Your headphones are drenched in sweat, lower back locked in the shape of an old office chair, and the crushed aluminum of too much guzzled taurine litters the space around your feet. Your heart pounds like a bass drum. It's 3 a.m., and the pulsating blood vessels in your eyeballs are red. You have an unblinking liquid crystal stare, and adrenal jitters betray the 19-hour studio session your body has endured. Plus, you stink. But the anthem to mayhem you've composed is beyond amazing; it's Earth-shattering. So you've burnt several CD... More >>>