RAZORLEGS "Bloodshot" C40 (Self-Released)

This tape sounds like a guitarist and a drummer from a rock band got tired of the lead singer and bassist and threw them out of the dive bar they were playing a 2am gig.  The guitarist, PD, looked over at the drummer, Andrew, and said "We did the right thing man. Those posers were holding us back." Andrew only nodded slowly and emphatically, and then began to drum with renewed vigor, his frenzied arms swinging down faster and faster, exploding in crazy, tribal kick drum insanity until he entered a percussive trance known as "the monster drums."

PD let loose with the most horrific screeching wail he could produce from his tortured guitar, the amp vibrating with strain, shaking the tiny, poorly lit stage where the duo thrashed about in their own pit of sonic fury. The rafters shook frightfully and dust sifted down on the shoulders of the small crowd of onlookers who had gathered to find out what the horrible noise coming from the stage was all about.

Feeding off each others energy, PD and Andrew created an avalanche of sound incomprehensible to the human mind. They savagely thrust spears of pure avant rock in every direction. As layer upon layer of jet-engine flange was hurled from the amplifier like scalded demons, and the ominous drums continued their ceremonial death march, the crowd began to grip their ears and scream in pain. It was just too much rock and roll! Suddenly a guy near the edge of the stage dropped his beer bottle and it shattered. No one could hear it. The bottle turned to dust on the floor, as the broken pieces were vibrated apart from the deafening wave of sound. Even people writhing on the gritty floor in pain had to admit to themselves that no matter how catastrophic it seemed, it was never aimless. These lads knew how to rock.

It took the local police some time to arrive at the dive bar, because the noise ordinance complaints had come from all over town. As they stepped out of their patrol cars, the front doors of the dive bar blew off of the hinges and the surviving crowd members rushed out into the cool night air, blood running from their ears.

"What is that godawful racket?" Screamed Sargent Jones. But no one could hear him.  Before the officers could rush inside, another tidal wave of sheer treble bolted through the air at them like lightening, the rumbling of the monster drums shaking the ground. The venue owner and the barkeep scrambled through the open doorway just as the entire building exploded, the roof flipping over on a couple of cop cars and crushing them.

Soon every human capable of motion was running from the epicenter of the blast. Every window  shattered as the auditory onslaught continued. One by one, the major cities of the earth were reduced to heaps of debris. As the sun rose that morning, it rose on an entire world ravaged by sound. The only two people left alive were Razorlegs. PD looked around at Andrew, blood and sweat upon his brow. "I think they're all dead man. What do we do now?"

Andrew looked out over the ashes of the world for a minute, and then began to beat the drums in one last primordial rolling of thunder.  PD cranked the amp one last time, and the little blue planet known as earth dissolved into a cloud of dust in the Milky Way.

Presented for you in a red high-bias cassette, with white stamping on both sides and a fold-out U-card. Edition of 100.


Gray Lee