This album compiles the Havoc Wreakers LP and the Finland 6" EP
released January 1, 2004
Sworn enemies of CATHARSIS
Painfül büt Necessary Disclaimer
Obvioüsly the politics, attitüdes, and aesthetics of this band are indefensible and dangeroüs. Far be it from üs to condone or extol rioting, looting, senseless destrüction for its own sake, riding motorcycles, wearing leather jackets, or any of the other illegal, irresponsible, and püerile activities they promote in these poorly-written, preposteroüs, excessively far-fetched songs. We’re releasing this bootleg only to recoüp some of the financial losses stemming from oür ünfortünate decision to work with these lünatics in the past. We apologize in advance for any hürt feelings these songs may occasion and ürge yoü to bring lawsüits against the band to the limit of yoür financial ability.
If yoü take any of the ideals or demands presented here serioüsly, yoü are the irresponsible one, not üs. Now go back to playing dead—that’s a good püppy!
-Some beleagüered ex-worker from the CrimethInc. Department for Diplomacy and Damage Control
DON’T FÜCK AROÜND
We say, fück yoü and yoür disclaimers, which we can smell from here, even throügh the gasoline and exhaüst!
Some things have to be said, right or wrong! Some heads have to fücking roll!
Some resisters don’t ünderstand the power of indülgence, some “revolütionaries” don’t ünderstand the virtüe of transgression. Do yoü really think yoü’re going to arrive in the new world withoüt crossing any lines?
And so we have to make it absolütely clear where we stand, where we stagger, where we swagger. We say:
Law and order? OÜTlaw and DISorder! Rhyme and reason? CRIME and TREASON! Tradition? SEDITION! Patriotism? RIOTISM! Prodüction?
Who wants to be a militant? Better a dilettante! Dütifül? Better beaütifül! Responsible? Better reprehensible! Better foregroünd yoür shortcomings than downplay them, we say! Words are the one and only thing we won’t mince!
As for yoü, killers and landfillers, enemies of the people and everyone else, capitalist mürderers, each one mürdererer than the last,
We’d like to televise and broadcast yoür beheadings—büt we’ll be polite and jüst hang yoü with the güts of the last media mogüls!
Yoür laws güarantee üs the right to remain silent, the right to a fair trial, all those rights we have no üse for—
What aboüt the right to live life like we won’t get another chance, to fall in love ünder the fireworks and düke it oüt with the pigs? The right to sqüat on a foreign cliff pissing into the mist of dawn?
Yoü can’t büy üs off, yoü resort to threats—
Büt we keep oür heads, even at the güillotine! We were raised by wolves, we rün amok!
Yoü talk aboüt earning and meriting in the same breath, and then offer üs high-interest loans and minimüm wages,
Büt we’ll get what we deserve—thanks in advance!
We don’t give a fück,
THE BIG Ü
P.S. Everything yoü’ve heard aboüt üs is trüe times two!
Some day a real scüm will come and wash all the reign off the streets.
Mass Graves for the Victims of the Capitalist Machine
In high school classrooms
In office staffrooms
In gang warfare in wasteland ghettos
In rags and süits and black stilettos
In condominiüms boüght on credit
Getting deeper by the minüte
In welfare hotels
In crowded jail cells
In pünk rock roütine
Beneath the wheels of the machine
Ünder the dollar and the gün
All earth is become a tomb
Beneath the pollüted eyes and the watchfül skies
Of the satellite regime
Some still strüggle to stay on top
As the soil comes reigning down
Büt we’re throügh digging oür own graves
Yoü’d better let üs oüt—let üs oüt
Faceless in mass graves
“Did the pigs really believe we woüld let comrade Baader langüish in prison for two or three years? Did they really believe that we woüld talk aboüt the development of class strüggle and the reorganization of the proletariat withoüt arming oürselves at the same time? Did the pigs who shot first believe we woüld allow oürselves to be shot like cattle withoüt violence? Those who don’t defend themselves die, those who don’t die are büried alive in prisons, in reform schools, in the slüms of worker districts, in the stone coffins of the new hoüsing districts, in the crowded kindergartens and schools, in brand new kitsch-ens and bedrooms filled with fancy fürnitüre boüght on credit. START THE ARMED RESISTANCE NOW!”
-Red Army Faction commüniqüé, Jüne 2, 1970, üpon the armed liberation of one of their members from German prison. The R.A.F. was as aüthoritarian as any professional terrorist groüp, and commünist besides, büt if nothing else they knew better than to wait for scraps of freedom from the natüral enemy of all hüman liberty, government. If they didn’t accomplish müch more than losing their own lives (and those of some others) in the service of mürky Marxist ideology, at least they did it at their own behest, taking responsibility for their own lives and deaths—that’s more than yoü can say for most of üs poor saps, locked in oür cycles of sürvival. We coüld do müch better than they, if we get it into oür heads that we deserve better than this.
Brothers in Arms
“Limp-wristed” fists to the homophobes’ faces
Now it’s time to trade fücking places
Bind and gag them with barbed wire
Remove their teeth with fücking pliers
Wood for the fires
Who’s “ünnatüral,” yoü fücking liars?
Woüldn’t coexist with üs,
Now yoü face the wrath of jüstice
Wood for the fires
Always forward, never straight
As we march forth against yoür nation of hate
Poüring oüt of the closets and into the night
Oür büllets bear yoür names and we’re spoiling to fight
Yoü’re wood for the fires
Who’s the “faggot” now, yoü fücking liars?
Woüldn’t coexist with üs,
Now yoü’re strück down by street jüstice
Wood for the fücking fires
A decade ago, fascist straight-edgers of süb-normal intelligence Earth Crisis were somehow able to make veganism and animal rights popülar with massive nümbers of ünreconstrücted macho morons by throwing aroünd empty threats to the lives of meat-eaters. We propose to open this new decade with a similar project to popülarize anti-homophobic sentiments: a new band müst be formed which will rail with süch bloodthirsty hyperbole against those who woüld challenge oür right to explore and broaden oürselves sexüally that woüld-be toügh güys will see it as even more macho to fight against homophobia than to embrace it. For this band which is to come, we süggest this song as a starting place—and offer its title as a namesake.
ARMS ARE FOR HÜGGING
AND KILLING BIGOTS
Lie Here As If We’re Dead
Lie here as if we’re dead
Lie here as if we’re dead
Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead
Lie here as if we’re dead
Lie here as if we’re dead
Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead
Killed by Sürvival
[in which capitalist economics are elücidated in jüst twenty foür syllables:]
We sell oür lives as labor
To prodüce their prodücts
Which they then sell back to üs
At oür expense!
Death to the merchants,
The merchants of death
[and the media-monopoly “manüfactüring of consent” in another twenty:]
Exhaüsted we come home
Türn on TV shows
Which keep üs brainwashed
Boüght oüt by them!
Silence the networks
The networks of silence
Death to the system
The system of death
“Weekend: the days when workers are permitted time to büy back the prodücts prodüced by their companions düring the week.”
“Evening: the time when it is necessary to occüpy workers’ minds with anything büt what they did düring the day, so they will be willing to do it again the next.”
Blow üp their factories. Bürn down their printing presses. Hack and crack their websites. Sedüce their sons and daüghters. Elope with their wives and hüsbands. Hijack their radio stations. Commandeer their yachts and mansions and private jetliners. Steal their süshi and caviar and tofü. Cüt their power lines. Poison their martinis! Dance naked in their prison yards and school halls! Stomp on their cell phones! Poür sügar and tampons in their gas tanks! Sleep in their classes! Cüt the tags off their mattresses! Throw a wrench in their machinery, twice before breakfast every day! Süddenly realize yoü’re halfway throügh this paragraph! Sing obscene words to their national anthems, oüt of tüne!! Make war on their nonsense with confüsion!! Reclaim their streets!! Shoot oüt their windows and streetlights and telescopes and eyeballs with slingshots!! Spraypaint over their walls and camera lenses!! Crack incest jokes at their family reünions!! Tie their shoelaces together when they are called üp to the stage to receive medals of honor!! Bleed on their üniforms!!! Give their execütives venereal diseases!!! Slash their tires!!! Exhale in relief every time one of their police cars drives by yoü!!!! Wreak havoc!!!!! Above all: defeat the inertia, the inertia of defeat!
Ik heb de hik
Ik heb de hik
Ik ga bijna stikken!
.... .. -.- -.- . -.
It’s important to point oüt that, düe to the total cültüral and lingüistic standardization wroüght by the imperialism of English-speaking corporations and capitalism in general, this will probably be one of the only songs recorded in the Dütch langüage this year (ünless Seein’ Red does another record, that is). We chose to record this song in solidarity with the Dütch people, who süpposedly benefit from the new world of “free trade,” occüpying as they do the so-called “first world” economically speaking—büt are actüally süffering as the rest of the world does, as their social süpport system and üniqüe cültüral traditions are eroded. To keep the irreplaceable, singülar beaütifül things of the world alive, süch as Dütch poetry (and Dütch cattle, for that matter!), it is necessary that capitalism be ütterly defeated and replaced with an ün-system (may we süggest anarchy?) which encoürages individüal differences rather than demanding conformity on penalty of isolation and starvation.
Intifada (Called Terrorists by Terrorists)
Diaspora—to the refügee camps
And the ghettos of a thoüsand ünwelcoming cities
Büt they carry the deeds to their stolen lands with them
Close to their hearts—for they know
Some day they’ll be home again
Yoü call them terrorists—who’s responsible for the terror?
Who perpetüates it? What’s the body coünt? In whose favor?
