In gray light of a Sunday afternoon, the details are a little foggy. You didn’t really want to go out, but a friend dragged you to that bar … and there was some band there—you’re sure that much was real. That primal, pounding beat. The bastard son of Johnny Thunders and Poison Ivy on guitar. That singer who … wait, were you drinking with him at the bar during one of their songs? And was that one dude wearing a train conductor’s hat? Anyway, you remember it was fun—fun like 1966 invited you upstairs for coffee, but then 1977 burst in for a threesome, and it got all loud and sloppy and the neighbors called the cops—that kind of fun. And then you were talking to that cute bartender from Jersey City, and you’re pretty sure you got a number. So you fish around in your pocket and pull out a crumpled cocktail napkin, and you can still make it out: The Subway Surfers. “[The Subway Surfers are] a band that I have had a particular fondness for since I first heard their music, oh so many years ago.” Bill Kelly, The Teenage Wasteland, WFMU-FM