Los Angeles, CA, sometime around '92, a guy named Derek walks into a record store. He really, really likes Death Metal and everything associated with it. Spends a lot of time discussing his obsession with Kurt who works behind the counter. Kurt makes a fateful decision: "I gotta get a recording of this guy talking about Death Metal!". Kurt gets Derek's number, goes home, makes the call and records it. What Kurt got was much, much more than he bargained for, and what you have right here in your filthy mitts is the document of that depravedly divine 45 minutes of madness. "Yeah", you say, "but how did it GET right here in my filthy mitts?!". Well, real quick: I knew the aforementioned Kurt and he gave me a copy of the tape because he knew I'd think it was funny. But boy oh boy, lemme tell ya, I thought it was a lot more than funny; I thought (and still do) that it was a holy scripture of hilarity and one of the finest slices of deranged American audio folklore I'd ever heard. Being in a band as I was and knowing many other people in bands that had to endure the long drives and tedium of touring in a filthy van for weeks on end, I started passing out (cassette) copies of "The Derek Tape" almost as a secret handshake, with no explanation, as an antidote to van boredom. The tapes got passed on and on and the rest is just history. Now buckle up and let Derek and Kurt take you to a secret world where a junkie named Terry, King Diamond, The Necronomicon, Paganini, Ritchie Blackmore, and one infamous car boot all live on the same plane of glorious, PCP soaked existence. But listener beware! You may end up thinking a helicopter is landing on your head or wearing a TV for a hat by the end of it. Sean Kelly The Tight Bros. From Way Back When