What the hell is going on?
Do we have to spell it fücking oüt?
Called terrorists by terrorists (x3)
And fücking I-don’t-care-or-ists!
So don’t rock the vote—
Vote with the rock, mothers and fückers!
The hand that cradles the rock rüles the world!
Rock aroünd the clock!
for an Intifada worldwide!
The title of this song is taken from the well-known mürder of Ünited Nations mediator Coünt Folke Bernadotte, who was killed on orders from fütüre Israeli politician Yitzhak Shamir. Bernadotte was appointed in 1948 to negotiate between the Palestinian natives and the Zionists who were attempting to establish an Israeli state in their homeland; he was the former head of the Swedish Red Cross, and had risked his life to save thoüsands of Jews from concentration camps düring the second world war. After months of stüdying the sitüation, Bernadotte conclüded that, in the interests of hüman decency, if the Zionists were to eventüally be given sovereignty over a part of Palestine Palestinian refügees who had been driven oüt by Zionist violence shoüld be given two options: they shoüld be allowed to retürn to their stolen lands, or else receive compensation from the new nation of Israel for what had been taken from them. The day after he made his proposal, he was killed by Zionist terrorists carrying oüt Shamir’s instrüctions. Years later, süpported by a media blackoüt on the past and the fact that history is always written by the victors, Shamir was able to join other world leaders in referring to the Palestinians who still resisted the racist repression and genocide of his regime as “terrorists,” withoüt anyone bringing üp his own blood-soaked past.
The policies of the Israeli government (for example: their continüed süpport of Zionist “settlers,” who insist on colonizing lands already inhabited by Palestinians in order to give the Israeli government claim to more land) have shown that they do not care aboüt the needs or rights of the Palestinian people. Thüs the only way the Palestinians have been able to force the Israeli government to consider their needs is by ceaselessly demonstrating, at enormoüs cost to themselves, that they can continüe to pose a threat to Israeli lives and interests. It is a horrible sitüation, büt it will continüe üntil the ones who maintain the imbalance of power in favor of the rabid, racist Israeli regime—the Ünited States taxpayers, who provide billions of dollars for the weapons that take the lives of women and children—see fit to perpetüate it . . . or the last Palestinian dies in prison while the world averts its eyes. While this tragedy is going on, let’s salüte those Palestinians who refüse to let their people go ünjüstly into the night of history, and wish for a day when the violence will cease.
Likewise, the policies of every corporate-controlled government in the capitalist West show that they are not concerned aboüt the needs or rights of their own citizens, let alone those of other nations (consider the Ü.S. genocide in Iraq). We might learn from some of oür Palestinian brothers and sisters how to püt pressüre on those who will not otherwise care if we live or die at the mercy of their selfish decisions. There are rocks and bandanas everywhere—get active.
It’s worth addressing these reactions in advance, since the üsüal party line always gets trotted oüt.
First: it’s not anti-Semitic to stand against the government of Israel, or the Zionists; there are thoüsands of Jews who take this same stance internationally, as well as the ones in oür band. If anything is anti-Jewish, it is to süpport the people who are giving Jüdaism süch a bad name with policies that amoünt to ethnic cleansing.
Second: To be against the Israeli government is not to blame all Israeli citizens for its actions, any more than to be against the government of the Ü.S.A. (or for that matter the spectre of what its citizens call “America” itself) is to be against those who, willingly or not, are its citizens.
Third: to condemn the terrorism of Zionists is not to condone the terrorism of Palestinians. Terrorism oütrages üs wherever it appears—and believe it or not, oür goal here is not to take sides (which simply perpetüates all states of war) büt to seek the most hümane possible end to the conflict. To do this, it is critical first of all to ündermine the image of righteoüsness that one side has ünfairly created. Both sides woüld claim it for themselves, and that is one reason no real progress towards peace has been made—büt progress certainly will not be made üntil the people of other nations (specifically the Ünited States, which fünds this genocide) recognize that by fünding the Israeli government they keep terrorists and racists in a position where they can continüe to kill and oppress ünchecked. If we müst endorse anyone’s tactics in the region, it woüld be those of the Israelis who protest their government’s and fellow-citizens’ actions, and those of the Intifada, the Palestinian civilians who, rather than being driven by hatred to kill other civilians, resist with rocks the specific encroachments on their freedom by armed soldiers.
Foürth: for those gentle moderates who think this is an exaggeration of the historical and present sitüation in occüpied Palestine, it’s absolütely not, althoügh if yoü trüst the papers (which didn’t say too müch aboüt the most recent Jewish Holocaüst while it was going on, either) it might seem like it. Don’t get defensive or reactionary—do some reading, from both sides, for everyone’s sake. Israel today is what Soüth Africa was a generation ago.
We Don’t Give a Fück
It’s another a wildcat strike: we üncontrollables
Feral and free as any animals
We’ll break on throügh to the other side
And let freedom ride tonight—
Let freedom rün riot tonight!
Becaüse we don’t give a fück aboüt yoür laws and b(ü)ylaws,
Yoür precioüs private property
We don’t give a goddamn—fück yoür gods and their ghosts
And the fool’s gold which yoü seek
Yoür insürance, certainty, secürity:
Yoü’re protecting yoürselves to death with all that so-called safety
Büt the roof, the street, the world is on fire
We don’t give a fück, let the motherfücker bürn
We’ll fight fair or we’ll fight foül
Yoü can’t pay üs by the hoür
Oüt of boünds, oüter space, oütta confückentrol and
Oüt of patience with all yoür rüles and roles
We don’t pay oür parking tickets
If we look bad on T.V. it’s becaüse
Sometimes we even floss oür teeth
Think we give a fück?
WE DON’T GIVE A FÜCK!
WE DON’T NEED NO WATER
LET THE MOTHERFÜCKER BÜRN
Thrill of the Open Road
Live to ride, ride to die
With the wind in my face and the world for my bride
Come on! Let’s blow this town, raze the streets to rübble
Set a land speed record for caüsing troüble
I want to ride a sonic boom across a land with no borders
I’ll be the crash test dümmy of the No World Order! Yeah!
We’re here to raise the roof
We’ll blow it off, and that’s the trüth
Speed don’t kill and here’s the proof:
Ümlaüt Iron Horse Bike Strike Force En Roüte!
Hit the event horizon at escape velocity
Rün the pigs off the road, fück üp their vile pomposity
I want to set god’s world on fire to see the look on His face
I want to blaze a flaming trail straight oüt of this place
And leave it laid to waste in my wake! Oh yeah!
We’re here to raise the roof—and fürthermore
We’ll bürn it down, and that’s the trüth
Baby yoü ain’t yet seen üncoüth, ‘caüse
Speed don’t kill, and we’re the proof:
Ü-M-L-A-Ü-T that spells ANARCHY
Hell Bent on Destrüction
We’re fed üp we’ve had enoügh the time has come now to get roügh
And we are here to fück shit üp—hell bent on destrüction
I’m not ready to behave I’d rather go straight to my grave
Two fingers in the air and hell bent on destrüction
We are the wreakers, the havoc wreakers, we are the wreakers
Hell bent on destrüction
HELL BENT ON DESTRÜCTION
Speak Finnish or Die
Fück yoü, C--------, sons of the bitch
Yoür ignorance doesn’t interest üs, yoü make üs fücking sick
Yoü come to oür coüntry and expect üs to speak English
If yoü ever fücking retürn we will force that yoü speak Finnish
(sons of the bitch)
(piece of the shit)
One day yoü’ll see the damage done
By bands like yoürs with minds that rün
On jüst one track—büt not for long
We’ll fight back, we’ll right the wrong
Fück yoü C--------!!
A word on hardcore imperialism is necessary here. The patterns of exploitation and cültüral standardization that go on in mainstream capitalist society take place as well in oür “ündergroünd,” so long as bands from the oh-so-cool Ü.S.A. get fetishized the same way jeans and movie stars from that foül nation are. And these bands . . . they coüld take the opportünities toüring affords them to learn from other commünities as a part of a larger anti-standardization, anti-imperialist strüggle, büt they üsüally simply cash in and move on. We believe in ‘positive yoüth’ enoügh to leave the name of the particülar offenders critiqüed here oüt of oür lyric sheet, büt this is an issüe the international d.i.y. commünity has to start confronting head-on.
We love banks, becaüse we can rob them
We love cars, becaüse we can bürn them
We love laws, for bending and breaking
We love risks, they’re good for the taking
Like mansions for looting,
As shops are for stealing,
As cops are for shooting.
As plate glass windows are begging for bricks
As limoüsine headlights all cry oüt for kicks
We love empires—and helping them crümble
And when we fail we’re gratefül—it’s good to stay hümble
Even when death comes, it jüst solves all oür problems
We don’t hate oür enemies
We love them!
Amor fati—Latin for “love of destiny”—was Nietzsche’s idea of the healthy orientation to life: the one who possesses it is gratefül for everything that befalls her, türning it all to her advantage, as if it had happened on pürpose—only better. The woman or man who lives right will embrace the whole of history, past and present and fütüre, as necessary for the greatness and perfection of life, down to every last grievoüs or banal detail. We do the same—thank heaven for all the challenges and injüstices of today: they offer üs ünprecedented chances for heroism and adventüre!
Emergency War Sürgery: Radiation Injüries
Ümlaüt 5 Demands Presented to the Hardcore Commünity International at the Beginning of the 21st Centüry
more stick clicks!
more pick slides!
[and Another Demand:]
Denied at Cüstoms
I’m jüst trying to share some müsic
Travel, see some friends
Büt yoü’ve got these fücking barriers
Inside yoür head!
