Before I get into this glowing, fawning blowjob of a preview, I must say one thing: GOD fucking DAMMIT.

For nearly eight years, since I first saw Tokyo's Melt Banana open for Smog and Red Krayola (an anomaly, given that Melt Banana is one of the fiercest combinations of punk rock and speed metal on the planet, while Smog is well known for its esoteric propensities and Red Krayola was getting a bit long in the tooth even in 1995), I've been obsessed with the band, truly OBSESSED--as in I never miss a live performance and will drag anyone to see them, even Stranger Publisher Tim Keck, who loved them even though he thought they were singing in English.

Still, despite my genuine devotion, I have never succeeded in getting them on the telephone for an interview, even after trying for seven goddamn years. Their high-tech Japanese website beckoned me to "enter," but I needed a splint for my index finger by the time I realized there was absolutely no "entering" to be done. Cell phone numbers to tour managers never worked, and no one answered when I called no less than three venues during the times I was promised by promoters that Melt Banana would, in fact, be there doing sound checks. Finally, I found myself standing outside the local promoter's apartment at 1:30 a.m. last week, desperately leaning on his buzzer, hoping to God he wasn't hiding out of fear that I was attempting a booty call. All I was trying to attain was a viable phone number to reach the band in the mere 12 hours before my already extended deadline came to pass.

So here I am again, as I am every time Melt Banana comes to town, telling you that they are the most ass-kicking band in the world; that female vocalist Yasuko is a true riot grrrl, and Steve Albini, John Zorn, and Jim O'Rourke have each had a hand in the production of their records; and that no one, not even the Melvins, rock as heavily as this astounding, remarkable trio.