12/31/11

Support your local record shop (Heartland Records being one of them)

I hate to admit it but a large part of my love for collecting records over the last 10 or so years has been driven by what essentially amounts to retail therapy.
By that I mean I have a big music collection because buying records for me was for so long not only just about obtaining the music for personal enjoyment (or in some rare cases, for playing at a club), but also about experiencing the thrill of acquiring it. Going through the ritual, I’m ashamed to say, was as much a part of the fix as actually owning it. That is to say, I loved my music, but I also loved trawling through online retailer lists, taking bids on other online sites, going through bargains bins in places ranging from op shops to markets, and of course spending hours vigorously going through racks and stands in my favourite music shops.
It’s a completely irrational impulse I know — hell, you could argue that the entire music industry is based on the same principle — but as I neared my 30th birthday I found that something unexpected began to occur. Horror of all horrors, as the years progressed I found that new music, specifically the new kind that really got me excited, seemed to become progressively more difficult to locate.
Surely, it had to be the state of the scene and all those damn downloaders and stuff… it couldn’t possibly be me, could it? I attribute my dislike for dubstep for that very reason. How could it be that my views are becoming rigid and out of touch… after all, dubstep just happens to be the in-thing at the moment. The millions of people who currently pretend to enjoy dubstep at the moment just happen to have it wrong. I’m confident they’ll get over it in the same way everyone got over electro-house and happy hardcore. Yeah, that’s definitely it.



Me and dubstep.
Alas, the day eventually arrived when I begrudgingly had to acknowledge that perhaps I was getting a bit rusty after all. The realisation occurred after I’d visited Heartland Records, my most favourite of favourite record stores, and also the scene of so many of my record buying splurges. I always imagined that I could happily spend eternity rifling through the new and classic material of this store… yet on this fateful day the excitement just didn’t seem to be working for me. For what must have been the first time ever, I walked out of Heartland without buying anything. Seriously, civilisation as we know it was about to end.
As it happens I had also started a Terrorizer magazine subscription at that time after I’d randomly picked up a copy of the magazine’s superb thrash metal special. A reader’s letter in a recent issue pretty much hit the nail on the head when he wrote to say he’d been into metal all his life and found that his views and tastes were getting narrower as he got older; as a result, he reverted to the classics he knew and loved (and Terrorizer kept him in touch with music worth listening to).
Feeling a little dejected about not having any more new music to hunt down, or maybe I was just missing that old thrill and fix, I coincidentally started doing exactly as that reader described, namely picking up a couple of what I consider metal classics. I’ve loved metal for 20 years and there are gaps in there that I’ve never filled. In fact, I imagine that I’d be a big fan of many of these releases if only I’d been young enough to be there at the time. Also, now that I’m so old and conservative and am not far off from living in a retirement village I didn’t want to risk being disappointed by ‘untested’ new music.
So I kind of started rekindling my love (fix?) for acquiring dark and alternative music. Now it just so happens that I recently turned 30 and various relatives had asked me what gifts they should get me for Christmas and / or birthday, given that the close chronological proximity of these two occasions in my case. “Heartland Records vouchers,” I told them.

Score!
And so it turns out I received $190 in vouchers to spend at my favourite record shop. In no particular order, here’s my haul from today’s raid.

SCORE!

An oldie (well 2002 anyway) but a goodie. A killer track from SOAD, even though I never got into this band much. The b-side, a cover of Black Sabbath’s Snowlbind, was kind of disappointing though.

Rammstein — Mein Land (seven-inch, not shown)
New Rammstein single, with an additional new b-side, intended to promote the band’s new Made In Germany best of compilation. Also, watch the video. Seriously.

Black Sabbath — Black Sabbath (deluxe edition album)
The album that started it all. For Sabbath and for heavy metal. More than 40 goddamn years ago! I don’t mind paying a little bit more for the extras. And there’s a nice long booklet telling the story of the album, which I’m looking forward to reading. This, kids (ha, I can totally pepper my phrases with “kids” now and sound legitimate saying it), is a historical album.

Snowblind and Supernaut are unbelievable tracks. The sound of this album is said to define what being a drug addict and an alcoholic during the ’70s was all about.
I also bought the shirt.

Destruction — Best Of (“Doppel CD” i.e. double CD compilation)
Bullet belts, unintentionally funny attempts at English lyrics, more bullet belts, head banging, beer, chainsaws, shotguns, German headbanging thrash metallers, and more bullet belts. I’ve never owned a Destruction album so this compilation ought to be a great place to start. Thank you Terrorizer thrash metal special for getting me into this.

