surf-feast the first "feast-franchise", feedback infused reverbotron mother-fucked surf rock. using the feast's patented "distorto-verb" technology you can now for the first time experience the raw edge of the sand ridden coast fused with the feast's almighty shit-rock.
the use of the word surf may be missleading, the multi dimensional feast in no way believe that "real" sports (including surfing) of any kind should be endured by anyone, they do however believe that coastal areas play an important role in keeping society bound together. the beaches of the one eyed no chance coastal towns of the world have one thing in common, they will be the last outpost of the videogame arcade, the crumbling to shit peirs and dull board walks seem to be the most reliable places to still get a much needed hardcore arcade fix.
whilst the importance of real estate in man's cities means there is no longer any room for the low profit procuring sega virtuacop machine, the lack of worthwhile development on the worlds beaches seems to have resulted in something very worthwhile, the retention of the arcade. as each city arcade closes its doors to become another fast food restaraunt the feast will shed a tear, however their collective breath is held for the overlooked beach front arcades, but as the final battle draws nearer the outcome is already known. for it will be unwittingly won by the games consoles of microsoft, nintendo and sony, infact they have already won, once the uglier son of the arcade machine, the home console has now grown and flourished beyond that of its parent, and has continued to devour that which gave it life. human kind now have their game needs fully fullfilled in the home by a cheap super powered box, while the once proud forefathers grow frail and and weak, alone and abandoned.
each track fired from the distorto-verb amplifier may seem innocent enough, but each one represents a dying machine on the beach front's journey to the afterlife. as the spirits of countless daytona, virtua fighter, asteroids and outrun machines float away towards the ocean past giant fiberglass ice cream cones, or silently behind the cofee drinking joggers who have no place in their lives anymore for the "machines", as they reach the first breaking wave on this, their final journey in to the ocean of the afterlife, they will hear one sound screaming through the cosmos aimed directly at them, to remind them that it was worth it, that sound motherfuckers, is the sound of surf-feast, written and played for the machines, to give them the respect they deserve.
as you listen to surf-feast you may not understand, you are not meant to, this is designed for the machines, to be their soundtrack and their final taste of the action, as they glide across the waves for one last moment in time.
remember the games
