Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
They're just looking to take a pounding. It's not just any pounding. It's their pounding. It's the one that was designed specifically for them. It's been tailored to fit, to apply and to resonate. They'll accept their pounding.
They hope that it won't go light on them. They'd rather know exactly how much they can take rather than feeling as if they got away with one or someone or something had gone easy on them. They'd like to feel what the brunt of it really does feel like - if it's any different than merely getting a swipe or a sideways glance. They know that they're not done any favors and this should be no different.
The people that Rob Bryn writes into Wild Yaks stories are gluttons for punishment. They court the shit. Seeing it coming is better than getting fleeced by it though, so they kind of taunt it. They'd figured that much out. They've had time to learn from their beatings, from their aches, from getting clawed, knifed and discarded. They've sucked the venom out of many punctures and they've enjoyed the sting of a few of them. They've almost had to, knowing that they'll never get away from all the undesirables. Some days, they think they might be one of them too. Bryn sings, "It's a world full of liars on false crusades," and when that's out there as an assessment, one can walk around with apprehension or with the mission to test boiling and breaking points for the fun of it. It's better to rage back, to upend tables and to say, "Bring it on, motherfuckers." When Bryn sings, "Tie me to a rock at the bottom of a cliff, next to the sea/Wave after wave after wave after wave," during a break from the din, he's doing just that.