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Hello. Here are a few words concerning the re-release of a recording that was never released in the first place. It's been rescued because of the tenacity and enthusiasm of the fans of this music, who discovered it all by themselves from copies that somehow made their way around the world. Perhaps you are one of these original fans. Thank you.

This music was largely written and recorded from early 1987 through late 1989, in the shadows between the twilight of the Reagan Era and the Dawn of Digital; it is very much a ghostly blast from that past, in all it's magnificent excess and innocence of anxiety.

These were the days of Spandex, Jerri-curls and poodle hair; a time when more was more, and anything worth doing was worth overdoing. Passenger jets had not yet been deployed as weapons, greed and dishonesty were not preferred presidential traits, and the pitch correction of an out-of-tune vocal required a re-take. It was a different world entirely.

The music was recorded at Studio 1212, a legendary facility in the Hip-Hop world that went up in smoke in the autumn of 1995. The studio was located in a section of the New York City borough of Queens known as Jamaica. It was a wonderful, edgy, energetic area to work from, and I loved it there.

The music is entirely self-produced and recorded, and represents the efforts of three individuals: two multi-instrumentalists and a singer - well, two singers. Originally intended to be yet another obligatory three-song demo, the project burgeoned into a full-length record, requiring all the passion, commitment and belief entailed in such a process.

We had no studio budget, nor any significant backing; we had studio downtime and off-hours. But we also had fun, lots of it, and we believed we were producing a pop masterpiece, with cojones. The length of time required to get it right, and make the record we wanted to make, became insignificant.

When the project was finished, we discovered two major concerns severely affecting our securing the mighty record deal; the musical climate and flavor had changed, and we insisted on ownership of the masters, a privilege even the big boys rarely enjoyed, let alone spectacularly unknown entities such as ourselves. We missed the boat, the plane, and the train, and that was that.

Well...not quite. The universe appears to have had other plans for our efforts. Cut to the Spring of 2005: on the other end of my home phone was a music fan, representing a notable rock music website who politely informed me that Surrender had become known worldwide, but no one knew anything about the band.

Myths about who we were, or weren't, had been perpetuated for years. Bless the Internet, the amount of chatter about us, from New Zealand to New Mexico, was unbelievable -touching and very amusing (see Our promotional CD, pressed in a very limited run to garner interest from record companies and radio stations, had been often copied, shared and traded. The CD cover had no credit information, nor the typical obsequious bio; the band photo was not printed on the cover (read: low-budget), and the contact information lead to a place that burned down ten years ago, with a phone number that was obviously out of service.

This record has been mercilessly exploited, without our knowledge or consent, for years, and the real fans of the music haven't been able to afford a copy because of the astronomical prices required to obtain the record, either the original, or in it's various bootlegged, inferior sounding incarnations such as MP3's with third generation scanned artwork.

Thus this release, which is completely fan-driven, and available at a price any fan can afford. And it sounds great! We've added three songs that didn't make it onto the original Surrender CD, and re-mastered the songs to offer improved audio fidelity along with the louder level required these days for a competitive musical presentation.

And, once again, we've done it ourselves.

Turn up the music, and love your life. Surrender was always about somehow finding the joy in being alive. 

Peace, Love and Respect, Always

Kenny Hamberg

New York City