By the time I was twelve years old—old enough to go and experience select things on my own, without parental supervision, but far too young to be out after 9 p.m. without it—I started getting a weekly allowance.
I love that these guys are still at it, and continue to write solid punk rock jams. Samiam were one of my “gateway” bands in the early 90’s that opened me up to other Bay Area punk bands (cough cough Jawbreaker), New Red Archives and other California bands of that ilk.
Forget the loudest love songs we sang under your attic. They always felt too quiet. We should scream until the police shriek, “Hold it down.” We’ll tell them, “Yeah, alright.” then bang the amplifiers. We’re not violent. We’re just some dumb kids getting wasted and knowing we’re alive. There is anger, but it is just. It is power. The kids are still alright. We’re just too high to fight. And it’s brave to be polite and to wear fake leather. So, I carved your name in mine and I thought all about how we stumble around until gravity sleeps and you slip and fall into me.
“I fall asleep to the sound of violence and I wake up to the sound of sirens and you and your missing parts and you with your dreams in jars. Riding south I can’t see the northern lights or the apathy we shared on those drunken summer nights. Just me with my dreams in jars, poor me with my missing parts.
I watch you day dream about god. Are you day dreaming still? But what has he done for you? I fall asleep to the sounds.
It’s an awesome and rare thing when bands send us their albums and they don’t sound like audio diarrhea. This is one of those rare times. This band’s album just came out and if they’re looking to put one of those little promo stickers on the front of it, we would like to be quoted as saying, “Not audio diarrhea.”