Mission of Burma
Signals, Calls, and Marches

I remained an adolescent for too long and became an adult too quickly. I still genuinely want to gift myself the music I demand, which I consider, the foolish pursuit of the elusive; a life spent in curiosity, from masturbation to mutability.
In hindsight, everyone is capable of providing a perfect picture of the past, a retroactivity of thought and knowledge that makes any attempt to render a product of the mind personal, erasable.

So I entertain myself by thinking that Facet Squared is the direct continuation of Devotion and that Execution is the right sum between Wire and Buzzcocks and the origin of Grant Hart. Brand-New-Life and Strong Reaction, differently alike, united in the lift of That's When I Reach For My Revolver, and if you can't hear Weezer in Academy Fight Song, you're a bad person.

This violent burning, obviously without control, that will engulf the following years is an excessive image of the past moment where the Burma were holding the match ready to vanish before the dreaded oblivion; victims of the reunions and grateful to the Alternative-Boom of the early nineties, nevertheless fundamental and seminal.

True to themselves as long as punk was true to them.
Fame and fortune is a stupid game and fame and fortune is the game I play, fame and fortune is a stupid game and fame and fortune is the game I play, fame and fortune is a stupid game and fame and fortune is the game I play, I play forever.