These anarchic Aussies crafted some of the most uncompromising, ahead- of- its- time Goth-punk to surface (and just as quickly fade) during the early 1980s. The shock- rocking Birthday Party made more palatable Goth stalwarts Bauhaus and the Cure seem like brooding Little Lord Fauntleroys dabbling in melancholia, dark clothing, and Count Dracula. Party frontman Nick Cave was a truly manic performer, shredding his vocal cords on seemingly stream- of- consciousness rants. Roland Howard and Mick Harvey's rabid guitars bite and snap at each other without a hint of reverence to traditional rhythm and lead distinction. All the instrumentation seemed as though it could give way at any moment, always teetering on the edge of a complete and total bottom- out.

Just sample "Mr. Clarinet," and check that screeching B-Horror flick organ undercut by shards of splintered guitar noise. Little did anyone realize that in the mid '90s, a group of youngsters known as Jonathan Fire*Eater would faithfully appropriate (i.e. rip off) this particular song's sound and attract a quickie million dollar contract with it.

Also notable is the pure anarchy of "Release the Bats" as Cave does his Elvis- as- bloodthirsty vampire routine, while Harvey and Howard create some beautiful atonal disharmony. Bands like Portishead toy with a digitally sampled, watered- down version of the deranged spy-theme music you'd find on songs like "Swampland." Even in the Pixies' sound, you'd hear much of the same ill-behaved Birthday Party guitar work-- guitar figures liberated from the strictures of mainstream new-wave propriety.

Of course, the Birthday Party sported a lead singer that you feared may, at any time, actually leap into the crowd and drain a few jugulars. They reveled in the primitivism of Iggy and the Stooges, while working from a much more abstract sense of rhythm and dynamics. And then of course, there's always Cave's lunatic lyrical complexities to keep your neural transmitters firing.

Naturally, it wasn't long before Cave and Co. entered the inevitable realm of semi- conventionality. Cave, in the '90s, assumed multiple personalities as an author, actor, and Vegas- style crooner. And guitarist Harvey's playing has now settled into a breezy lounge-jazz instrumental format. Back in their day, though, these avant- maniacs must have scared the holy shit out of naïve Goth- leaning new-wavers expecting just another mopey, black- clad, manic- depressive rock band. Suffice it to say, when Cave snarls "Hands up! Who wants to die?" and "Evil heat is runnin' through me!" you just can't help but take him seriously.

The Birthday Party is one of those precious few acts that probably won't risk sullying their legacy with half- assed reunion tours and other popular forms of lucrative nostalgic indulgence. And besides, even with as jaded as today's audiences have become, this selection of "greatest hits" should stir up a healthy unease in most who dare to give it a listen. In fact, I think you need to be slightly masochistic to really fall in love with this stuff. So if you enjoy a good aural flogging like I do, handcuff yourself to a chair, put this 19- track record on "repeat," and give yourself a soothing, irreparable mindfuck.

-Michael Sandlin