It utterly amazes me to no end that this warped world of ours is literally crawlin’ with a suffocatin’ over-abundance of lame-ass money-hungry record labels whose sole sickening purpose in life is to market the blandest, most reprehensible music known to man, and on the receiving end of such weak-willed entrepreneurial worthlessness, ya have the fickle semi-comatose masses who blindly leech onto each and every corporate-produced trend-of-the-moment as if they were hanging on for dear life. But RAFR Records is truly a sparkling, effervescent glimmer of hope in a recording world full of stagnant plastic-coated shit! It’s dedicated, small-label mavericks like Martin McMartin who crank-out the tuneage in the name of sheer indefatigable love for the music. Mr. Marty obviously has a deep-rooted appreciation and a fervent heart-wrenching respect for the raucous roster of sonic ass-shakers in his charge, which includes only the most bad-ass, most loudly blaring of today’s rockin’-and-rollin’ trailblazers. His genuine excitement for releasin’ such attitude-driven aural unruliness is more contagious than a laboratory-produced strain of non-vaccinable smallpox. So you can damn well bet your sweet bippies that the RAFR comps have always consistently outblasted any and all other competition – major label, indie, and everything in between! Volume 3 is certainly no exception. It contains some of the most outrageously thundering bands to cacophonously kick out the jams while frenziedly unleashing the mighty roaring beast known the world over as ROCK-AND-FUCKING-ROLL (includin’ The Humpers, Mad Daddys, Motochrist, The Bullys, The Weaklings, The Superbees, The Kowalskis, Short Fuses, The Chicken Hawks, Damnation, The Streetwalkin’ Cheetahs, The Bellrays, The Fuzztones, Darlington, The Hellbenders, The Starvations, and so many more, it’s downright unbelievable!). Indeed, this is an eardrum-pounding plethora of audial decadence at its wildest and most ferocious! RAFR has once again restored my brew-slathered faith in rock’n’roll with this seminal collection of balls-out tune-crashers, and I aggressively implore you to drop everything right fuckin’ now and buy this disc pronto quick. And I don’t wanna hear no lame-ass excuses about bein’ short on cash. If that’s the case, then hold-up a liquor store, rob a bank, or filch your grandma’s social security check – beg, borrow, and steal until you’re completely breathless. Just do whatever it takes to acquire this disc by any means necessary (you’ll thank me in the afterlife, I promise!). What beer is to the spirit, what raunch is to sex, and what hedonism is to my personal philosophy of life, RAFR is to the future of rock’n’roll. Amen, and let us now shake our backsides silly!