I’m writing you cause I loves you, girl. I think we made a good team and I wanna get back together. Now I know that I messed up by cheating on with your sister’s boyfriend, but I wanna make it up to you. I’ll take you on picnics every day, yo. We can go to all those shitty romantic comedies you love so much and at night we can go dancing like you always want. I saw you at the Piggly Wiggly last Tuesday and damn girl, you still got a killer rack and you look damn fine. What I’m saying is that I want you back.

I’m sure this can work a second time because of Mission of Burma. See, Mission of Burma was just like us: they was in love once upon a time, and at first they were spending all their time together and having sex like four times a day. Remember how awesome that was, baby? Pretty hot. Yeah, they were groundbreaking and amazing, doing shit in 1982 that people today are still just figuring out. With the exception of Fugazi, they were probably the most innovative American band of the ‘80s, mixing in bits of Ramones-like punk rock with tape loops–a decade before anyone else was interested in them–and guitarist Roger Miller’s classical avant-garde training. Anyways, they fell on hard times, in this case it wasn’t my cheating heart but a lack of success and Miller’s tinnitus that did them in. He done got a ringing in his ears and they had to break up. What I’m saying is they’re just like us.

Lemme get to the point: in the end, Mission of Burma got back together and it was just like old times again. This wasn’t an on-again/off-again fling either. With their new record, The Obliterati, the 21st Century Burma has released more studio material then they did the first time around. See, at first everybody was sort of worried that Burma was just retreading old glories–all the best songs on their comeback album onOFFon were old. “Dirt” and “Playland” were from Burma 1.0 and “Wounded World” was originally a song by No Man, Miller’s post-Burma rock band. I loved onOFFon, but the The Obliterati is better in almost every way. There are no leftover songs from 20 years ago, although they have plenty of great old tunes still waiting for a studio treatment (remember when we used to rock out to live versions of “Peking Spring” and “Dumbells”). What I’m saying is the album is all-new material and totally lives up to their legacy.

Despite it’s silly title, The Obliterati flat-out rules. Sure, they still might not as great as they were the first time around, but I also don’t expect us to be banging four times a day again. Just once or twice would be good, y’know? Comparing anything to Vs., the one album they made before they broke up, is just unfair. It’s like comparing your rack now to what it was when we met. Sure it may have sagged a little, but damn, girl, you still got it going on! The production on The Obliterati is in the vein of onOFFon, still pretty noisy but heavy on the bass and mids, emphasizing the rhythm, unlike like, say, the dry pop production of the Signals, Calls and Marches EP or jagged sharpness of Vs.. What I’m saying is that Burma might have had some rough spots, sure, but they managed to work it all out in the end and get back together, and now, 20 years later, they just put out their second best album. That could be us, baby!

Check out album opener “2wice.” It kicks off the album in prime style yo, beginning with some big booming drums before the bass and guitar drop in the from sky, pummeling the listener in the face. Sounds like our sex life, right baby? Anyways, I know the song’s title is pretty dumb, but it refers to the structure of the song, it’s basically a verse-chorus pair that only repeats twice with an extremely long bridge between them. And that bridge is what is so good about modern Burma, after the pummeling of the verse, and the sing-along of the chorus, the bridge opens up into a straight pop song, with a better melody then the rest of the song. What I’m saying is that even as old men, Burma is not only more creative, but also kicks way more ass, than most of what calls itself ‘punk rock’ today.

The next two songs don’t let up either, it’s a perfect album-opening trilogy. “Spider’s Web” beginning with an endless droning Stooges-like riff before giving way to a chorus sung in falsetto. That bit of tenderness over the noise brings to mind the scorching weirdness present on the second half of Husker Du’s great Zen Arcade. Then comes the barn-burning “Donna Sumeria,” easily as good as anything the classic Burma wrote. After a never-ending spiral of hammered-on bass riffing, the song explodes—and continues to explode for the next six minutes, cheekily quoting Donna Summer’s groundbreaking disco hit “I Feel Love” before blasting apart into a glorious peak of frenzied noise replete with a two-chord garage riff covered over with loops and wild backwards guitar. It is absurdly great, girl. You need to hear it, and when you take me back, you will. Over and over again while the make the wildest love you ever had done to you.

“Let Yourself Go” sounds like a garage band covering Fugazi, as the song works like a tight machine, screaming its chorus, before sloppily falling apart again and again. Shit rules so much it makes me throw up horns and bang my head halfway through. The more measured pace of “1,001 Pleasant Dreams,” with its wordless harmonies would not have felt out of place somewhere in the middle of Vs., around say “Mica” or “Weatherbox.” Meanwhile, Roger Miller’s plaintive “13”, with its cello, crystalline guitar harmonics and minor key melody, has a place on onOFFon, around “Falling”, but instead of maintaining its chilled atmosphere, it slowly builds. “Nancy Reagan’s Head” ends the album with one of its catchiest songs and has fun lambasting the Neo-Reagan conservative movement. They somehow manage to make the line, “And I’m haunted by the freakish size of Nancy Reagan’s head/ No way that thing came with that body,” sound anthemic and cathartic. Add in some samples of Gregorian chanting and you’ve got a post-punk masterpiece, yo.

The Obliterati shows that far from being dried up, like you think of our relationship is, the possibilities of punk rock are still as startling infinite as they were in 1980. What I’m saying is that if Mission of Burma can get together after 20 years and be just as good as ever, then we can certainly overcome six months apart.

Please baby, take me back.