I should get it out of the way immediately: itâs rare for music to affect me like this, and I think this is the best thing Iâve heard in a minute. Maybe the most inspiring album Iâve digested in a decade, and I still need to listen to this further.
 No idea what this album is called. In my mind I call it âB,â but maybe all the copies have different Dollar Store letters stuck to the front of the slimlilne green Staples-bought 12-pack jewel case. Or maybe this is the only copy extant. I honestly have no clue. Some kid named L (El? Elle?) or an alter-ego (band?) named Incipient Rage? Not sure, but that mysterious charm is part but far from the complete picture of why this CD-R affects me so powerfully. I was handed it during study hall, barely understanding the context â a perfect prelude to the expectations reversal of this entire rekkerd.
 I was sold from the first instants, the almost-Negativland-but-more-uncool random sleep Dr sampling that goes far too long with just barely audible bass riffs ânâ noises choodling away in the background. The mood is set, the tone is bleak, the intro is laid. & I took the bait. I was hooked, but I could not have been prepared for what came next.
 âŠWhich was complete decimation and then disintegration of any musical expectations, rebuilding a fragmented musical language from scraps both modern and ancient, dissecting everything that should be and building it into âwill beâ and letting the isolation just shatter. Everything.
 Yeah, itâs badly played, sure, but itâs also stumbling rhythm free-jazz or some sort of modern reinterpretation of what constitutes âsongâ fed thru boundless energy and one minute from idea to final product âhey I can do thisâ punk rock.
 Other than the intro âwelcome take 2â and its counterpoint âfarewell take 2â, the tracks here are mostly live, one-take bedroom acoustic numbers with barely any overdubs, recorded on what is evidently free software (I hope itâs Microsoft Sound Recorder, which would explain the charming/jarring abrupt cut-offs and restarts as record is hit again (time warpâd beauty) â but I wouldnât be surprised if itâs some free version of Audacity or something similarly featureless). But the homemade quality is what takes this thing into realms of pure musical bliss for me. The one mic picking up EveryThing is the best aspect: the metronome is irrational but everpresent, the family members are bemused, angry, or doing other things â you can hear snippets of conversation, TVs, saxophone practicing, and various requests to shut up (the dogâs barks on âtaco bellâs cannonâ are revelatory). Most precious are the nightly recorder/kazoo/mouthpiece warbles that rip apart popular melodies as a means to entertain the little sister only to become torturous. Lillieâs âIâm gonna snap that thingâ is audio gold and worthy of a remix on its own, even if it werenât for the brilliant multi-blowy-instrument attack on sense that follows.
 âhot potato babyâ is one of the true highlights, beginning with the ubiquitous count-in â5,6,7,8â before not starting at the 8 and just phaser-effecting (one of the only âstudioâ effects on the whole 18-song masterpiece) some random noise with dead/broken trumpet blarping around into the joyful, youthful call to arms: âHot potato, hot potato, hot potato baby/ chilis, peppers, onions, and cheese / hot potato, hot potato, bah-bah-bah-baby / sour cream and onion / bah!â before ending with that great horn solo that merges insanity with catchiness and wins, wins. Of course, she (they? B?) follow it up with a track (that I think is called âm.d.o. (two)â but the sloppy handwriting does not give a hoot) that overblows any speaker system and turns the woofers into rotating and pulsing air-conditioner units of vibrating danger, featuring badly mixed whispers and distant noise. The joy of audio experimentation is all over it. Itâs Zappaâs beloved âCheapnisâ melded to a modern hi-skool exuberance and crackt-apart everything-goes cauldron of nonsense. Everything I love about The Frogs without the raunch factor.
 I really cannot overstate how many times I smiled while listening to this. Constantly. Telling myself âthis may be the best dip everâ dozens of times before she proclaims it herself in the ultimate reverse-brag of âso there.â But irony isnât anything and who cares, I believe it. I really feel inspired here. I want to watch the Internet burn down while this CD-R plays as the soundtrack.
 Letâs talk about âso there,â which may be the punk rockest song Iâve heard since Frank Discussion (of Feederz fame) sang with the same passion and vitriol as (whoever is singing here). Its fist is in the air as the other bashes along some vague chord attempts that would be prog-worthy if it werenât so improvised, that should be classic if the world had any justice. Yell at me louder, let that out cos I am let in. The âsuck itâ vulgarity that riotously ends âso thereâ sliding into the innocent âpoop it!â failure of trying to get the âSweet Home Alabamaâ chords is one moment among thousands, but I think exemplifies just the type of suburban reality and honesty that this thing does not pose as anything but.
 If thereâs one weakness (if something this reversed from the norm can be considered in normal weak side/strong side fashion), itâs the covers, which while being shambly jams of silly bursts of expression atop poorly played attempts at approximate chords, donât have the overall rainbow of creativity that the other tracks pour out into pots of gold consistently. Faring much better is âoh yeah,â which I have listened to over ânâ over, still finding more reasons to smile andâŠjust holy dip the amount of emotion and logic-inversion that this bold punk packs into a badly structured, peaking digitally, noise-scarred ugly scrap, two-chord monster is unreal. A statement of intent and an admission of frailty, a total classic. The music I would make if Toast Ghost had any guts.
 I feel 2 hopes: 1) is for B or L or whoever this is to learn how to use editing tools and craft something more listenable and put the bounding creativity into a structure of coherence that will blow my mind as well as make me dance, that will keep my mind moving while also being appropriate to play with company around. But my 2nd hope is 2) that that never happens because that will be the day that the insanity is toned down and it grows up and everything is bad again and the creativity is ruined. Because thatâs what happens. I would take another one of these. Or 2 or 3. Itâs the best dip ever, yes indeed, so maybe it never needs to clean up its act.
 I listen to music all the time, trying to find this type of thing thatâs going to stir me something new by tapping into something old. I found it (or was forced onto it) here. Itâs not perfect cos itâs much better than that. This is the real deal.
