A band that played so loud its entire fanbase went deaf, to the point that they were never heard from again. Formed in 1993 in the godforsaken suburbs of San Jose, California, Super Static Fever only played a handful of shows during its two years of existence, inflicting on its audiences a wall of wah-wah distortion stacked on Marshall amps, enough to permanently deafen. Their sound? A mix of Melvins-esque sludge, the melodic power of Swervedriver, and the love for volume of late-period Black Flag — all heard from the car radio of a smoke-filled 1985 Ford Econoline van. All that remains are a few unfinished cassettes from two devastating recording sessions, which the band agreed to re-release on one condition: that Steve Albini mix them. The object, meanwhile, oozes 1990s D.I.Y. aesthetics: VHS blur, opaque white screen print on raw cardboard. A record that barely exists — and, frankly, perhaps never should have existed.