Even if you don’t own any of their records, you have most certainly heard The Melvins because their sound rings clearly in the anthems of  bands like Nirvana, Soundgarden and Tool. Where those legends hammered the Melvins’ sonic textures into more traditional song structures, selling millions of records in the process, the original purveyors of that sound continue to record music as if each instrument were a stallion and the studio a wide open range—each instrument, each riff, runs freely across the tracks as the band charge forward with wild, reckless abandon. Call their sound experimental, avant garde, metal or punk—nothing will consistently fit, and this is perhaps the secret ingredient to a career that is now approaching their thirtieth year.

Listen, dear readers, I want to discuss the records that exist only in my mind. You know, the ones that would be perfect if you added one key component, or the ones that could never exist no matter what, but they should. Like if you poured glue all over the shitty Zeppelin record and then played it at 45 speed while the glue dried. Or if Alice Cooper scatted over Coltrane’s Ascension.

These, then, are those records.

While numbered, this order is contextual only—it can be rearranged by whim.

Proceed.

In order of inception and abandamnation:

I.

This one was about this time I went to the beach. (I don’t go to the beach very often.) I was dating this girl, she lived down in Hermosa. Hermosa is like, down by… the water.