OK. Pyramid Sound; Ithaca, NY; Anthrax-SOD-Testament; trying to draw like Pushead; Guav putting out that first Earth Crisis 7"; tattoos and GED's; Ronny James Dio down the road, halfway to Syracuse; late night punk radio on Thursdays; hating Boston for no good reason. All of the things that add up to one particular and specific moment in time, which in hindsight seems like endless good times. Sorta happily skips over the common denominator running straight down the line: life sorta sucked. Fuck your parents. Fuck cops. Fuck your teachers. And on. And on... Nostalgia—nostos algos—literally translates as "our pain" which always seems the part the endless reunion show cycle/spirit of 88 seems to ignore. FOR PETE’S SAKE is a sorta magic trick: it sounds like the Hardcore you remember, but (even better) sounds like WHY you listened to Hardcore in the first place. And there's just nothing better than that, even when then there's nothing worse. ‘Cause, God knows (my God; the one with the horns) that's what all the good music does and did, then and now: got you through the worst shit.