Chopsley.  New Orleans emu grindcore.  stevesteveandyeddiebryan.
016 - 09.16.00 St. Charles Basement - alone.
015 - 09.14.00 Movie Pitchers - Zegota, Saturday Supercade, Hatchback, and As They Wept.
014 - 08.22.00 State Palace Upstairs - At the Drive-In, Hatchback, and Outplay.
013 - 08.14.00 Audubon Hotel - Casket Lottery and Hatchback.
012 - 08.03.00 Dixie Taverne -  Dead & Gone and Hawg Jaw.
011 - 07.16.00 Movie Pitchers - Page Ninety-Nine.
010 - 06.30.00 Dixie Taverne - Dyevyat Gram, Icepick Revival, and Stressball.
009 - 06.11.00 Movie Pitchers - Grey AM and Hatchback.
008 - 05.23.00 Dixie Taverne - SkinKrawL.
007 - 04.05.00 State Palace Upstairs - Zao and SkinKrawL.
006 - 03.25.00 Movie Pitchers - Antarctica vs. the World, Bring Your Own Tomatoes, and Face First.
005 - 03.24.00 Movie Pitchers - Antarctica vs. the World and Riot in Progress.
004 - 03.19.00 Movie Pitchers - Lanemeyer, Whippersnapper, and Hatchback.
003 - 02.19.00 Movie Pitchers - Grey Before Green and Exit Eighty-Six.
002 - 01.06.00 Movie Pitchers - The Falsies, Schoolyard Bully, and False Hope.
001 - 11.22.99 Movie Pitchers - Atom & His Package and Audibuild.

(Bands we were scheduled to play with who broke down or cancelled tours:  From Ashes Rise, The Varukers, Spazm 151, This Years Model, Incantation, Strong Intention.)

Monster X is Back - "Monster X is back.  Straightedge grindcore.  Monster X is back."

There are times when everything is perfect.  Everything works.  Everything makes sense.  Tribute is given to the otherworldly inspiration, that divine intersection.  It is here.  It is now.  It is in the mind, and the heart, and the soul.

There is a coupling of two ideas, two concepts of the intellect that are almost opposites.  On the one hand, there is the purity of reason, a consecration of the body.  On the other hand, there is an ugly hurdling cacophony summoned from the depths of the spirit.  Yet, both the serene beauty and the chaotic terror are required to establish a link with the gods and goddesses, the myths and legends, those departed observers.

And we shall all one day sing out in praise and joy:  "Those who have gone before have now returned."  The prodigal is here.  Slay the fattest calf.  Set the table of our feast.  Kneel before no master.  Bow before this reverie and have reverie upon thyself.

Rectal Anarchy in the UK - "Kill Scottie Breaux.  Kill, Kill Scottie Breaux.  Fratboy:  Red-haired asshole with a chip on his shoulder.  Fratboy:  Shortman's complex with a chip on his shoulder.  Yeargh.  Merzbow.  Merzbow:  Red-haired asshole with a chip on his shoulder.  Merzbow:  Shortman's complex with a chip on his shoulder."

Who is "Scottie Breaux?"  Is he just some jerk we went to high school with?  Or is he every jock gestapo, every parent who said "No," every indoctrination of the status quo?  Is he every dickhead cop, every power-crazed warmonger, every institution of ignorant hatred? 

Uptown Straightedge Ninjas - "Slashing through the scene with our razor blade swords.  E-chord warriors, you're going down.  Greg.  Austen"

What was at first a mere counterstrike to two people and their irrational conclusions quickly became a critique of an entire scene.  This is a challenge to all the pretenders in New Orleans hardcore punk.  It is a dismissal to all those pretenders for whom hardcore and straightedge are nothing but fashion statements, a way to form elitist cliques, an excuse to hurt and alienate those who do not conform to their beliefs.  This is for all the tourists for whom this is but a passing trend.

We Broke Your Bass - "We took your bass.  We said we'd take care.  But we broke a string.  We broke it.  Broke it."

Love and thanks always to those who supported us 1999-2000: 

Recorded - Thom Promis, James Whitten, Greg Stein.

Live - Eric Martinez, Chuck Dass, Steve Rousell.  And anyone else who partied with us.

