Unless you're backless, you have a backpack. What do you have in your backpack? I'd imagine there's a collection of paper, pens, and hidden condoms. Then again, maybe you have one of those packs equipped for bicycle riding. Oh, watch out for that bump! Just kidding. You're in the comfort of a house on a computer on a chair.
Under the door comes a backpack. This backpack is packed with twelve inches of twelve songs of vinyl punk rockdom. Your destiny is split into two sides. Side A? Graf Orlock, inventors and masters of cinematic grind. They govern this universe, screaming lyrics taken from movies, like Total Recall and Terminator 2, over kick ass grindcore. While some find these movies to be nothing but cheap laughs, to others they are much, much more. They blaze through eight songs in fourteen minutes like C4 was their fuel and a flamethrower their spark. Half of the time they're blasting, the other half they're keeping things slow and headbanging. The samples they use are fucking hilarious. "Use your head, you dumb bitch, he's just acting out the secret agent portion of his ego trip." If you don't think that's funny, you were born in '92. Graf Orlock literally wrestle with Schwarzenegger halfway through the set. Their guitars fade in and out as Schwarzenegger screams. Triumphant.
Your mom walks by your door. She's beckoned by the devil music blaring from your speakers. Before she can barge in and see you trying to put your penis inside one of those big holes in a 7" record, Side B lands. Your mom slips on a banana peel and falls down the stairs to her immediate death. Greyskull's fierce brand of metallic hardcore might've pressed up against her blouse, causing the "accident." Their re-recordings of their five demo songs bring the ruckus. Even if you've heard the demo before, the rerecording is so much better that it's worth at least forty-five more spins. Greyskull also sound tighter this go around. That jock in your Economy class gets called out in the song, "When you use the word gay as a pejorative you sound like a big fucking idiot!" You're in your room alone but your hatred for those around you feels less lonely.
Now that your mom's dead and you have a split record between Graf Orlock and Greyskull, we'll call it an even deal. If the extended metaphor didn't make it obvious enough, the 12" is clothed in a cardboard container that looks like a backpack. Basically, the sweetest packaging I've seen. In case you're not into aesthetics, the music itself blows the snow off the winterland into a summer of nonstop fucking rock. Or something.
