On University Avenue in Seattle-- or, as us locals call it, "The Ave"-- two dozen kids huddle outside of Pagliacci's Pizza 24/7. Whether I'm stumbling to work at 6am or making my way home from the bar at midnight, they're there. The only story I got on them is that they're kids who ran away from home and they now live... well, outside of the pizza place between 45th and 47th streets and are known by the tag of "Ave Rats." I bet most of them bus in from Issaquah for the thrill of being street people, but as a wise man once said, we all can't be Isaac Brock.

The other night, the annual Seafair parade was going down the Avenue, and I had to laugh at the sight by Pagliacci's. There were the Ave Rats and spectators had sprung up around them. I began to wonder if their whole thing was just a year round vigil for prime seats at a shitty parade. I stopped pondering once I realized that, in a perfect world, some large man with a machete would go down and take care of these kids.

Like me, I'm sure the farm boys in Silkworm were a little unsettled by this sewer on the Sound (as I fondly call the Emerald City) and this document of the band's early years is filled with a much lusher pop sound than you might expect out of Silkworm circa now. It covers Silkworm's material from 1990-1994; almost all of their L'ajare album, some singles, a twelve inch, a Tom Petty cover, and some random fallout.

It's not like Silkworm ever got huge during the fat days of alternamania, but they should have. Oh, sure, there's that matter of the Developer album not being all that wonderful, but overall this band has consistently provided music for music fans. They also gave us "Shithead," one of the most depressing songs of all time. Oh, and let's not forget "Slipstream," which shows up here in two different versions-- one large and loose, one tight and small. It's a little bit Pavement, a little bit Big Black, and I sense a heavier REM influence than any band member would ever let on was present. (And there's something about "Scruffy Tumor" that screams "millionaire with a vest.")

The band's original singer/ songwriter Joel R.L. Phelps has since split to do the solo thing (and his solo shit, by the way, is jim dandy, too), so Blind Chicken is a great introduction to his years fronting the band. But their new stuff is great, too.

-Jason Josephes