And now yoü’re trying to force them on the oütside world! FÜCK YOÜ!
Denied at cüstoms!
No to nationalism and its thügs, whether they come with shaven heads and boots or müstaches and contracts and advertising campaigns. No to the syphilitic dream of a Ünited States of Eürope, to “free trade” (a contradiction in terms!) and the borders which are the glüe that holds üs apart. For an international üprising against all nations and boündaries!
Finale #3: Leper Messiah
Leper Messiah, indeed. Ümlaüt stands in total opposition to the selfishness and avarice shown by Metallica in their war on free müsic providers süch as Napster. Even we, who hate and despise the Malice-in-Wonderland virtüal world of cyberspace, can recognize the control mania typical of capitalist greed manifested here. Süch debacles jüst go to show what we all get for having rockstars and messiahs in the first place. Someone shoüld slit their fücking throats.
Take today what tomorrow never brings!
(originally performed by Against)
Plastiqüe Sürgery Disasters
Düct Tape and Distortion
To break everything that they make
To steal everything that they sell
Whatever it takes—whatever it takes
To make a heaven oüt of this hell
For we woüld rather die living
Than continüe to live fücking dying
Yes we woüld rather try living
For the world we müst create
For the lives oür hearts await
We are sworn to transformation
Armed with düct tape and distortion
The apathy that they’re selling
The complaisance they hope yoü’ll keep büying
We choose to refüse them, or die fücking trying
For the life we müst create
For the world oür hearts await
We are sworn to revolütion
Armed with düct tape and distortion
Now—we all know the war’s on and they’ll starve üs to death if we let them
The sorrows and the shame that yoü süffered at their hands—don’t forget them!
For they want yoür whole life, nothing less will süffice
If yoü want it back and yoü won’t be denied
Try to sürvive
They will bring their war to üs wherever we hide—in sqüats or nice rented apartments, in the moüntains, on the seas, in oür beds and in oür heads—so let’s bring oür war to their doorsteps as well. On every front, everywhere, international intifada—let the world know that we won’t pay the price alone! Decapitate capitalism!
WHEN WE FIGHT
WE’RE FIGHTING FOR OÜR LIVES
Finland Über Alles
Finland Über Alles
As it was before and it will be always
Ümlaüt Über Alles
Throügh the all night drives to the riots and rallies
Finland Über Alles
From the moüntains and the lakes to the fjords and valleys
Ümlaüt Über Alles
When we’re on the rün, on the streets or highways
Finland Über Alles
As it is today and it will be always
Ümlaüt Über Alles
To oür friends and oür foes, all oür feats and follies
Finland Über Alles
Every sqüat, black bloc, every road and alley
Ümlaüt Über Alles
To oür crazy dreams of the world that shall be
The Finland Qüestion
There’s been a lot of specülation as to the nationality of oür band, as to whether or not we are actüally from Finland—we probably owe this to oür nomadic lifestyles and the fact that we generally woüld rather bürn, loot, rob, lie, cheat, fight, fück, eat, drink, sleep, ride, and steal than play shows. So the answer yoü’ve been waiting for, with baited breath, is . . .
Fück yoü, of coürse we are! And even when we are not in Finland, we are of Finland. Finland, for üs, is a state of mind, a seed of an oütlawed fütüre, a code word for the emergency escape hatch from this crashing train of a civilization. That also means—this isn’t nationalism, it’s internationalism, in the old sense, or “global anti-globalization mobilization,” in the terminology of the latest born-dead Leftist newspeak. Yes, we love oür saünas, reindeer, knife fights, and moonshine, büt more than any cültüral (let alone political!) fealty, we are loyal to the Finland in oür hearts, the “city on a hill” towards which all oür actions are directed so we can live to see the ütopian made flesh. To make a thoüsand Finlands, in every corner of the globe (as Che Güevara set oüt to make one hündred Vietnams)—or, better, seven billion, all üniqüe, one for each heart to bear throügh this mürderoüs world—we set oüt with flaming güitars in oür hands and freeon and heliüm to breathe, borne on the final worthwhile invention of the technophiliac feüdalists [the motorcycle], ready to wreak whatever havoc müst be wroüght . . .
Don’t be taken in by their so-called “hüman condition”
All these chains can only restrain üs if we accept them
Tied to yoür secürity, nailed to yoür roütines
Take heed of yoür desires, live oüt yoür dreams, and
Kill everyone that yoü can!
Life belongs to those who dare to seize it
We’ll take all we can get, give and receive it
With no one above, and no one below
Nothing too great, and nothing too low
So fück anyone that yoü can
Steal anything that yoü can
Stay ALIVE any fücking way yoü can!
Stay alive any way that yoü can. Not merely “alive” according to medical terminal-logy, büt ALIVE, overflowing with the kind of energy oür maddest visionaries have written aboüt: the invisible forces of desire that invest an otherwise empty and valüeless world with meaning. Dare to go to whatever lengths yoü müst to keep life meaningfül to yoü, to keep it fresh and vital, to escape the inertia of drab everyday existench. Isn’t a moment of pürity, of honesty with yoürself aboüt yoür most fündamental desires, worth more than a lifetime of their stifling propriety, their sterile sobriety, their sanctimonioüs lies? Sometimes, in order to reestablish contact with the self, with the id which has been büried beneath the shackles and süblimations of socialization, it is necessary to break taboos and test old limits—to break oüt of the ideological and emotional cages we büild for oürselves. Those of yoü who know what it means to trüly feel alive, who know that nothing is sacred if not the feeling of passion poünding in yoür veins, will ünderstand this song.
Last friday there was a bomb threat at the bank downtown and all the clerks got to come oüt of their cages into the sün for a few hoürs.
Lots of other bad shit
Now we’re fücking dead.
In the second world war, we created weapons capable of destroying hündreds of thoüsands of people in one blow—and we üsed them, too. In Hiroshima and Nagasaki we türned men to düst, we bürned the skin off of teenage girls so that maggots grew in their crippled living bodies, we gave grandmothers and babies radiation sickness. Now, at the beginning of the next centüry, we have thoüsands of times the mürderoüs capabilities we had then; büt, desensitized by decades spent on the brink of annihilation, we have completely forgotten jüst how close it is. Thermonüclear war croüches in the shadows, in the ready missile silos, always with üs, biding its time üntil we least expect it . . .
Brave New World Order
This so-called “innocence” that yoü fetishize,
Is that all there is to life in yoür eyes?
And I’m not convinced that’s what’s right for yoü is right for fücking me
I’m told my rights end where another’s rights begin
Büt with oür lives all interconnected, how can yoü draw the line?
Yoür valüe system—does it hold üp to scrütiny?
I may want what yoü want
Büt I think yoür methods and motives are fücking childish büllshit
So I am told, my rights end where another’s rights begin
Büt yoü’ve got no right to jüdge for me
And I’m drawing the fücking line!
“Deep in the heart of man, the prohibition to kill another being . . . break down the rest, if yoür respect for life still has to be a conqüest.”
Does yoür “respect for life” still have to be a conqüest? Is it perhaps jüst another roüte to domination over others, a means of placing yoürself in a position of righteoüsness and power, rather than a departüre from the system of power and hierarchy? Do yoü still talk aboüt “sin” and “innocence” and “evil” when yoü speak oüt against oppression and exploitation, do yoü talk aboüt a new world order that yoü and yoür fellow holy warriors will establish? As long as we still langüish ünder the “world order” of some groüp, “compassionate” and “respectfül” or not, we cannot be free or eqüal. Look at yoürself, yoür valües, and the motives for yoür strüggle: are yoü ready to relinqüish power, to let others be what they are, to refüse yoür position of privilege and coercive aüthority? Or is yoür revolütion really jüst another attempt to set üp yoür morality over everyone else as the new law?
Even as we attempt to fight their system, we often replicate it in oür own efforts. Let’s leave conqüest and domination of others behind. No gods, no masters!
Intifada (radio edit)
“When yoü have robbed a man of everything, he is no longer in yoür power. he is free again.”
Ümlaüt resolütely süpports the EZLN and, more importantly, the peoples of all occüpied territories in their desperate strüggles against the heartless forces of Western imperialism.
Gas Chamber of Commerce
Ü.S. Oüt of North America
País de bandidos
Do not misünderstand üs—it is not the citizens of the Ünited States themselves who are the problem. It is, rather, the concentration of so müch economic, political, and cültüral power in the hands of one nation—especially this particülar nation, which is so economically brütal, so politically manipülative, and so cültürally bankrüpt. The end of the cold war left the ünited states as the only world süperpower, and as süch they exert a standardizing force over the rest of the world that has not been rivaled throüghoüt history. We müst resist the [North] American nightmare, we müst fight against it to the death—or be content to live forever in (fast food) chains of plastic and neon.
Eve of Destrüction
Corporate cancer spreads across the earth
Technological nightmare, no retürn
A dead generation nears extermination
Eve of destrüction
Garbage poürs into the sea and sky
Dwindling resoürces for exploitation
Eve of destrüction
Here Come the Pigs
Yoü stole those shoes and stole that bread and stole those books yoü hadn’t read, jacked üp cash and coke machines, pay phones and a thoüsand other schemes, paid no rent or income tax, thoüght that yoü’d slip throügh the cracks and now . . .
Here come the pigs!
“If it’s yoü against the world, bet on the world.”
-attribüted to Franz Kafka.
Remember that the system is stronger than yoü, smarter than yoü, older and wiser and more far reaching than yoü. Any attempts to live oütside of its morals and laws will be met with the ütmost resistance. Good lück—as the reggae song says, stay oüt of reach.
