The summer I stumbled across 'The First Four Years,' I was sixteen or seventeen. I've never been what you might call a happy camper, but for some reason, during that time, I was positively seething with rage and hostility. (I think someone stole my hot dog at lunchtime or something; I don't remember.)

Whatever the reason, I was very, very angry. I had no outlet for that anger. Punching myself wasn't any fun. Punching other people could only land me in detention, suspension, or traction. I was too young to punch a clock. Small surprise, then, that from the very first smacked-out B/E/A/D changes of "Nervous Breakdown," that I felt an exhilaration far beyond that which most other music could provoke at the time. (Keep in mind... this is in an era when Debbie Gibson's fame was just fading.) Never before had I heard anything quite so raw and energetic, like a rabid Doberman Pinscher staked on a short leash behind a wire cage. I had no idea what the guitar player looked like, and I still only have a hazy, half-formed image in mind, but that's pretty much also what I pictured: a contorted figure with six-string in hand, writhing and grimacing in what could only be either utter agony, ecstacy, or barely restrained fury.

"Fury" is a good word to describe this collection. "Nervous Breakdown" was my anthem, a personal message from the past to me, for every single breakup in my life that made me feel like I wasn't going to be able to keep it together... a punch in the gut to remind me that, dammit, I was going to stand firm and strong and laugh in the face of my own inner desolation. Take the void by its formless arms and embrace it, is the underlying message of the cacophony.

"Jealous Again"... another solar-plexus-catching roundhouse swing. I swear, I can hear phantom bones break when this song plays, and I revel in it. "Clocked In" didn't make as much sense and hit so close to home then as it does now, but, watch out. That song is my life story.

Fury is the connecting thread. Even the tiniest mis-shaped note on the album is full of emotion, most of it agonizingly unpolished and dark. It is virtually impossible to listen to this album and just say, "Eh..." Either you love it or you hate it.

The raw sound is characteristic of early Black Flag; later efforts showed more polish and appeal to me in different ways. Hearing this collection of pre-"Damaged" material is akin to walking peacefully down the street and suddenly being beaten to a pulp by four guys you don't even know. Once you pick yourself back up, you curse, but then find yourself thanking them -- THANKING them! -- for externalizing the pain and anger that you've only been carrying around on the inside.

Then you go and look for some more.



Recommended: Yes