It was a cold and hoary night that ought to have made men huddle in the safety and warmth of their homes. No creature in their right mind would have braved the icy cold if not for an over abundance of MD20/20. So after my friend Jamie forced me to drink a wealth of said swill, we careened down to the bottleneck to see Kill Creek play a rock show. As I recall (a quite blurry recollection), the four of them played their instruments collectively with the fury of at least a couple men (maybe two and a half) and I was awestruck (or maybe just all revved up on firewater) at the guitar interplay. After they finished playing their "gig", I cornered them and gushed about how much I enjoyed the show and begged them to let me record them. They blew me off politely enough and promised to give me a tape of some stuff they'd been working on recently. A couple of weeks later I ran into Scott at Perkins and hounded him until he told me I could come up to Kansas City and help them record some of their new stuff in some crack addicts' (not his real name) basement. I made sure that Pat would be wearing pants.