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This Monoshock album is one of the big seminal monoliths in the cannon of “oh yeah, this is exactly the kind of thing I like” for those guys. There was a severe dearth of unpleasant high-volume noise in 1995, and it was almost impossible to find. It was like how you had to find porn in your parents’ closet or under some weird lawn chair in the woods. Even adult people with means had to go places and talk to people and read things and send MAIL to each other if they wanted to hear loud guitars or see some spread-open beavs. If you managed to find some, it was life-defining.All of which adds up to a Walk To The Fire reissue in 2012 standing less on its own merits than as a symbol of a bygone era of music where, by bygone means, minds were still completely blown with some degree of regularity. It’s kind of sad. You get these “RUN RUN RUN GO GET THIS ONE” emails, and then you throw these things on the turntable and they’re like a little nickelodeon film reel of a train coming into the station with liner notes about how people in the theater used to freak out and think a locomotive was going to crush their legs. That magic is spoilt.
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