Equipment - Dave Pomerleau, Rob Hatchback, Kristin Ceruti, Lacy Richason, Sean Acarda, (Eric and Greg also).

Soundmen - Scott Francioni, Dave Janz.

Shows - Bobby Bergeron, Gary Mador, Deborah Toscano, Steve Mudge, Cosimo Murray, Dan Fox, Kelly M.


(no recoding)

He Doesn't Know What Words Are - "Iron Giant Jazz.  Not illiterate.  Not an idiot.  Betrayed by a friend.  He doesn't know what words are.  Co.  Writers."

Many are the cruelties of manhood.  Many are the torments that humankind has inflicted upon itself.  Treachery is never an easy thing to take.  It's a barbed pill, rending blood and flesh from the throat as it poisons the gut.  It's the sharp pain in the lower back, caused not by some work-related injury, but by the swift punch-kick combo of an assumed associate.  

There is no worker's compensation for a broken heart.  There is no surgery yet created to restore the vitality of emotions.  Backstabbing.  Gossip.  Scratch talk.  All part of the scene.  All devices of evil employed by wicked little children.  Robots.  Machines of vile stupidity tapping feet and bobbing heads to boring, regurgitated sounds.  The same sounds.  Over.  And over.  And over.  And over.  And over again.

Harsh words are spoken.  Oaths to the self are so carelessly discarded.  So, speak out against that which yesterday you may have allied yourself with.  Destroy yourself with the toxic refuse of self-perpetuated slavery.  Lock the chains.  Strap on your tie.  You murdered our youth.

Hope They Die a Thousand Deaths - "Tall guy and weird girl smoking pot and lighting cigarettes inches from my face.  Sweater-man-nose-ring, dork with camera, you and your stupid girlfriend better stop touching me.  Mosh or Astro-mosh?  Gimme that bass.  I'm an idiot.  Gimme that bas."

My Dear Cobra Commander - "Countless failure, again and again.  What is that on your hand?  Turn the lights down low--this one's for the Baroness.  We shall have our revenge.  This I command.  Destro!  Destro, you fool.  Get back.  Fight.  Fight, you coward, fight.  Cobra!"

Point 07 are a Bunch of Sellout Posers - "It's past our bedtime, so we can't play the show.  Where's the Jena Set?  Nobody's here.  Marshall!  He missed the show.  He went to see Korn.  'I really liked their stage show.'  Chill fucking tunes for me to smoke my weed to.  Big Dawg Ron, grant you sexual favors.  Don't put your name on a piece of crap.  We've got to get it mastered.  Death from above.  But you're too black metal.  Cancel the show.  Fuck Incantation."

Rock the Party and Clear Out the Madness - "This guy Keith from OLDP says I beat him up and took his money.  Don't believe the hype."

The Getting Fucked Club - "No pics, no bass.  Welcome to the getting fucked club.  Chopsley's getting the dicking again.  This is my day so far.  Now all the ladies in the house say, 'Yeah!' (Yeah!).  Come on, you mother fuckers, say a prayer (prayer).  When you fight, you gots to fight fair.  You mother fuckers, you, you mother fuckers.  Ya'll know what time it is:  It's Chopsley time, you mother fuckers go.  Fuck yeah."

Many people do not understand the trials and tribulations of being in a band.  It's not all fun and games.  It's not always a rockstar cream dream.  It's stress.  It's frustration.  It's hard work that almost never pays off.  Being in a band can be likened to one of the many senseless jobs of the Great Depression, like digging a hole in the ground only to fill it right back up.  Only with rock and roll, you don't get paid.

Depsite the headaches and the heartaches of rocking, we persevere.  We change.  We become one with the music defined by the thoughtless, the mindless, the idiotic as "noise."  Basardnoise.  Mikepattonvocalsoloprojectnoise.  New noise.

This is not a band.  This cannot be defined as simply a group of people coming together to just make a little music.  This is about growing up, about changing the system that people all over the world have come to follow.  Have been forced to follow.  Herded.  Masses.

We will not be cowed.

Lost songs:  Where's Josh Mayer?, Robots Will Kill Us Soon, Brutal Spirit-Filled Hardcore.

80s tribute BEFORE that shit was cool:  I Won't Back Down, Rockin in the Free World, Summer of '69, No Voices in the Sky, Bottled Violence, Procreation of the Wicked.