I have declared Thursday "Loud Music From My Office Day," and it's a righteous day to be alive. We're starting with a two-fisted sonic assault from Husker Du--the barrage of New Day Rising (1985), their last blaze on Greg Ginn's SST label, followed by the record that blew my seventh-grade skull to shrapnel, Zen Arcade (1984), a throbbing, pulsating, seething slab of scorched-earth, pissed-off alienation that'll turn your speakers into a crumbling inferno. I discovered it back around 1985 during a visit to Audio Addict in Albany, Oregon, a record dealer tucked like a shameful secret into a crevice behind a carpet warehouse. That's the way Albany was then and probably is today: Carpet is bountiful, but loud music is for jackoffs and creeps. No matter. They couldn't hide it from me. I stormed that store with babysitting money and found me a vinyl copy of Zen, two whole records for 10 whole bucks. Couldn't beat that. 'Twas my first double-LP. I felt very grown-up. Zen Arcade took a few songs to settle into a malleable groove (the whole thing was decadent to ears trained to admit nothing more eccentric than Murray Head's "One Night In Bangkok"); but by the rolling guitar skronk of "Chartered Trips" I was lipsticked, fucked, bought, and sold. I can't say I abandoned Top 40 forever, but a few doors of perception got kicked to kindling.

Zen Arcade will be followed by Isis' Celestial (2000). I saw 'em live, opening for the Melvins at the Troubadour back in March. They literally turned the air to sweat, playing for their very lives. Then a sentimental favorite, King Missile, and their latest offering, The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003); they'll never top the sweetness of "Cheesecake Truck" and "Jesus Was Way Cool," but they'll die trying, and I give 'em props for that. Everyday's a little toothless, but I'm gonna gauge reactions to the track "The President," three-four minutes of "Fuck you" and "scumbag." Then it'll be time to cool my hot ass out with Sparks' No. 1 In Heaven.

Today's gonna be a fuckarow, baby.