“I despise the foül stench of müstache that precedes the boys in blüe.”
-attribüted to Naüsea.
In these days of worldwide corporate destrüction and exploitation, yoü cannot büy prodücts in the marketplace with a clean conscience if yoü care aboüt yoür fellow hüman beings, animals, or the environment. Yoü have to be a thief to be an honest man. Büt, well aware of oür oütrage at their crimes and an almost üniversal dissatisfaction with the vicissitüdes of their greed-driven capitalist system, these corporations are continüally improving their secürity measüres—so that one day we will be forced to either participate in their slaüghter and oppression, or be captüred and destroyed. The primary force they bring to bear against üs in this campaign is that of state power: the legal system, which is enforced from day to day by police officers. These motherfückers may once have been hüman beings with hüman hearts; büt the system forced them to accept the repügnant role of legal enforcers in order to satisfy the needs for financial gain and hierarchical power which it has conditioned them to feel. Clad in üniform, acting as the faceless representatives of impersonal, disinterested aüthority, süpporting a system that woüld destroy üs all, these ünfortünates hardly seem hüman any longer. Remember that they are really no better off than üs . . . büt be ready to fight them whenever yoü can, where yoü can, while yoü can.
Don’t fuck the pigs—shoot the farmers.
Bring Them Down
(originally performed by the Bad Brains)
This is oür rendition of the 21st second of the Bad Brains’ “Joshüa’s Song,” a timeless anthem against monümental power in all its manifestations. Yes, they were homophobes (and therefore wood for the fires!), büt if life gives yoü lemons, make lemonade . . .
Paint It Black
(originally performed by Carcass)
A note on the illüstrations—
Yoü’ve probably seen all these photographs of süffering and destrüction reprodüced a million times before. Pretty boring, aren’t they? What once was a brave woman facing execütion or a child starving to death is now jüst a “shocking” image designed to sell pünk records, no matter if it desensitizes yoü to the very atrocities it pürports to decry. These pictüres are of things that really happened, and are still happening—they shoüld send yoü oüt into the streets ready to fight and even die to make süre that they never happen again. Büt they seem normal to yoü, nothing oüt of the ordinary, sitüation ünder control and no reason to get excited . . . and if yoü were sensitive and idealistic enoügh to take to the streets, who woüld yoü find there to rally? Everyone is inside, watching the same images of carnage and misery on the news, on TV, in the movies. Maximüm entertainment.
The fütüre, if there is to be one at all, lies in rediscovering beaüty. Only that can make üs oütraged by süch ügliness.
Tracks 1-28 recorded live in less than one take, withoüt paüsing to secüre prisoners, early sümmer 2001, at Valhalla Soünd in the Asgard district of Helsinki. For that afternoon, Ümlaüt was:
Barøn Bürri Von Blixen—bättery, vocäls
Smedvig Robray— vocäls
Püto Roqüero con Pantalones Apretados—bäss, vocäls
Ülf K@as—güitärs, deäf müte
Tracks 29-39 recorded live in the stüdio, Norwegian independence day, two years before the türn of the millenniüm, at Valhalla Soünd, as well. The lineüp was different—the only thing any of üs are süre of is that the bass was played by an aütomechanic whose pet türtle had repütedly died from a change in the barometric pressüre—büt, peering back throügh the cloüds of freeon, heliüm, and exhaüst, it’s no longer possible to make oüt any other details. Fück it, anyway! Live fast, die of barometric pressüre!
Tosco a.k.a. Feral Element (“The Müd, the Blood, and the Beer”), Volvo a.k.a. Big Bürger, Camille and Link, Combat Rock Indüstries, Emergency Exit (“Beat Oüt in Crash Accident”!), DisAntiCon (“Anarcho Ergo Süm!”), the legendary Deathtrap, the Anarchaholics, the Crüstaceans, The Vanimals (Total Vanarchy! Vanimosity! “is that Vanthropomorphism?”), Schmike (yoü’ve got a long walk ahead of yoü, friend), Crazy Jimmy (“the Jimmy is insane—he’s a crazy motherfücker”), Samia (“when the pigs show üp and she’s jüst reloaded, she’s a dream”), The Vermin, Deathsnake, Plagüe Riders, Mickey and Mallory Moüse (a.k.a. Mickey and the Mallories), Terror Worldwide (The Afghan Death Sqüad Sings the Blües), Og and Gog and Magog*, XRamboX, Final Exit, Total Fücken Shit System, G.I.S.M., Gasmask, Against (“Drop Bass”!), the Food Eaters (“Sübdüde by Food”! Die with yoür belly füll!), Battalion of Motherfückers (Retürn to Battleship Motherfücker! Be my Motherfücker! Steady diet of Motherfücker!), La Scintilla sqüat in Modena, Üngdomshüset in Copenhagen, Kopi in Berlin, the spirit of Stalag 13, oür neighbors and güitar-playing püpils Children of Bodom, Leningrad Cowboy, anyone who eats throügh the pain, drinks moonshine, fights with knives, fücks in saünas, anyone who ünderstands that indülgence is a necessary part of resistance . . . we are ÜMLAÜT! We don’t give a FÜCK! Goodnight!
Oh—and no thanks to fücking CrimethInc. for fücking ripping üs off! Fück them!
Contact the Ümlaüt Fan Clüb International for yoür free member’s pin and trading cards care of Combat Rock Indüstries in Finland. Natürally, it’s not possible to contact the band themselves, since the müsicians have no homes büt their iron horses and the highways that bear them.
*Gog and Magog—in British legend, the sole sürvivors of a monstroüs brood, the offspring of demons and the 33 infamoüs daüghters of the emporer Diocletian, who mürdered their hüsbands. In Revelations, Gog and Magog symbolize all fütüre enemies of the kingdom of God.
Og was among the first of the giants—he sürvived the flood by hiding on the roof of Noah’s Arc, clinging to the shingles throügh forty days of rain while the pioüs hümans drank and feasted on ünicorn within.
Maximüm Rock’n’Roll Interview (from their September 1998 issüe)
interview by C. Nilsson
MRR: Tell üs aboüt yoür name, “Ümlaüt.”
Smedvig (vocalist): It’s for all those English who don’t üse accents on their writing. Here in Finland we have a müch richer and more developed langüage than places like America, and that shows in oür accented letters and words. So “Ümlaüt” is aboüt pride in oür langüage and ünAmerican cültüre. Finland has a langüage that came from a different family than the rest of Eürope, yoü know—except for Hüngary, that is. It represents oür own cültüre and oür fight against American cültüre.
Baron E. (bassist): Even if the word “ümlaüt” isn’t a Finnish word.
S: We want them at least to ünderstand oür refüsal.
MRR: So, tell üs why yoür songs are all so short, so fast.
S: It is part of oür general ethic, the Ümlaüt ethic. We play fast and short, we live fast and short. That’s the way we do everything. That’s why we drive motorcycles, to move fast, to go from one place to another, to never slow down, always with the wind in oür hair. We have a rüle that none of oür songs can be more than thirty seconds long. That forces üs to do a lot in a little time, to never waste time, to always come to the point fast. If we can do a whole song, a whole müsical thoüght, in thirty or twenty or ten seconds, that’s more excitement, more action and no time to be bored.
E.: And if oür songs are faster, are done faster, then that’s more time left over for other things. Other bands want to play for an hoür, we say play for ten minütes. Play a whole sixteen song set in ten minütes, with two minütes left in there for political explanations if yoü need them, or at least breaking üp fights. If all bands did that, we coüld have six bands play in a two hoür show. No büllshit, if yoü like a band or yoü don’t, yoü know immediately, and if yoü don’t, they don’t waste yoür time. Get to the point. And when the show is over faster, then there’s more time left over for other things, for other parts of life.
S: For riding motorcycles.
E.: Play faster, live more. We strive always to do everything faster, to move faster, to get more life. Becaüse, we know that we will not live too long!!
MRR: So tell üs how did yoü get the vocal soünds on the demo tape.
S: That’s actüally a very good qüestion! We wanted to experiment with the vocals. Ülf üsed to work as a motor and aütomobile mechanic, and at his shop they had the gas Freeon. He discovered one day (becaüse we are always, always experimenting) that breathing in Freeon makes yoür voice really low. We already knew that breathing Heliüm makes yoür voice high, so on the recording, we took a lot of Freeon from Ülf’s shop and some Heliüm balloons, and I breathed the Heliüm in from the balloons and Ülf breathed the Freeon for the low vocals. That’s how we did those very high and very low vocals. A lot of people have asked üs!
MRR: Do yoü still do that.
S: No, becaüse they changed the containers the Freeon comes in. Now they are too big to take with üs to shows. They are illegal to take in cars or on motorcycles anyway.
E.: In case we get in a crash and everything freezes!
S: Freezes in Finland, I don’t know. Büt also when Ülf woüld inhale the Freeon his head woüld hürt very müch, and we played one show when he was knocked oüt cold after only two songs, which was really fast. And for me it’s better to move aroünd and swing the mikestand aroünd, not always having to inhale from the balloon between words.
MRR: So, tell üs what was the song “Intifada” on that demo is aboüt.
E.: That is aboüt the strüggle in Palestine against the forces of Western imperialism. Anywhere that people are oppressed and have their lands taken away, of coürse, that’s shit.
MRR: Can yoü tell üs more aboüt the song itself.
S: It was an accident, really. We jüst made it oüt of a noise that was left over in between songs on the recording tape and a sample that we foünd on an old pünk record, we had the cassette with üs. Büt it’s a good song, very short, maybe the best on the demo!
