummingbirds and Sunnyboys. The Passengers greatest asset was probably lead singer Angie Pepper, who besides being having several other releases to her name, is the wife of Radio Birdman's Deniz Tek. Here is a link to one of her more recent projects.

A particularly wimpy slice of Carnaby Street pop. The Toast probably got beaten up a lot, but then so did Vitreous Humor. They cut at least two swell tracks in 1969, a good example of the sounds to be found on the average volume of Syde Trips, many of which saw no official release. Shammy scratches his head and says "There's nothing very punk rock about this at all," but the rest of us like the typical psych-pop harmonies and the chorus that refuses to end.

It is sort of interesting how bands that in the 1980s were referred to (usually with derision) as "retro" were merely twenty years ahead of their time. Take the Rain Parade, for instance. Their mesmerizing combination of the Velvet Underground, Byrds, and bubblegum-psych sources like the Lemon Pipers was regarded as pleasant but lightweight back in the 80s; yet contemporary bands like Beachwood Sparks and Jennifer Gentle play cut and paste with the exact same sources and reap critical praise. So, maybe, just maybe, the original sources are so good that they can withstand 40 subsequent years of being twisted into different shapes by successive generations of kiddies. In any case renewed interest in the Rain Parade (beyond that which occurred as a result of David Roback's creation of Mazzy Star) seems overdue.

By the way, have any of you guys read Our Band Could Be Your Life by Michael Azerrad? Great book, very entertaining, but the author's concurrent swipes at the "paisley underground" and lionizing of trendy sacred cows does grate a bit. As if a good chunk of Mission of Burma's non-Conley material wasn't weak. As if Dinosaur Jr. weren't to blame for a whole generation of alt-rock singers whining nearly on key. As if Big Black really had anything to offer besides a guitar sound that has since been beaten into the ground, funny liner notes, and the ability to articulate exactly one emotion. As if the Replacements, great as they were, actually ever made an entire LP that didn't have several tracks of pure crap on it. As if Mudhoney's career couldn't be anthologized effectively on two or three 45s. As if the bulk of Black Flag's output isn't completely unlistenable. Go on, put on Loose Nut. I dare you.