ANOTHER VOICE
One time, when my father locked me in a refrigerator filled with rotting sausage for twenty hours for shitting all over some brown-nosing lima beans at school, I felt like I was gonna choke on my own puke— exactly how the lead singer of AGNOSTIC FRONT Roger Miret sounds when he dry heaves his raw-stalked rage on the excellent, driven, unrelenting punk thrash album
Another Voice. Formed in 1982, right around the time I was gettin’ hair on my bulbs, AGNOSTIC FRONT takes on a lot of stuff about this fucked-up world that humans and abused vegetables alike have to deal with, like street revenge, terrorism, and back-stabbin’ liars.
Around the time I was let out of the fridge, smelling like a rutabaga’s ass crack, I knew I would spend the rest of my life committed to screwing over the vulnerable and innocent, just like Miret says on "It’s For Life." "Don’t try to walk the fence or play both sides / be ready to fight"— and make sure you have a good, rusty scaling knife full of tetanus, or some scalion-grade hepatitis, or a hatred for sweet potatoes so deep you wanna squash their pussy orange heads against the self-checkout touchscreen. The punk heart and soul of this committed operation, drumist Steve Gallo and lead guitarist Matt Henderson, make me want to plant maggots in the yogurt cups with the determination of a lactose intolerant bio-terrorist.
Okay, so these guys’ messages at times are more positive than mine. Like in "Peace" when they quote a Harry Truman speech (I may be an angry Brock, but I’m not ignorant, you stupid faithless apes— I know he was the 33rd U.S. President). Their inspirational rants keep goin’ in "So Pure to Me" where they talk about a "promise to fight for something more" and "being loyal." I’m touched to the bottom of my stalks, I really am. But it’s lines like "Face your fucking punishments! Bleed!" that I live for, and that I heard all the time growing up. I often wish my father, that yellow soggy tool, would have skipped all the oven-baking threats and just boiled me out of my misery.
AGNOSTIC FRONT gets to the point real quickly in their 14 songs, keeping them short and sweet like the snatch of this red bell pepper I was eating the other day, yes, you guessed it, during the Sunday Specials sale. Place is full of fuckin’ grandmas and coupon-clippin’ moms (and man, do their babies hate it when I spit snatch seeds into their little wide eyes— sometimes ol’ Uncle Brock gets lucky and scratches their newly forming corneas).
Like the rest of us, FRONT’s been through a lot of shit as a band. Their close friends have been killed, they’ve been divorced (which isn’t so bad), gone to jail, but no matter, if they keep on writing lines like "Fuck you and every thing that you say and you’re about" I’ll keep on hunting that freeze-dried yellow prick who started this whole thing with his twisted, determined sperm.