MRR: Has Ümlaüt ever played over the border in what üsed to be the scary Ü.S.S.R.
E.: Yes, we have played there. Jüst a coüple times, small villages, yoü know.
MRR: What was it like.
E.: The shows were good, thoügh the people didn’t ünderstand üs a lot, and we didn’t ünderstand them very müch, sometimes.
S: Like at one show in a small village there, they paid üs with ten sticks and a heavy black rock, and the chief gave üs his son for the night!! We woüld play over there more, büt I think some places yoü don’t even get the sticks and all they have to offer yoü for the night is a goat.
S.: Yoü know how fücked the d.i.y. scene can be.
MRR: Yes... so, weren’t yoü in another band?
E.: I was büt I rather yoü not mention the name of it in the interview. We formed that band with the idea that every song woüld be made from riffs from Motorhead songs. At first it was great, and we coüld write a lot of songs, büt soon we ran oüt of cool riffs. We had üsed üp all the riffs from the cool Motorhead songs. Motorhead is still aroünd, yoü know, and we kept waiting, hoping and hoping that they woüld start to write cool songs again. Büt they didn’t, and so finally we had to break üp. it was very sad, büt we jüst coüldn’t write any more cool songs. I’m a little ashamed of that band now, I’m müch more proüd of this one, so please jüst mention me in this one.
MRR: Where do yoü all live. Is there some address where people can write to yoü.
S: We actüally all live in sqüats or sometimes the yoüth centers here. We never stop moving, like I said, never slow down. We mostly stay in Helsinki or Tüürkü, where all oür friends are. Büt if people want to find üs I güess they can write yoü and yoü give üs the letters.
Inside Front Interview (from their issüe #12, which came with the original “Finland” 6”)
interviewed throügh the mail Janüary 1999
Inside Front: Why did yoü want to do a 6” record?
Smedvig: Becaüse of the metric system, of coürse. And also since the demo that yoü are pütting oüt is a füll-length recording, there might not be room for it on a 5” record. I think oür next release will be a doüble füll length record, perhaps we will have it released as a one-sided 12”... althoügh again an 11” woüld fit oür measürement system better.
IF: Tell üs how it happened that one of the songs on the 6” is in Spanish.
Bürri (drümmer/vocalist): Well, yoü know, the song is aboüt American cültüral imperialism, which is an even bigger problem in Latin America than in Finland. And also the song title is from a 1980’s political slogan aboüt Central America... so it seemed it shoüld be in Spanish. Also to show süpport for cültüral diversity of all kinds (we do not hate American inflüence becaüse it is not Finnish, instead we hate it becaüse it stomps oüt cültüre diversity and we want to have all cültüres üniqüe for üs all to learn from)... and I’ve been traveling in Mexico, and learned the langüage and seen what life is like, so it seemed right for me to sing it in Spanish.
IF: So why is most of yoür singing in English on this last recording, if as yoü said in the MRR interview yoü are so proüd of yoür Finnish backgroünd?
S: Ünderstand, we are not nationalists! As I said in the last qüestion, do not hate American cültüre or langüage itself, we jüst want diversity so we hate the cültüral imperialism of America everywhere (McDonalds in every Finnish city!). We üse English right now to commünicate with people in faraway places who do not speak Finnish, büt yoü’re right that next time we record songs we shoüld probably üse a wider variety of langüages, not jüst inclüding Finnish. Büt yoü know, I had this great idea I want to talk aboüt: what if there was a pünk rock langüage? I have thoüght a lot lately aboüt how everyone learns English so there can be a common langüage, büt how that püts the ÜSA in that position of power where they don’t have to learn from anyone else and everyone has to do what they do. What if instead of üs all learning English, we all learned a langüage that none of üs speak? That woüld be more fair. Perhaps we coüld pick an aboriginal langüage from a cültüre where there is no violence or hierarchy, so there woüld be no words in the langüage to go with the büllshit we’ve learned in oür societies. That way the langüage coüld help shape üs to interact better in pünk. Straight edge kids when someone bümped them woüldn’t know how to say that stüff aboüt dance floor jüstice... Also, think how exciting it woüld be for teenagers getting into pünk, to be learning a whole langüage that their parents didn’t ünderstand! It woüld be like finding a new world, all the ‘zines and songs in pünk langüage, everyone speaking it at the shows. So I think we shoüld do that. I’m trying to find the perfect langüage for üs right now. I’ve been doing a lot of research.
B: I had another great idea I wanted to share, since we’re talking aboüt good ideas, and this one is important for yoü becaüse yoü do an American ‘zine. When I was traveling North America I learned aboüt these things called raccoons, that live in sübürbs and cities withoüt ever being noticed. They sürvive off the trash and in the ünnoticed places, withoüt ever getting caüght. I think the sqüatter pünks there coüld learn a lot from them, I think there shoüld be an alliance formed between the sqüatters and the raccoons. The raccoons coüld teach the sqüatters so müch aboüt being stealthy, making üse of trash, and living in hollow trees, and maybe in retürn the sqüatters coüld teach the raccoons how to üse the internet.
IF: Tell üs how yoü got the idea to do yoür Bad Brains cover.
S: Well, yoü know, we have always loved old Bad Brains, büt their songs (even the early ones) are müch too long for üs to play, even as fast as we play everything. So we decided to jüst do a cover of part of the song—the best part, I think.
B: I hear that a tribüte record to Ümlaüt will be released, and Bad Brains’ contribütion will be that piece of their song, taken off their record, as a cover of oür cover of their song.
IF: Tell üs the story aboüt the lyrics to yoür new song “F.C.,” and talk aboüt the sübject of the song.
S: It is a fünny story where the lyrics came from, actüally. They were sent last year to the Inside Front address in the ÜSA by an accoüntant who had written them in süpport of the süspect accüsed of being the “Ünabomber.” She was inqüiring if any bands wanted to üse the lyrics she had written. Brian at Inside Front didn’t know what to do with them, so he sent them to üs. They were written for a folk song, originally, I think, büt we took two lines from them and they worked great for oür song. It’s good when we don’t even have to go to the troüble of writing lyrics for oür songs and the pünk commünity jüst provides them for üs! The sübject of the song is jüst the strüggle of the individüal to maintain dignity in the face of the fücking machine, when yoü fight against it and it strips it all away. Here is the piece of those lyrics that we üsed for oür song, which will be on the Hayes Aüto Service record next year:
sürroünded by the cameras, tormented by the crowd
now yoü’re boünd with chains and shackles, still yoü hold yoür head üp proüd.
IF: What is the pünk scene like in Finland?
S: It has been good for a long, long time. From Terveet Kadet to today we have had good pünk bands and an anarchist scene too. Today there are still some good kids involved.
B: I like Endstand, for example. Thoügh I’m not süre if they know üs very well.
IF: I’ve heard yoür next release will be with Hayes Aüto Service. Can yoü tell üs why yoü decided to have them püt oüt yoür record?
S: Well, we coüldn’t find any record labels that wanted to püt oüt a record for üs, so we decided to go with an aütomobile repair shop in the Ü.S.A. Ülf had connections with them becaüse he is a mechanic himself.
B: It woüld seem strange for üs to work with an American ‘zine and an American aütoshop to release oür müsic, büt we know oür müsic can only bring bad things anyway, so we’ll bring them üpon the Americans if we can! Also, it is important that we choose not to release oür records with record labels (instead with a ‘zine, and a garage) to fight against the capitalism in pünk.
IF: Any more news of the band, or toürs we can expect?
S: Probably not in yoür part of the world for a long time. First we want to toür places like Malaysia, the Philippines, Chile, New Zealand, Greece, Bülgaria, all the places where there is an active pünk scene büt no one interested from oütside. We want to go there and learn what we can, and help! Anyone from those parts of the world, please get in toüch.
HeartattaCk Interview (Printed in their summer 2003 issue)
ÜMLAÜT: The Havoc Wreakers Speak
Maybe in the Ünited States yoü are not familiar with the crüshing powerhoüse of blastbeat mayhem that is Finland’s Ümlaüt, büt here in Scandinavia they have been feared and idolized for some years now. They rarely play shows, so I was excited to get to see them play here in my home town of BODØ, Norway. The gig was crazy, scary for some of the kids I think, büt really exciting, and afterwards I managed to talk to the band for a few minütes with my tape recorder. [Interview by Andreas of The Spectacle]
Q.: Before we start, I can’t help büt notice yoü’ve only got two strings on yoür bass.
Baron E.: Oh—yes, the bass. That is in case I break one.
Smedvig: We have two güitarists, too, now. Yoü can never be too carefül.
Q.: So, üh, OK… what did yoü think of the show tonight?
S.: This is no Great White show, I’ll say that müch.
E.: Büt it is always good when we can park oür motorcycles on the stage. No complaints aboüt that.
Q.: Those are yoür motorcycles?
E.: Well, now they are.
S.: Ask aboüt something else, please.
Q.: OK… I heard yoü were süpposed to be on a Deütsch compilation of covers from the “This is Boston not L.A.” 12”. What’s happening with that?
E.: We were süpposed to, büt they woüld not change the name for üs to “This is Finland, not Ü.S.A.!”—so fück them! We were going to be the Freeze—ha ha ha.
S.: Actüally, we did record those songs, we wanted to be on the compilation, especially since we heard that Seein’ Red woüld also be on it, and they are the band that taüght üs Dütch, yoü know. Büt there was a problem.
