Every so often some enterprising punk offers to send me some tapes to add to the Terminal Escape family. Most of the time these folks are about as good on their follow through as I am when I promise to do something for someone (this is to say - not very good at all) and I completely understand, as there are lots of things I've meant to do and things I've meant to send to people for ages. In fact I just rearranged some stuff and found a shirt I told a dude in Brasil I would send him back in 2002. I sent it anyway, but I figure he's probably moved by now, so there's some square in Vila Velha chilling on the beach rocking some bikini briefs and an extra large GEHENNA shirt and I'm sure he looks quite debonair. But the CEO of H.R.S. Records is clearly a man of his word, and today I would like to share 20 minutes of the finest ass shakin' punk rock I've been handed in ages. THE STEAKNIVES open with a killer KBD style burner called "Stupid People," and while the bar is set awful high with that track, then follow it up with SCHOOL JERKS and the classic 50s rock tinged URAGANY right into raw garage trash from X-DISCOS and I'm in heaven. A live tune from Boston's SOCIAL CIRKLE (covering a jam by THE LEFT no less) and amazing damaged synth punk from BRAINDAMAGE close out Side A. On the flip is NO with ultra lo-fi shits, RICH WHITE MALES sound kinda typical in the garage rock world, but Albany's ROBOCOCK step it up with an ultra catchy song that encapsulates most of the good shit about 90s hook laden hardcore. Back to chaotic noisy garage with THE TRITES, a brilliant SPITS style ripper from THE GAY GERMANS and then wrap shit up with BOB BURNS from Wisconsin doing their best to solidify that state's reputation as a breeding ground for crucial under the radar jams. You can get your own copy of this tape here if you feel like supporting the scene, or you can just download it for free and hope that the folk(s) at H.R.S. can afford to keep spending their precious and limited resources to make sure that you get your ears rammed full of kick ass punk while you just sit in a chair and remove yourself even further from social interaction. I mean, it's totally your call.