Another band I got into much too late. Awesome industrial metal. I’ve heard purists curse albums from this Ministry era. Plus, the George W. Bush holograph turning into a reptile on the front is a superb touch.

This was released at around the time that the self-proclaimed Kings Of Metal commenced their slow ascent up their own arses. Goddamn I love the absurdly over the top Manowar cheese. Meeetaaaaaaaaaaal!

Butt-ugly, poor, pissed of Mexicans with shoddy studio equipment making some of the best EBM industrial duff duff you’ll ever hear. Dark as hell. These guys smoke the asses off their contemporaries. How many drug cartel wars are currently going on in your country, huh?

I’m a huge Maiden fan and I promised myself before today’s foray that I’d emerge with a piece of Maiden. I own the DVD so just the live tunes were a bargain at $10. Also, you’ve totally earned your metal stripes if you happen to attend a gig that is subsequently released as a live album... especially if it’s an Iron Maiden live album. In this case I hopefully get one seventeenth of a stripe, as one track on this was recorded at one of the Melbourne dates I went to.

Lacklustre single from Rammstein’s less than head-explodingly exciting last studio album. Indeed, good Rammstein remixes are notoriously few and far between. However, I bought this for the LOLs that is the Scooter remix. Absurdly cheesy and ridiculously so-bad-it’s-good. Great fun!

It was $1. That’s cheaper than iTunes you know. Yeah, it sounds an awful lot like Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da by the Beatles? Yeah, and? Did you know all rock music can be attributed to some black dude working a cotton field in America? Also, the last song on this three-tracker single (originally on the band’s first album apparently) is considerable less family schmaltzy than much of the radio friendly tunes released later in their career.

There's actually quite a bit more to the store than these pics would suggest.

Heartland Records is located at 61 Peel Street, West Melbourne, 3003.
Tel: (03) 9329 9636

12/15/11

A night out in three parts: Order Of Orias, live at The Bendigo Hotel, Nov 5, 2011 + (free!) drinks at some trendy hip place + stumbling off to DV8

Part II: Miss Libertine

Having seen just one of the five bands on the bill — the one that mattered anyway — and having satisfied my craving for kebab, I was very grateful to Nick (see my previous post) for dropping me off at my next destination, a large-ish bar and club I’d never been to called Miss Libertine.
Here I was to meet with another mate called Wolfgang, and yes, that really is his name. I bet the people you hang out with don’t have awesome first names like that. They'd have to be called Chuck Wayne or Arnold Fightmaster to come close. He’s someone I regularly bump into around the traps, and we usually end up talking about music, bands, and, well, music. However, until tonight we’d never had a proper cath-up outside of a gig or a club night. So, dosed up on metal and kebab, I entered this popular drinking establishment, whereupon entering the crowded premises I observed a few things.
The first thing I noticed was that it was hip. So very, very, very trendy and hip. Edgy young dudes wearing hats and short-sleeve tops had their designer tattoos on display while most of the girls who felt they could get away with it (and some who probably couldn’t) were also on display in inappropriately short skirts and handbags.
Secondly, I quickly discovered that the venue was serving free booze. Lots of it. In a city where the active nightlife is inevitably dominated by traditionally expensive bar prices, such a generous offering is almost unprecedented. And I don’t mean free drinks as in “pay $369 for entry and get a free glass of champagne” — I mean “can I please have two imported beers and not pay for them” kind of free. Interestingly enough, and I give credit to the venue for this, I noticed that this phenomenon was not being abused.
When I was 18 or 19 I once (and only once) went to this club that provided free booze all night long in exchange for a $20 entry-fee (and keep in mind that $20 in 2001 according to the Reserve Bank Of Australia Inflation Calculator is more than $25 in modern dollars, so that wasn't quite as cheap as it seems). I think the venue was called something like the Commercial Club, and no, in calling it that there wasn’t a hint of intended irony or edginess, it was simply the fact that it was located on Commercial Road. From memory, this night was exceedingly unpleasant, with five-thick echelons of people impatiently pushing towards the bar, aggressively jostling for an opening until they finally got served every 50 minutes. Even worse, I never came close to getting my money’s worth in “free” booze. Also, the music was crap.
Not so with this venue (the behaviour part I mean — the music was still crap). For whatever reason, a potentially explosive swill fest remained entirely civilised, and I take my hat off to the organisers for managing to achieve such a feat with no immediately visible douchebags spoiling the situation.
My third observation concerned the music being played and how much I thought it sucked. Grooving along to the very best in top 40 and commercial smash hits were gaggles of girls in high heels, creating movement in those inappropriately short skirts, their legs planted around fixed dance floor circles in which were found beacons of handbags. Geez, I can’t remember the last time I was in one of these places, I thought. But hey, the beer was free, so why am I complaining?
After taking in the bar and the really happenin’ dancefloor I got caught in a bottleneck on my way to the outside balcony. Here an attractive young lady said some excessively bubbly hellos to Wolfgang, complete with kisses on the cheek and a tight hug. She must have been 21 or 22 and had some trendy-looking ink on her shoulders. Then she landed a mildly forceful hug on me and attempted to kiss me on the cheek too, seeing as, you know, I was Wolfgang’s mate and all. I guess she didn’t think much of my hello to you too though — if we were shaking hands then my attempt at avoiding a kiss and hug would have amounted to a limp cold fish. Clearly she wasn't impressed because she insisted I say hello to her properly. “I want your lips to touch my cheek," she instructed.
“Uhm…,” I mumbled.
“I’ll be right,” I said.
Then there was this fantastically awkward pause where neither of us said anything.
Thankfully, she had the courtesy to extricate us with a mildly witty repartee that allowed us both to retain some measure of dignity. “You must be the only grownup here,” she said, and flittered off.
Apparently she worked at the venue.
One of the more interesting encounters occurred a few drinks later with one of Wolfgang’s friends. I vaguely recall seeing her at various noise gigs and the occasional house party but that was it mostly.
We quickly established that yes, the alternative / duff / goth /noise / industrial world is at times even smaller and incestuous than we imagine it to be. Then we somehow got onto the topic of tattoos where I said something to the effect of it must be pretty ballsy for her to have ink work that remains visible on places other than arms and shoulders. That is, she had the sort of tattoos you don’t bother covering up. In response, she showed me a small piece on the back of her neck.