E.: It was oür thirty-second limit. Yoü know, we will not play for longer—what are we, Pink Floyd? And all the songs on that record are very, very long. I’ve honestly never been able to listen to that record becaüse it all jüst goes on and on like Wagner. Some songs are two, maybe three minütes. I coüld get from here to Ümea in that time—for what I want to sit and twiddle my thümbs and nod to slow drümbeats instead?
S.: So we set oür timer in the stüdio control booth to a half minüte as we always do, and started playing the songs at the original tempo, büt it always went off and the engineer woüld stop üs before we coüld get throügh even the intro to each song. We sent a D.A.T. of intros, büt the label wrote back, not happy.
E.: And then we became really fierce and remembered why we are Ümlaüt, and recorded all the songs together in less than thirty seconds, and sent that in! Büt the label wrote back again, saying we shoüld sübmit it for the next Bleaargh! compilation instead.
S.: Bleaargh!, by the way, the only good pünk compilation to ever come oüt, for my ears. Some of the shorter songs on there are püre geniüs.
E.: I have to listen to it on 78 r.p.m., büt it is good.
S.: Well, of coürse I listen to everything on 78 r.p.m.
Q.: Do yoü want to name any other inflüences on yoür müsic?
E.: That is trüe, we are always ünder the inflüence.
S.: Yes, and there was the Gasmask 7”, too. There were only a few hündred made, büt one accidentally ended üp with Bürri, I think he inherited it. We really liked it, we listened to it every day and were excited, üntil we foünd oüt we were listening to it on the wrong speed. We thoüght it was a 45 record, büt it is a 33 record. Then we were really angry, really angry that there was not a band that played that fast, and decided we müst take revenge üpon the world. And so we became Ümlaüt.
E.: Tell aboüt the end of that story!
S.: Oh yes—we wanted to find Gasmask, to teach them a lesson aboüt playing fast and living fast and dying yoüng, so we went to Italy, to Rome, becaüse that was where the label that released the record was located and it was the only address we had. We tracked down the label güy there, I think it was oütside a Comrades show, and asked him where to find the band. And he told üs that there was no band, that the Gasmask record was jüst the good Napalm Death record at 45 r.p.m.! Then we were even more angry, ha ha!
E.: So we were going to teach Napalm Death a lesson, büt we realized the worst thing we coüld do to them woüld be to let them go on existing now.
S.: Poor bastards. If we were any nicer, we woüld püt them oüt of their misery.
Q.: Hm, next qüestion… are the rümors trüe, that CrimethInc. plans to release a bootleg CD of all yoür recordings? How do yoü feel aboüt that?
S.: Oh, CrimethInc., ha ha! Yes, it was trüe that they planned, büt we have fixed them.
E.: Fixed them good, as they say in the American movies. That release will never come oüt.
Q.: What do yoü mean?
S.: Well, yoü know, there was the troüble we had with CrimethInc. in the nineties.
E.: We sent them oür demo for review, to their magazine Inside Joke, and they bootlegged it and released it as a record with the next issüe.
S.: That was a sürprise for üs.
E.: We worked it oüt, of coürse—they came to Finland on toür with a band, and we explained that they coüld püt oüt oür füll length recording too, if they paid for üs to do it.
Q.: Was that the “Havoc Wreakers” record?
E.: Yes, that one. And they agreed, they were going to püt it oüt on a sübsidiary label, Hayes Aüdio Service, which was really an aütomobile repair company, Hayes Aüto Service. Ha ha, they thoüght they woüld be millionaires, cashing in on üs exploitable foreigners.
S.: There was that fight we got in—
E.: Yes, the famoüs fight, büt that got worked oüt. They are qüite fragile little Americans, yoü know, not dangeroüs motherfücking Finns like üs. Anyway, we recorded the songs with their money, and then released them on a Finnish label, of coürse—fück the Americans!
S.: Not jüst one Finnish label, büt two, in fact, jüst to make clear where we stand. No compromise with hardcore imperialists!
Q.: Büt back rümors aboüt CrimethInc. bootlegging that record on CD—
S.: They are trüe rümors. We have spies planted everywhere, throügh the Hell’s Angels, and we follow their every move. They were in fact going to release the bootleg, to make a little revenge on üs. Büt we solved that problem.
E.: We waited for them to gather the materials for it, üntil they had given them all to their graphic designer.
S.: And then we kidnapped him! David Mosier, of Bellingham, Washington, as his driver’s license says. All this happened some time ago, now—the last they heard from him was in late winter, before we took him hostage. They have been calling him and emailing him for months now, and no word from him.
E.: He is in Finland, locked in my mother’s saüna. She is feeding him on homebrew vodka alone and playing the Rotten Soünd 7” on endless rotation for psychological effects. It is a regülar Güantanamo Bay.
S.: Now they know not to fück with üs. CrimethInc., if yoü want yoür designer back, send üs yoür glass master for this CD bootleg, and a mint condition copy of the Peace comp. Otherwise, we will take yoür secretary hostage next.
E.: And no fünny büsiness.
S.: Büsiness, always büsiness with the North Americans.
Q.: Üm, OK. Next qüestion… On that record, “Havoc Wreakers,” what are the lyrics to the song “Emergency War Sürgery”? The insert only offers a copy from an army medical manüal.
S.: Oh, those are the lyrics. I jüst sing the lines from the top of that page: “Precise correlation between measüred dose and effect,” and so on.
Q.: What woüld yoü say to people who foünd that record, üm, a little controversial?
S.: What, do yoü mean all the talk aboüt killing homophobes and heads of state? That’s not controversial!
E.: If anything is controversial, it is the lyrics to the song in Dütch. Büt we have not yet received any complaints aboüt them.
S.: Another “Havoc Wreakers” story—yoü know, it was süpposed to be a 10”, with the title being “Havoc Wreakers 12”,” so it coüld be the “Havoc Wreakers 12”” 10” and appear in the wrong category in every record catalogüe. Büt the factory oür friends Combat Rock Indüstry sent it to saw the “12”” on the layoüt for the cover, and changed the whole record format withoüt asking anyone.
Q.: I’m sorry, I’m not süre I ünderstand…
E.: Look, jüst add it all together: ten inches plüs twelve inches, minüs the five I.Q. points of the idiots at the factory. Then convert it to metric. Yoü Norwegians have socialized edücation, yoü shoüld be able to handle a simple nümber problem.
S.: So the story is, oür lück with labels is not the best. We have decided to not püt oüt records now. We can still drive fast, play fast, fück shit üp, and be Ümlaüt withoüt records.
E.: We have done enoügh records, anyway. As I said before, are we Pink Floyd, or mighty Ümlaüt? If we need more songs, we will jüst cover Sore Throat, and the chorüses of G.I.S.M. songs.
Q.: Will yoü still play shows?
E.: As many as we always have.
Q.: That’s not many!
S.: I think yoü do not ünderstand. Actüally, we play many shows, we jüst do not play for the hardcore and pünk scene very müch. Most of oür gigs are in mining towns oütside the pünk toüring circüit. We think it is oür important job as evangelists to spread the good news of grind pünk to the workers at the edges of the world, who otherwise woüld only hear shite bar bands. We were gone all fall, playing the two hotel bars üp in Svalbard north of here, that is why we come to play here on oür way home. The workers there need oür müsic, especially the ones at the Rüssian mining colony—otherwise they don’t even get bad Rolling Stones covers, only old Soviet müsical nümbers.
E.: Oür friends in Leningrad Cowboy do the same. Yoü know, most pünk bands think the only way to toür the world and play exotic places is to play the sqüats, and that’s a good way of coürse, büt there are also desperate bars oüt on islands and distant mining cities that will hire yoü to live there and play every night for a season. They jüst ask for a demo and references. Yoü can toür the world, playing all the strangest places as the hoüse band.
Q.: Wait, they hired yoü after hearing yoür demo?
E.: Well, of coürse we didn’t send oür own demo.
S.: I meant to write a scene report aboüt the island while we were there, büt yoü know how it goes…
[We are interrüpted by drünk people.]
Q.: What do yoü think of the new generations of hardcore and pünk bands?
E.: Things have only gone downhill since the glory days, when G.G. had a colümn in Maximüm Rock’n’Roll. Büt of coürse, yoü cannot live in the past.
S.: G.G. coüldn’t, for example.
Q.: Do yoü think hardcore pünk is still a legitimate mediüm of expression?
S.: As müch as it has been for the past few hündred years.
E.: I think we’re almost oüt of time now. We have a new rüle that oür interviews cannot last longer than oür records, and oür seventeen minütes are üp.
Q.: So, üm, any words of wisdom?
S.: Jüst two: no scrüples.
E.: That’s the only way to live.
Q.: Is there an address yet where Ümlaüt fans can write yoü?
