I'm not ashamed to admit that I dig my fair share of METAL. I was at that prime age during the whole "crossover" era and many a night was spent sitting underneath the Blue Water Bridge in friend's rust bucketed hand me down boat's of Detroit steel, passing pinners, GIQ's of Stroh's or pints of Kessler's or whatever the guy at the liquor store who let almost everybody underage but would always tell you "This time only" money would buy us (most of us were usually almost broke. It wasn't/isn't the most of prosperous towns) and alternating Motorhead... Dead Kennedys...Raven...Wire...Black Flag...Iron Maiden tapes in the cassette deck. When that wave of new underground metal starting hitting this town (no small thanks to the Mord and the show he hosted on the college station on Friday night's called "COLD STEEL-KICK ASS ROCK-N-ROLL!") we were ready for it. We were all at war with the Trans-Am driving, Bon Jovi listening jocks (Yep! Dudes listened to Bon Jovi. They'd use the excuse that the "chicks dig it" but why the hell would you see them crusing town by themselves and cranking 'Living On A Prayer' at loud volumes?) They had appropriated what they thought was metal...Ratt...Quiet Riot...Dokken...all the other hairspray homo's into fucking football games and class assemblies. Hearing things like Slayer...Venom...Exciter...Testament...Nuclear Assualt...Hirax was like lighting off a fuse of total rage inside. It wasn't shit about holding on to your dreams and finding a love of a lifetime. It was flipping the bird to cops...telling teachers & parents to step off...pointing fingers back at the hypocritical born agains. With a credo of "Sex, drugs, and metal it's all we need/chicks, dope, and hard music with speed/so if you're looking for a good time, give us a call/but just make sure you don't mind breaking the law", ACCEPT tour jerseys, a totally baked looking drummer (the guy has a bong on his t-shirt and sets fire to his drumsticks), the smell of Marlboro Red's and stale Miller High Life filling the air, a high ptiched scream to accent, some blazing scale runs not to mention the cover art itself reminsent of an old Metal Blade release (right down to the mile long thank you list) Razor Fist will answer the question of "whatever happened to TRUE AND REAL METAL? I WANT A POSER FREE ZONE AND ALL THIS SHIT THEY CALL METAL TODAY BLOWS" with a resounding "IT'S RIGHT FREAKING HERE!"