In our hometown of Des Moines, Iowa, we'd started a revolution. We'd lit a fire that the city couldn't contain any longer. We were a physical and sonic assault upon all fives senses. We were legends, we hadn't even gotten signed yet.
Ross Robinson came down into our basement to see things at our level. Then he came into our theatre to see what we were. He said he would produce us with or without a record deal. Soon after, Roadrunner succumbed and gave us what we had worked our whole lives to achieve : a contract. For most bands, that was the end of the line. For us, it was our boot planted firmly in the door. It meant we had the means to EARN IT ALL.
It took us three days and as many vehicles to get to the ranch on top of the mountain in Malibu. For three months, there was chaos on the peak. Bloody blisters, flying potted plants and dead things in the walls. Vomit, skunks and pissing on our clothes. Mohawks, aliens, booze and the soundtracks to the hubris of youth. We spit hot pain and analog frustration into 2 inch tapes, and the we went back home to our day job. It would be months until Ossfest '99. It would the be another 32 days until the release of our first real album. When June 29th, 1999 came, the world changed.
But, we didn't. We were young. We were starving. And the world was just appetizer.
To all the fans all over the world that have bought and re-bought this album, we owe our eternal allegiance, because you gave us yours. You have forgotten, so we will never forget.