Shit Blimp "Good Natured Friends Of The Scene" 7"
All Aboard, Beat My Ass, Hang Loose Y'all, Gave Train, Black Flag Leg Tat, Merch Table In The Back, Poncho Guy, This Cowboy's Earned His Milk, Cornfed Up, The Whisper Song
"Good-Natured Friends of the Scene" is the sound of a pissed off kid with crusty lips and embarrassing mayonnaise shirt stains knocking on the big thick doors of Hell to give the Devil a talking to. It's a beta on a bus to his grind, scribbling angrily in his notebook, Motörhead screaming into his ears through busted headphones as he tries to drown out a fellow passenger's lamentations about participation trophies. It's the sound of post-post-post-ironic needlepoint upside-down crosses. It's the sound of a ten-car-pileup after a hundred boxes of Black Flag t-shirts fall off a Wal-Mart truck on I-90. It's the sound of a thick, hot, oily Great Lake striking furiously against forsaken urban shores. It's a call to gesticulate before your forgotten masters. It's the sound of cracked knuckles echoing from the walls of a graffiti'd public restroom.
It's all of these sounds, encased in a steel trap and set aflame in an effigy to itself, and it's the sound of the match strike, and it's the sound of the welcome gasp for air as the smoke clears.
This is a friendly reminder of small moments and petty contempt and earnest camaraderie and the cathartic shouts into the void put before us every day. It is the sound of one small fraction of our collective heart, beating fast.
It's the sound of a papercut to the devil's dick, because we have to start somewhere.