Growing up in the wilds of Anchorage, Alaska circa the 1980s was to grow up in a musical wasteland. Classic rock was the law of the land. This was followed by hard rock, and then country. The musical boundaries ended there. It was the weakest of teas. But every once in a blue moon, if you were very lucky and the ghost of Darby Crash looked favorably upon you, you could pick up this little pirate radio station broadcasting out of the Mat-Su Valley. They had a punk rock show, and it was awesome . . . by default.

I had heard one punk rock song before.

Singular.

Uno.

A friend’s older brother played us The Damned by The Plasmatics and a fire was lit. But it was MTV Get Off the Air coming out of my little crappy mono radio that sealed the deal. It was a bit like that scene in The Jerk where Steve Martin discovers his rhythm. For better or for worse, I was going to be a punk rocker.

And that’s exactly what I did.

Eventually I found my way to Frankenchrist proper. Stars & Stripes of Corruption. Soup is Good Food. At My Job.

That album changed me.

Maybe even for the better.