a partial history: the fire marshal, the neighbour with the video camera, the second neighbour with the better video camera, and the landlord who was fine with all of it right up until the week he sold the building.

posted by buddy fucking head

read the whole thing »

the label folded on a tuesday and by friday nobody could say where the masters were. two bands have no way to repress records they made and paid for. get your tapes back. get them back now, while somebody is still answering the phone. this is the most useful sentence

posted by buddy fucking head

read the whole thing »

eleven years on it is still the one. not the biggest, not the one that got the write-ups, and not the one they play first. twenty-six minutes, no filler, and a b-side better than most bands manage on a whole record.

posted by buddy fucking head

read the whole thing »

doors at seven now. home by eleven. we are not going to pretend this is a tragedy — it is objectively a better way to see a band and we should have been doing it the entire time. the shows are the same. we simply stopped confusing endurance with commitment.

posted by buddy fucking head

read the whole thing »

this is the first one. we have a name, a p.o. box and a stack of tapes somebody has to listen to. the plan, to the extent that there is a plan: print what is good, say so when something is not, and never once pretend we do not

posted by buddy fucking head

read the whole thing »