It has been stated by the band themselves and become lore that I hold the distinction of being the #1 Harvey Milk fan. Mind you, not as in the biggest fan of the band (although I’d fancy myself the biggest fan of far more bands), but as their first fan ever chronologically. Fan #00001. By 1993, less than a year past their birth date, I was pretty ate up with their unique three-piece wallop, as the more psychedelic and noisy local pop bands like The Olivia Tremor Control, Neutral Milk Hotel (both spawning from the godhead Synthetic Flying Machine), and Elf Power were just starting to gnaw at the fringe. Any time I’d run into Tanner, he’d ask how my recording of their show from the other night turned out, and my response would be met (predictably) with a “yeah, we sucked that night.” In the rare event I missed a Harvey Milk show, it was never because I was doing something else around town; usually it was because I had gone home to Pennsylvania or driven to Atlanta to see a band. And then the next time I saw Tanner, he would, without fail, toss out an “oh man, we were really good, you missed a great show.” Oh, Stephen. Such a mercurial punisher.

Among the countless Harvey Milk recordings I’ve accumulated over the years is a spotless recording of the band performing on Atlanta radio stalwart WREK 91.1 over at Georgia Tech in 1994. By this point the band had been kicking around the club circuit for barely two years. Two freakin’ years. Harvey Milk drove into Atlanta from Athens on a weeknight to perform their mystifying Southern Gothic dirge for the weirdos that religiously tune in to hear the vanguard of Georgia music on the Tech airwaves.

All these years later, I listen back to this recording and sit in sheer awe of what a fully formed, self-actualized, and succinct powerhouse Harvey Milk had become so quickly after their beginning not two years prior. While the band’s albums are unassailably well conceived and airtight, their live performances of the era leaned more on the material that lurked on their many seven-inch releases that sat dormant on local record shelves until the world outside of Georgia caught on, leading the locals to finally take stock of this puzzling and extremely righteous band. Taut megajams like “Probolcoc/Jim’s Polish,” “Yer Mouse Gets My Dander Up,” and “Women Dig It” were merely tucked away in singles bins while their full-length masterpieces had yet to find their fans across the globe. Nary a hair out of place.

Sitting on my patio during an extended layover a couple of years back, Tanner said, “Anything you ever want to put out by me, Creston, and Paulie is fair game.” Enter WhaRvEy milK. Originally engineered by Joe Whitaker with his legion of assistants and perfectly sweetened by Jason NeSmith, this release shows not just a band at the height of their powers but a band on the balls of their ass. No recognition. No cult of devoted superfans. Not yet. Just three dweebs becoming the astonishment we now know them to be.

Sleeve photography by the always amazing Hillery Terenzi. Set list drawn by Tanner. Each copy comes with one of four repro flyers from the band's shows around Athens and Atlanta during this time. All the other thankless slop done by yours truly because why the heck not. Dedicated with love to Doug Ahern.