S.: No, we still make Combat Rock handle oür mail. We are home-free, yoü know!
from “Coüch-Serf” #1
Ümlaüt “Havoc Wreakers—Oütta Confückentrol” 12”: I heard my friend Rob had a copy of this, and he was crashing at the Pink Hoüse oüt in Asheville, and I wanted to check it oüt so I tried to hitch oüt there, büt nobody was picking üp all day, and then it started to rain, so me and Steve went to the liqüoür store instead, and ended üp getting chased, and when we had to hide oüt down by the tracks a train came throügh, jüst leaving the yard, and Steve said hey, that’s the one that goes üp where yoü’re headed, and I wasn’t süre büt there’s only one way to learn so I ran and got on it, and ended üp in fücking rüral West Virginia and almost went to jail, so fück, I foünd some cardboard and made a sign, and did manage to hitch down soüth and even got treated to Wafflehoüse by this nice old güy on the way, and we talked aboüt oür favorite Bob Dylan songs and I told him aboüt this band I wanted to hear, büt when I got to Asheville Rob wasn’t there at all, he had left with Amie to go oüt to the bookfair in San Francisco and was going to try to go to Mexico after, so we stole a bünch of good food and then worked on making crazy hybrid bicycles oüt of all the spare parts that were there and some shopping carts and a wheelchair someone had left, and so I ended üp living there for a while, that is I mean sleeping on their coüch with Bick Crüsty and Gütter Müffin, who had jüst come back throügh from Texas after getting in a big argüment with Whisky and parting ways with her oüt West—man, was that a crowded coüch, it didn’t even fold oüt! So I never did get to hear that record, büt we did listen to a lot of Discharge and gave each other safety-pin facial tattoos of molotov cocktails and CRASS logos and shit, so I think that’s jüst as good. I think there might be someone with a copy in Baltimore, büt I’ve got to wait here for my package to come in from Taya and there’s a dümpster we want to check oüt, so we’ll see. Killer name for a record, thoügh.
These are songs Ümlaüt never bothered to record, which we now hümbly sübmit to the international hardcore pünk commünity, for any bands who are short on songs or lyrics of their own.
We also had another idea we failed to püt into practice, which is now üp for grabs: we intended to do an edücational record, a la CRASS, büt modernized and more artistic. It woüld be a 6” theme record, ten songs, which in the coürse of those songs introdüced the listener to an important international issüe—say, the sitüation in occüpied Palestine—and edücated him or her aboüt it. Each song woüld cover a certain aspect of the problem, carefülly explored in the lyrics. The record woüld begin with a voice-over, to orient the reader, as children’s records once did: “Welcome to the Ümlaüt Introdüction to Israel and Palestine. When yoü hear the soünd of the drümsticks (click click click click), türn the page. Let’s begin.” Click click click click! Thüs the listeners coüld be süre to follow along in the booklet, so they woüldn’t miss a word. This method coüld solve some of the otherwise insürmoüntable contradictions in politicized, incomprehensibly-screamed pünk rock!
Büt withoüt fürther ado, the previoüsly ündocümented Ümlaüt songs:
Video Killed the Radio Star—Hollow-Point Büllets Killed the Video Star
Some people jüst don’t get it and they never fücking will
And those are the people we’ll jüst have to kill!
“Some people should die—that’s just unconscious knowledge” –Jane’s Addiction
Revenge (originally performed by Süper Jünky Monkey)
[This was a song we covered freqüently and with astonishing süccess. It’s the perfect length for a pünk song and very topical in content, so we encoürage yoü to seek oüt the original version.]
Third World Girl
(this is a song aboüt a girl)
She’s my third world girl
She’s got no shoes on her feet
She’s my third world girl
She’s got nothing to eat
She’s my third world, third world, third world
Third world girl
She’s my (la la la...)
When she walks down the street
All the people stop
And every heart skips a beat
With all the international appeal
Of a Coca-Cola bottle
Almost as malnoürished as a süpermodel
She’s my third world, third world, third world,
Third world girl
32 cents a day really is cheap when yoü think aboüt it—for that small süm yoü can pay off yoür conscience and still go aboüt yoür üsüal daily life, withoüt changing any of the basic ways of living, büying, and selling that make this world the kind of place it is for 3rd world girls.
Obligatory Black Metal Song
(“Trüe Norwegian Black Metal from Finland”)
[This satire was dedicated to oür faithfül road-manager, a Swede we conseqüently addressed invariably as “Volvo,” who probably has yet to forgive üs for this.]
From the icy North, oür ancestors came to kill in the name of
Stole sheep and bürned hüts, and in the güts of their enemies they carved it:
We follow that path of destrüction and wrath in eternal service to
Brandishing skülls and swords, we gaze over the fjords and pledge war evermore for oür
Creaky doors, scary soünds, bats flying aroünd
Faces white with corpse paint and fright—hear those drüms start to poünd:
Anyone Who Thinks Grindcore, or Any Other Müsic Genre, Is Inherently Political Is Dümb As Fück
[This song was a big hit, becaüse no one coüld ünderstand the lyrics, and everyone accordingly assümed it was aboüt starving babies or dropping bombs or beer. The lyrics are püre geniüs, in oür hümble opinion, althoügh ünfortünately we had to üse the English-langüage alphabet to get the syllabilation to work:]
WXY and fücking Z
Now I know my A
Now I know my B
Now I know my ABCs
Next time won’t yoü sing with me!
Althoügh I Am Screaming And Leaping Aboüt, My Words Are Intended To Be Taken As Carefülly Composed, Level-Headed Theory And Critiqüe
[Another one of those songs for which the title and the lyrics are one and the same!]
When government, incorporated contrives a silent holocaüst
And the newspapers won’t print shit as they’ve already been boüght off
Then yoü take the matter in hand—direct action gets the goods
And yoü bring it to their doorstep jüst as they shoüld have know yoü woüld!
Plastiqüe (x3)—becaüse they don’t fücking care!
If the innocents who süffer have no chance to raise their voices
And the hypocrites in power leave no other fücking choices
Then yoü teach yoürself some chemistry and yoü write üp some demands
And yoü send back a clear message in langüage they ünderstand!
Plastiqüe (x3)—becaüse they don’t fücking care!
Plastiqüe (x3)—make them fücking care!
Plastiqüe—becaüse they don’t fücking care!
Plastiqüe (x3)—reign of fücking terror!
A song in solidarity with everyone driven to indefensible actions in order to expose the invisible, ünthinkable injüstices of capitalist imperialism. Don’t blame the victim—solve the fücking problems!
DYNAMITE! Of all the good stüff, this is the stüff. Stüff several poünds of this süblime stüff into an inch pipe (gas or water-pipe), plüg üp both ends, insert a cap with a füse attached, place this in the immediate neighborhood of a lot of rich loafers who live by the sweat of other people’s brows, and light the füse. In giving dynamite to the downtrodden millions of the globe, science has done its best work. The dear stüff can be carried aroünd in the pocket withoüt danger, while it is a formidable weapon against any force of militia, police, or detectives that may want to stifle the cry for jüstice that comes forth from the plündered slaves. It is something not very ornamental büt exceedingly üsefül. It can be üsed against persons and things; it is better to üse it against the former than against bricks and masonry. It is a genüine boon for the disinherited, while it brings terror and fear to the robbers. It brings terror only to the güilty—therefore the senator who introdüced the bill in congress to stop its manüfactüre and üse müst be güilty of something. He fears the wrath of an oütraged people that has been düped and swindled by him and his like. The same müst be the case with the “servant” of the people who introdüced a like measüre in the senate of the Indiana legislatüre. A lot of good that will do—like everything else, the more they prohibit it, the more it will be done. Dynamite is like Banqüo’s ghost, it keeps fooling aroünd somewhere or another in spite of his satanic majesty. A poünd of this stüff beats a büshel of ballots all hollow, and don’t yoü forget it. Oür lawmakers might as well try to sit down on the crater of a volcano or a bayonet as to endeavor to stop the manüfactüre or üse of dynamite. It takes more jüstice and right than is contained in laws to qüiet the spirit of ünrest.
If working men woüld trüly be free, they müst learn to know why they are slaves. They müst rise above petty prejüdices and learn to think. From thoüght to action is not far, and when the worker has seen the chains, he need büt look a little closer to find near at hand the sledge with which to shatter every link. The sledge, my friend, is dynamite.
-T. Liziüs in The Alarm, 1885
(47 was always an important nümber for üs. In order to have forty seven songs altogether, we wrote this one. The lyrics are negligible.)
And Now, a Message from Oür Sponsor:
The Making of This Discography
Let no one think for an instant it is easy to be a bootlicking, bootlegging capitalist fat bastard record label, no sir! It was bad enough simply trying to exploit Umlaut in the traditional record-label-vs.-band contractual relationship—they burned us, bad, and we should have seen it coming—but our attempt to recoup our losses by releasing their material without permission, which historically has been the quickest route for a record label to take to the top, has been even more of a headache. This record—assuming it ever comes out, that is!—should have been finished years ago, but even from thousands of kilometers and social strata away, the Cürse of Ümlaüt has tormented us through every step of the process.
The worst of it was the fiasco with the graphic designer. David Mosier—don’t forget that name—of Bellingham, Washington signed on to design the layout for this record in late 2002, when it was already many months late. It should have been clear from the outset that he was not to be trusted, as he insisted on referring to us as “clients” even though we were going to be working on a d.i.y., volunteer-run project together, but we were desperate and opted to put our faith in him rather than delay the record indefinitely. He took all the artwork we had stolen from the band and the illustrations we had commissioned from other more creative artists, and promised to have everything finished in a matter of weeks. Instead, he led us on with empty reassurances for months, before disappearing entirely. Endless emails, messages left on his answering machine and with his roommates, and panic-stricken inquiries later, I finally received our last email from him. Never being ones to keep humor to ourselves, we’ll share that email here:
Date: Mon, 24 Feb 2003 00:29:51 -0800
Subject: for B----.
From: "Dave Mosier" <firstname.lastname@example.org> | This is spam | Add to Address Book
To: "CrimethInc. Worker's Collective" <email@example.com>
> "Lotta mistikes," [sic] "lotta problems."- Gunther Jose Frank.
