Let's face it: my desire, after 7-10 hours of steady work on my new, at-home, on-the-computer job, to spend any amount of further time on my personal computer, is minimal. It doesn't mean that I don't like writing, or discovering and sharing my favorites; I'd just rather hang out with the missus and the dog, which doesn't leave much time for this fun little hobby. So if you see less of me here, or the posts are a bit...terse, just take it as I'm ramping down. I scratched the itch that led me to pick this back up a month after I lost my job last year.
The rise of the 45th PotUS led me back into the welcoming arms of the mid-80s anarcho-punk that I fell in love with back in my teens. I never got into the crusty lifestyle (I was really into Fred Perrys and Converse, and liked working), but the music, the deep alternative not just to the mainstream but even the relative selling out of punk culture...well, it was hot. And an aggressive, antisocial response to right wing hegemony spoke to me once again. So I started revisiting my Crass Records singles: not just the namesake band, but K.U.K.L., Dirt, Poison Girls, and the mighty Flux Of Pink Indians.
So it was that sometime last fall, I spent a fiver (plus S&H) and ordered this, FoPI's third and final studio LP. I'd never heard it, it was inexpensive, and I saw Adrian Sherwood was featured on it, so I figured I'd dig it. I did; I DID dig it. It's exactly the sort of "progressive" record I'd imagine you'd make as you grew a bit older, absorbed more influences, met new people you'd want to collaborate with, while still staying true to your core independent spirit. While at 43, I'd still love to make music in a punk style, I cannot imagine making it without it reflecting dub production, Memphis brass, clanging percussion. That's what you get here.
I'll see you the next time I feel the itch.
