Musical genres transform, for better or for worse is a matter of taste I suppose, and only very rarely fade to nothing, are swallowed by our collective unconsciousness or apathy, and are sent, like gods that have passed their age, to simmer in the dark corners of our belief as they wait for oblivion. For those of us who sacraficed so much spiritual mettle pouring sweat and cells into our sheets and sleepless nights as we extended our faith over the alters of belief in the Gods of Distortion and Feedback, the fact that they have left us is hard to suffer.

The Jesus and Mary Chain singing through walls of noise; Husker Du yelling their commandments from on high sonic waves; Skinny Puppy unleashing all the dogs of culture at once; all of the elemental powers left to sleep in the secret corners of our breasts, dreaming of revival and empowerment. Each day I give a little stronger prayer to keep you alive, gasoline into the engine of industrial honesty.

Afterall, everone needs a little more feedback.