Wow, think hardcore punk in 1980 as it was in the days of California or England, pre-Henry Rollins Black Flag or those yobs from Stoke-on-Trent in the U.K., or even Dischord in Washington, D.C. This was Lansing, MI, heart of the rust belt and as rusty and messed up as Detroit.

The Fix, a paint-peeling aggro quartet, were tearing up basements, restaurants, and even frat parties with their brand of light-speed uncontrolled aggression and nofuture (after all, they lived in the center of it) simplicity. They were howling to the all-but-deaf masses (remember that where the Fix came from, rock bands were doing Journey, Styx, and Bob Seger covers in bars to get the cash from drunken college kids). There are 24 unruly, unbridled, completely savage cuts on this slab, all of them worth your left arm if hardcore — the real thing — is it. There aren’t words to describe the sheer savage wail and whomp of this baby — just slap it on and get your butt kicked as you scratch your head and wonder what happened to it all and how all these later kids can call themselves punk bands. In the words of the old Touch & Go mag chart, this stuff is “the goods.”