It's what I'd imagined Your Flesh Fanzine (established, 1981, still defiantly independent) would sound like if it came as an audio collection. Of all the songs I knew prior, they're all alternate takes, which is nice. Mirroring Peter Davis' tastes that lick the musical wound from dirty rock'n'roll all the way to art damage (heavy damage, heavy art), he's got the entire spectrum representing. Proceeds go to a good cause and his name is Peter Davis. Beware: if you can't tolerate arty rock, this won't make you happy. Thurston Moore: no longer a mere youth, a man, mild mania, and an acoustic guitar. Lifter Puller: an echo remix of "Math is Money" off of the so great they had to break up in obscurity album "Fiestas: Fiascos." Turbonegro: "Good Head," indeed. Hole in the ground. Erection. Long live the denim devils. The devils are dead. New Bomb Turks: unplugged, piano-aggressive wail of "Spanish Fly" (aka the "Candle in the Broken Wind" mix). Goatsnake: Woo. Stoner rock. Kyuss the sky. Slaves: droning, keyboarding antipop with handclaps. I think they're now called Pleasure Forever. Electric Airlines: "Stull"-era Urge Overkill-ish; satiny, stained male vocals and easy jangle backup. Eyesinweasel: Indie rock that doesn't suck. Rare breeding of melody and adept use of the anti-whine filter. Bardo Pond: four bong hits, handkerchiefs of ether, and think they're the modern Rick Wakeman from the perspective of the pan flute. Michael Gerald (ex-Killdozer): reads from a fish and game pamphlet backed by a Tiajuana brass loop (Remember, heavy art, heavy damage). Woulda loved a remix of the Killdozer/Alice Donut junket into that song from the hippie film, "Hair." Supersuckers: You know, I'm glad at how semi-popular these guys have remained. Popular enough not to get other jobs, but still unknown enough to play all the dives. Keeps the rock honest. Thinking Fellers Union Local #282: They do John Cage proud. Indeterminancy; you are what slakes you. The Vandermark 5 with Wolter Wierbos: No. Squeaky intergalactic balloon music sucks circus clown anus, all eight minutes, fifty-seven seconds of it. Monster Magnet: Isn't one of them wearing a codpiece now? That puts them in the arena with WASP and Cameo. Song's gritty and sounds recorded from the bathroom next door. Cobra Verde: They provide the title track. It's a happy, peppy, and a fun little song. Sun City Girls: would go well with that Warhol film that's eight hours long of people sleeping. Rocket From the Crypt: Bless 'em and their matching outfits. They sound more Jehu-y than RFTC-y but that's OK because they share the same Speedo. Bluebird: The LA one. Hummy, fuzzy, with little bits of crunch on the edges. The Bellrays: live from a local dive, Al's Bar. If Lou Rawls took estrogen shots and binged out on the MC5. Lisa's got hot damn pipes.
–todd (Your Flesh)