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Paper Street Soap Company

http://www.myspace.com/paperstreetsoapcompany

“Dude, rewind.” “Rewind what?” “The fuckin’ movie ass magnet. Rewind to that part in the phone booth right before he calls Tyler, and freeze it on the business card.” ….”Uh, O.K. it says Paper Street Soap Company, so what?” “Dude, that would be a great name for a band.” “You know what, you’re right, and when you’re right you’re right. And you, you’re always right.”

___excerpt from a conversation that took place Dec.6th 2001 between Eric and “Ten Foot Tall Tony”(lead singer of Big Rev and the Honey Truckers)while watching Fight Club with the audio commentary on.

That’s how Paper Street Soap Company came to be. It existed as a concept, an idea, long before it existed as a band. In fact, as this conversation was taking place, all the members of Paper Street Soap Company were in different bands. Eric and Bill were in a thrash/death metal band that had been together for a number of years. Anthony was also involved in a band that had been together for quite some time. Ron and Brett were busy doing god knows what, god knows where. At some point during 2003 all these bands dissolved within a short time span. Bill and Eric decided to start a new band, and since Eric and Anthony had been friends since high school asking him to join seemed like the right thing to do. Anthony knew Brett, and recruited him as a vocalist. Brett knew Ron, and recruited him to play bass. Sort of like the IRA.

The focus of this new band was simple and clear. Musically, it’s fast and angry punk rock mixed with fast and angry thrash metal. Simple riffs, singable chouruses, and maximum rock at all times. If other bands wanna play slow and sing about their feelings so they can unload a few more baby doll t-shirts at the merch table, that’s their business. None of that for us, thanks. Lyrically, we’re similar to bands like Bad Religion and the Dead Kennedys. Common sense politics, witty observation and commentary, and practical life suggestions for the young punk rocker. (Like this one from Bill, “Learn to fix your own car.”) Maybe some of it is pretentious, and maybe some of it is borrowed from Chomsky, but at least the lyrics inside our CD booklet won’t be a volume of stupid nonsense, rot, gibberish, and criminally fraudulent nincompoopery (However no guarantees can be made regarding copyright infringement and/or plagiarism).

But more than the music and lyrics, Paper Street Soap Company is a collection of intangibles. The sense of uncontrollable physical movement found in old Slayer or Metallica. The “gang of pirates” vocal sound of the Misfits. The feeling of accomplishment one felt after decoding, with the help of a dictionary, a Bad Religion lyric sheet. Now you can sing along without fudging the words. The cynicism and anger contained in a Dead Kennedys song. A song written twenty years ago that is still relevant today. Perhaps more relevant than ever. The unavoidable truth as revealed by Black Flag. It really is you against the world, and you have a good chance of winning. In short, Paper Street Soap Company possesses The Spirit Of Wrestling. It is these things, along with the furious music and the sharp lyrics, that make up Paper Street Soap Company.

UPDATE (2007) In mid to late 2006 Ron left the Company to pursue a mysterious higher calling. The details are sketchy, but we know that he is leading the charge in the battle between good and evil (on the side of evil obviously.) Jordan came to us in exactly this manner:

While on hiatus, Brett went on a book signing tour to promote his new book ‘Bearly Legal: A Practical Guide to Barehanded Bear Killing In and Around America’s National Parks’. By happenstance Jordan was also on a book tour. He was promoting his New York Times Bestselling ‘Man This Takes Fuckin’ Forever: The Joys and Triumphs of Hard Disk Defragmentation’. Apparently both of their publishing companies had booked them in the same Book-o-Rama Bills in Downtown Flapass, Kentucky, just across the street from Artie’s Bait & Tackle, The Left Handed Archery Supply Store, Mailbox Emporium, and Eugene’s Used Glory Holes.

To make a long story even longer, after several hours of nonstop book signing, Jordan turned to Brett and said, “You know, you look awfully familiar.” To which Brett replied, “Yeah, you probably know me from my outstanding work with Paper Street Soap Company.” “Yes, that’s it,” exclaimed Jordan, now giddy with excitement. “The tales of the almighty Paper Street are legendary. It has been said that the Company rides into cities like the Viking hordes, that they play with the fury of a thousand demons, and that they leave the wenches knock-kneed and with child.” “Aye, ’tis true,” said Brett, “’tis true.”

After several more hours of regaling Jordan with stories of glorious deeds past and present, Brett mentioned that the Company was looking for a bass player. “I can fucking play bass,” shouted Jordan. “Then come to practice on Monday. Here’s a CD. Learn the songs, and be prepared to fuckin’ bring it.” And bring it he did.
That, as they say, is that. Jordan has been holding it down in fine fashion ever since.

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