Despite (or because of) Ian's aggressive promotional efforts, none of the major music magazines reviewed PsychoSexual's self-titled release. A half-page ad towards the back of an issue of Alternative Press went haywire in the print separation process. The album cover swirl of white and black stripes reproduced in a moosh that reportedly ignited nausea in a certain segment of nearsighted magazine connoisseurs.
More jarring, Ian's reputation as one of the leading irritating little spuds of the Palouse proved so solid, neither the WSU or U of I student-run radio stations would give the record a spin let alone contribute valuable radio show time to interview any of the band members, in person or by phone.
Despite hemorrhaging platitudes towards Sixboots, The Muddle, Karrot, and other blink-and-they're-gone acts, Seattle's homegrown music newspaper The Rocket ignored PsychoSexual. Due to the pick-and-choose freedom allowed by caller id, Ian's ever more petulant phone calls to the paper's editorial offices eventually went unanswered unless an intern was feeling particularly bored with that day's paper shuffling.
Those were the infant days of the Internet. Dial-up. Netscape Navigator. Mark Zuckerberg hadn't even sprouted a curlie. There were few doors for the band to try and wriggle through. One by one, they all slammed shut.
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