Got it?

Now funnily enough, that also happens to be the name of one of my favourite industrial tunes, released a while back by Velvet Acid Christ, or VAC for short. When this girl showed me her There Is No God tattoo I casually asked if that had anything to do with VAC. I was fully expecting a blank look, as often occurs when I make obscure industrial music references, but next thing you know her face veritably lit up.
“Oh my God, you’re only the second person to ever mention that,” she said delightedly (I’d had a few drinks so she may not have mentioned the “God” part).
We exchanged Facebook details and a few days later I noticed that her first post on my feed was a photo of her displaying snot that she had extracted herself.
True story.

12/8/11

A night out in three parts: Order Of Orias, live at The Bendigo Hotel, Nov 5, 2011 + (free!) drinks at some trendy hip place + stumbling off to DV8

Another night out on the town proves to be a healthy reminder why I steer clear of the “normal” side.
Part I: Order Of Orias
I sort of know one the guys in this band from back in the day when I had no job and would religiously head to a free weekly Thursday night metal club in the city. Now I’m gainfully employed and don’t go out nearly as much — I’m told by those who have had kids that I still ain’t seen nothin’ yet on the “staying at home” front — so when my good friend Nick (you’ll probably hear more about him in future posts) told me he was going to support Order Of Orias I was only too thrilled to come along.


This used to be every Thursday night of my life.
I’d seen this band a year or two ago, part of it probably because a small part of me wanted to remind itself that I still manage to get out and be merry metal from time to time. I even bought the t-shirt and the demo before I heard them play! There should be more people like me LOL.
Now here was a chance to catch them again as they were opening in a five-band line-up. The operative word here is opening — sadly we wouldn’t be catching the rest of the show, seeing as Nick was in the midst of nailing a fancy university degree. True trooper that he is, he compromised and went to support his mate’s band but skipped out the rest of the night. In other words, for his study break he went to see an extreme metal band before heading home and getting right back to studying. Goddamn I wish I was still at uni.
Order Of Orias were intense the last time I saw them play. And heavy as. It was in the dark and rather spacious Central Club in Richmond with lots of people wearing black t-shirts. This is going to sound like every other impression you’ve ever read of a live band, but the closest description I can think of is that of an “aural assault”. Everything was brutal and fast. My ears rang when I left the venue. Wimps and posers would leave the hall I imagine…
This time it was in an equally dark but much smaller band room. In such a relatively small space, with a trickle of people filtering in, there’s generally a noticeable quietness at first. When the house PA isn’t cranking out the tunes and the people there haven’t even finished their first beer, it suddenly feels terrifyingly loud when the first band for the night obliterates the silence.
As I said, the last time I saw them it was a set-piece frontal attack. This time I noticed it was more mobile, more varied, and pretty tight. The set was interspersed with what I thought were some really cool slower tracks, which I thought was a nice departure from the previous carpet bombing assault. In fact, during one of said slower tunes I remember thinking, “Geez, a guitar solo would be awesome right now” — and as if reading my mind, this immediately occurred. I’m starting to like this band more and more.
So it was a tight performance and it turned out that most of what had been played would be appearing on their very recently released debut album, Inverse. In very metal fashion it’s also available on vinyl. I got my CD copy from World Terror Committee (be aware that there seems to be some suspect right wing shit going on behind the scenes of this distro — if that doesn't sit well with you, then maybe get your copy direct from the band). The ordering system is a bit funny — as far as I can tell, if you want pay via Paypal you have to specify in the comments field when you order that you’re doing so — but I got around it eventually. Impressions will follow at a later time.
And with that Nick had to get back to his higher education, but not before we fulfilled the ancient club and gig-going tradition that is consuming a late night kebab. Then he kindly dropped me off at my next destination…