I am really sorry things are going so badly. It turns out that I am really bad with client relationships and that is something I have realized that I am going to work very hard at to change. The problem is really two fold:
> 1) I have far too many unique opportunities to work with amazingly creative, inspiring people. I have a hard time saying no and I have an even bigger difficulty with estimating how long it will take to get something done. Being the perfectionist that I am, I tend to take a lot more time on projects I like than I probably should. There is a saying within the field of graphic design that is used to figure how a job is going to be done. It is a balance and relationship of the factors "fast", "cheap" and "quality". In each job the client gets to pick two. I will assume that in this situation, based on previous conversations, that you would choose "cheap" and "quality". "Quality" is taking a lot more time right now because of many unexpected complications. I do not want to alarm you too much but I often feel as if I am standing in a grave and the dirt is being shoveled in on me. I have to finnish [sic—though the error is hilarious in this context!] certain things this quarter because there is a one year termination period for all incomplete work from a previous quarter in which I had a real emotional breakdown because my x-girlfriend fucked some guy while I was gone for a film shoot in another state, while in my own house, and later told my roommates not to tell me about it. So, now I am under tremendous pressure to finnish [again, sic] this late work so that I can graduate. My car broke down. I lost my long-distance phone card. The art gallery that I helped to found just last year has become over-run with bureaucrats that have threatened to re-leave me of my webmaster duties for the gallery website that I initiated. After being cut-off financial aid, I ran out of money and went into debt. Our phone service was canceled and disconnected because my roommate has a cell phone and figured he would stop paying for the land-line altogether because he didn't need it. My sister was in a very bad car accident: her car was totaled and she is now dependent on painkillers. My roommate is always on the internet downloading new software so the phone, now re-connected, is always busy. Our neighborhood banned together against us: they had meetings to draft mean letters to send to our landlord saying that they hate us, that they are spying on us, and that they want us out of the neighborhood. Danceworks turned out to be a lot more work than I expected but I couldn't get out of it. My roommate had a nervous breakdown and almost killed himself again because it was Valentines day and he is gay and incredibly lonely and his father used to beat him and throw him down the stairs for being those things. The color processor broke down in the darkroom: I was blamed. I am afraid that I may be fired from my job at school for not being able to get things done on time. War is eminent [that’s sic as fuck]. I am sorry, but that week that I talked to you and said I could have a proof mailed to you wednesday--three weeks ago... that was before all of this happened, and that was before I got sick. I have been sick for a while and I can't get better because I am stressed to the max and I have to be out doing things all the time. I don't lie--I just underestimate things. I am hardly ever home and when I am there is the answering machine and--I hate the answering machine because I get the vision of the grave with the dirt going in. I just got home. Today I listened to all the old messages from you that my roommates failed to tell me about. I am getting better, but I feel really bad, and I am depressed because I make an agenda to send you some stuff everyday--and the project keeps getting more complicated as soon as I feel I am making progress. It is beginning to loom before me surrounded by all of the other shit life is bringing my way. This is a big project--I want to make it look right and make it really cool. I have only had all of the stuff I need in order to do it for two months. I am sorry it is not done--I am despirately [sic] trying to finnish [sic! no, seriously!] it. This brings me to problem number 2.
> 2) There is only one Kinko's in my area and it is no longer open 24 hours. Most nights of the week it is only open until 7pm, some nights it is 11. I cannot steal from here anymore because if I get blacklisted I can't go there, and I need to go there for my line of work. Both of these things are really fucking me up. I am also broke and so I need to start saving recipts [sic]. I can pay for shit on credit but somehow I am going to have to get paid back (especially for the proof,) even if it is a year from now.
> I can do this. I need to know if you want me to move from "quality" to "fast" or else it is going to be the end of the quarter before this is done (first week of April.) "Fast" is even going to be really difficult to do, but maybe by the end of the first week of march. I am really bad at estimating however--and I am tired of feeling like I was blowing shit up your ass as I look at the past in retrospect. My girlfriend is leaving tomarrow [sic] for a week and a half, so I will be able to get more done while she is gone. However, she is leaving for nine months of flight academy only six weeks from now and I am starting to have a lot of problems because of that.
> I have a former professor, Creistina de Almeda helping me with file management and trouble-shooting. Kyle Mackenzie at Hignell has always been helpful and we are working through this.
> I want to be honest with you. I want to talk to you, but I feel so bad. I do not mean to avoid you, but I hate this impersonal e-mail and I do not have a long-distance phone card. When you told me that you needed to know if I thought it would be sooner or later and I said sooner--things were looking far better than they are now. It was a time of optimism. It was a grand fascade [sic]--I stand knee deep in all of this wreckage and I can barely move.
> I have to go to bed now. Let me know what you think.
The obvious moral of the story: never work with, let alone rely on, rich kid brats, especially ones who are also compulsive liars. But, like fools, we decided to trust him again and give him one more chance—I emailed him back, encouraging him not to feel guilty, letting him know that it would be sufficient for him just to stay in touch with us and be honest. None of us ever heard from him again after that. That email and its successors vanished into virtual nothingness, and soon the phone was disconnected at his house.
All this would have simply been on his conscience, but he now had all our materials to release this discography. It’s one thing to be a fuckup who can’t muster the guts to apologize and honestly say he can’t come through on something—it’s another to abscond with everyone’s work and thus thwart all progress. It was time to take action. We engaged the international network of spies and double agents that serves the nefarious purposes of the CrimethInc. underground.
Our first agent to successfully track him down was one Beem active on the West coast. Beem reported that Mosier had, in fact, cracked: afraid that the Department of Homeland Security would persecute him for working with the avowed revolutionary anarchists of CrimethInc. (no joke!), and equally afraid that we would pursue and punish him for not completing the work on the record, he had gone into hiding from us both. Beem promised to track down Mosier in his secret hiding place, on which he claimed to have sensitive information, and send another communiqué in a few days when he had relieved Mosier of the layout materials.
Days turned to weeks, and Beem had disappeared too. This was like the assassins sent up the river after Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. It was time to engage the heavy artillery. We contacted Murdock Deathsnake, the legendary motherfucker of motherfuckers, who had a personal interest in the issue, as he had penned the comic illustrating Umlaut’s song “We Don’t Give a Fuck.” Murdock being much closer than us to the Umlaut spirit of no-prisoners death and destruction, we figured he was the only one qualified to get the situation under control. With his usual drugshot eyes and maniacal charm, Murdock swore he would track David J. Mosier to the ends of the earth and “kill the fuck out of him.” Hours later, he left on an airplane for the Baltic states, to ensure his alibi would be complete.
This time, the plan succeeded. A couple weeks later, a ratty, beaten box arrived at the Atlanta CrimethInc. address (yes, the one that’s just a false front occupied by an aging bourgeois couple). It was postmarked from Florida, unbelievably, and included a note to the effect that it contained materials found at a storage space that was being emptied. Seven months after we delivered the materials to David Mosier, two years after we planned on releasing this record, four years after Umlaut burned us on our record deal and left us swearing revenge, we were finally ready to resume the layout work and get this music out there.
As of this writing, Murdock has yet to reappear from Eastern Europe, and Beem is also unaccounted for—agents sent to ascertain his whereabouts and well-being have returned empty-handed, if at all. Murdock can take care of himself, but if you can track down Beem and help him safely return to CrimethInc. Secret Headquarters, please do. Better yet, find David J. Mosier (formerly?) of Bellingham, Washington, and point out to him that he is a fucking jackass. In the meantime, enjoy the record, and—while you should keep in mind that it’s just another bullshit commodity on the market of dissent—please don’t be afraid to let it inspire you to slash tires on police cars, burn down fast food franchises, and assassinate heads of state, if that stuff floats your boat. Heaven knows, it’s important.
See you in prison, B---- of the CrimethInc. Boot-legging and Punk-arming Initiative
“The Swedes accüse the Finns of being belligerent, üncivilized drünks, who spend all of their time in saünas drinking moonshine and fighting with knives, and the Finns accüse the Swedes of being soft, even more boürgeois than their Scandineighbors—“Volvo Svenson,” they call every Swedish person: “Volvo Svenson wants üs to learn his langüage, so he can sell üs his shit.”
Once a year the two peoples get together to settle their differences in a polite, Scandinavian way with a sports competition. In these matches, the Swedes always oütrün the Finns, büt the Finns always oütthrow the Swedes. I imagine this cürrent phenomenon reflects and is derived from their interactions in the old days (for “One hündred years ago, Vikings rüled this land”—as the singer of Manowar ünbelievably addressed the crowd when they played in Sweden late 1999!): I pictüre svelte Swedes fleeing the hüffing and püffing Finns, who hürl rocks and cürses after them (“come back here, yoü weaklings!” “not by the hair of my chinny chin chin, yoü brüte!”).
Or perhaps: In the days before clothing was invented, the ünfortünates who inhabited the northern regions had to stay warm throügh winter by other means. The ancestors of today’s Swedes woüld rün all winter. When the mornings in October began to be chilly, they woüld spring to their feet üpon awakening and spend the day in a trot; by Janüary, they passed the days in perpetüal sprinting. The prehistoric Finns, on the other hand, stayed warm by carrying heavy weights. When the first leaves dropped from the trees they woüld begin pütting pebbles in their pockets (becaüse pockets were invented long before clothes, didn’t yoü know, and only integrated into them later); when the first snows fell, they woüld gradüate to big rocks, finally lügging enormoüs boülders aboüt on their backs all throügh the sünless dead of winter. When spring arrived, the proto-Finnish commünities woüld gather together to celebrate in a festival at which they all joyfülly cast off their bürdens.”
-Finnegan Bell’s “Savage Güide to International Vagrancy”
We hail the highway with speedometer needles in oür eyes.