In today's album review, we depart a bit from the usual punk rock — something a little different for you all.

Mr. Bungle: S/T (T) and California (M)

Mr. Bungle. A band from somewhere like Modesto? Or Stockton? Or some other Northern California town? They are from where? You have to remember, I really hated the stupid stage antic shit that some of these bands did. Lighting shit on fire — boring. Breaking things — boring. But wearing masks and drinking urine on stage? Well fuck, dude. That's kinda new.

I will be honest with you. I didn't like this for a long time. It was too, well, gimmicky type shit. It didn't do anything for me and I didn't like it. I don't really want to sit around and wait for a kick. I wanted it now. But I listened to it again. Like three months later in the car of some burned out punk rocker. His car was decorated in skeletons and I was drinking a Pabst. He lectured me on how cool this band was.

So I listened.

Heading to the show, it's kinda cool if you get to know the sound before you walk in the door. Hey, you gotta do it.

This was Mr. Bungle. Weird fast, slow like a circus on fire with all the clowns running out with bottles of gin. Bondage gear, clowns, and midgets. Like something out of a nightmare, they came at you.

This was sweat and beer and gin and...piss?

This shit was something when I first heard it, I thought was evil clown music. Fuck man, look at the inlay. It's dead drunken dying clowns. What the fuck was that all about? From the second this starts, you feel as if you are in a video game hyped on speed playing the pinball game that would save the world. Cause you had a pocket of quarters. The fucking circus needed saving. Only you can save it. One more quarter. You can save it.

The album is loaded with samples. Things that make you think you heard it before... but from where? Samples I had to ask Michele about to find where they came from. Things I knew, but were all in a drug induced haze and couldn't remember. "That was a pinball machine, right?"