Rejoice, all ya frustrated, alienated old school punks! It's time to revisit that flat-top hairdo, borrow your mother's combat boots and your father's Vietnam camou fatigues, and get friggin' fired-up. Your punky comrades at Quarterstick records have kindly reissued the entire Naked Raygun catalog, from 1983's Basement Screams to 1990's Raygun... Naked Raygun. These guys' all- but- forgotten arsenal of blood- and- guts socio- political punk-- hammered out by pissed- off, beer- guzzling, steak- eating, anti- sexual, politically- conscious manly men-- is back on the shelves of your local store. The records should stand out like exploding rusty pipe bombs amongst the faint Rice Krispie crackle of what passes for most late- '90s punk rock.

Naked Raygun unleash whining buzzsaw guitars, bust out those breakneck tempos and that air- tight rhythmic pile- driving a la Dead Kennedys and Bad Religion. They also add occasional stop/start dynamics and the structural variations of a band like Mission of Burma. These guys were also capable of churning out some memorable stick- to- your- gut sing- along choruses, and specialized in the rousing, literate anti- something- or- another punk anthem.

In the end, Naked Raygun was probably too uncompromising to achieve anything close to mainstream success. The band lacked a salable gimmick to garner a so- called "big break" from any major labels. This is stuff that was originally released back when "the Chicago Sound" was characterized by its loud, bruising guitars rather than the improvisational pussyfooting of Tortoise, the smarty- pants ethic of the Thrill Jockey/ Drag City crowds, and all those other bespectacled perpetual students- turned- indie- rock illuminati.

Quickly after you put one of these records on, you learn that there's much more to the Naked Raygun legacy than just bad military haircuts, pot- bellies and crushing power chords. There's the sophisticated jazz- punk anti- sex anthem of "Libido" off of 1984's Throb Throb, reminding everyone of what was, for a short time, a major tenant of the punk rock ethic: to shun and belittle the sexual act. Fucking was supposed to be for pussy- ass hippies. Naked Raygun stressed the importance of sexual neutrality. For obvious reasons, it was a trend that didn't last.

Their kick- in- the- crotch 1983 debut, Basement Screams, yields the short but scalding "Potential Rapist," a song about female paranoia and the misunderstood male. Lead shouter Jeff Pizzati's echo- treated vocals boom ominously over the mix: "My footsteps echo hers/ My shadow is a curse.../ In her eyes I'm just a potential rapist.../ She don't know that I've got no sex interest." Then there's the lovable and traditional anti- war, anti- US- involvement- in- world- affairs song, "Rat Patrol," again from Throb Throb.

And check out 1985's All Rise for what is, in my opinion, the greatest Naked Raygun cut ever-- a kiss- off to the tits- and- ass- obsessed America that worships cheap thrills and cut- rate sleaze on "The Strip." And with 1989's Understand came one of the best songs ever written about beer, "Wonder Beer." It boasts a frighteningly catchy chorus, and spews its ironic praise for the bracing medicinal qualities of hops and barley.

Unfortunately, Naked Raygun's body of work didn't exactly get progressively better. Luckily, there was enough decent material on later marginal albums like Understand and Raygun... Naked Raygun to enhance this compilation without losing much in the way of consistency. And judging from 1988's Jettison through their final studio album, Raygun... Naked Raygun, I think these fellas probably began to get laid with some regularity. It must've sapped their energy or something.

So, young people, if you're looking for positive reinforcement and artsy nuance in your rock music, Naked Raygun probably won't be to your liking. But with any Naked Raygun album, expect the the ass- kick quotient to be fairly high. And considering the brutal slap- in- the- face social commentary, blatant cynicism and inspiring negativity in general, there were few better punk bands on the '80s Chicago scene, or anywhere else, really.

-Michael Sandlin