11/23/11

Icon Of Coil + Komor Kommando + NorthBorne, live at The Hi-Fi Melbourne, October 28, 2011

Icon Of Coil (IoC), if you hadn’t heard of them, were something of a big deal some years ago in the goth industrial world.
A brief history of the band goes something like this. They were founded in 1997 by front-man Andy LaPlegua (fact: his real name is Ole Anders Olsen). They eventually became a three-piece and released three influential EBM-duff albums: Serenity Is The Devil in 2000, The Soul Is In The Software in 2002, and Machines Are Us in 2004. In 2005 they released a remix album, after which things became real quiet.
The inactivity had a lot to do with the fact that Andy LaPlegua was rapidly becoming fabulously successful doing his Combichrist solo project — while somehow still finding the time to release some excellent music as Scandy (the only Scandy full-length, 13 Ways To Masturbate, is one of my favourite electronic albums) and Panzer AG.
The other two members of IoC also dabbled in various projects. Sebastian Komor produced music under half a dozen or so project monikers including Melt, Squarehead, Zombie Girl, Monofader, and Komor Kommando. Unfortunately, he just never quite seemed able to land the same recognition or commercial success as his counterpart. The third member, Christian Lund, eventually began making music as NorthBorne, an obscure little bleepy project that seems to have a small but strong cult following.
So for a while there it looked like IoC was finished and their exceptionally catchy and danceable music seemed destined for obscurity and nostalgia. Back in the day there was hardly a goth industrial player-of-other-people’s-music who didn’t at the very least have the better known IoC tunes in their collection. But no more. Die-hard fans had their worst fears confirmed when in 2006 the band re-issued their three albums.

Jump forward a few years and IoC are unexpectedly back together for a show or two. A few shows turned into a few more shows which turned into a tour, which is how I found myself seeing the re-formed band on the Australian “Halloween 2011” tour, the line-up also comprising Komor Kommando and Northborne. So began my night at the Hi-Fi Bar & Ballroom, but not before we got to experience record quantities of Melbourne rain on our way into town, a meteorological phenomenon that would “dampen” attendance for the night.

Getting started
Christian Lund was first on the bill with the quirky and repetitive bleepishness that is NorthBorne. Bedecked in a hoodie and vague terrorist-like mask he seemed very energetic despite the venue’s general lack of punters. Thankfully, a few die-hards were having a boogie at the front, which seemed to keep him motivated. I’m not a muso but I can imagine that nothing would suck more than playing a large-ish venue to an empty floor.
More people filtered in by the time Komor Kommando started but it soon became apparent that this was going to be one of “those” gigs — a small crowd (I’m told final attendance was just 100 in a venue with a capacity of around 900) but one hopefully bursting with appreciation. In my experience these sorts of gigs can go either way because the small crowd can result in a show that is fantastically intimate and awesome… or plain embarrassing for all involved. I would find out shortly…
Sebastian Komor’s show turned out to be the biggest surprise for the night. As with NorthBorne, I was surprised by a vocal and highly enthusiastic element in the crowd. “These peope are in the know,” I thought to myself. “Good on ’em.” But as he kept playing I really felt that this was going to be unexpectedly special. My personal “wow” moment arrived when I felt the first spectacularly cheesy strains of what I thought for a moment was an Ennio Morricone cowboy anthem.
“This is his interpretation of every corny Western film ever made, complete with gunshots and horse noises,” a good friend informed me as it really got going. And boy was he right. The tune (Hasta Luego — below) single-handedly made my night. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculously cheesy, catchy and funny-epic and it’s been on repeat ever since — much to the annoyance of my fiancée.
Having said that, I’m less sure if his tongue-in-cheek attempt to “resonate” with the Aussie crowd by looping AC/DC went down so well. Personally I loved its awful tastelessness, but I just didn’t see it going off for some of the more “serious” punters. This ochre block of true blue Aussie rock did, however, gave rise to my favourite line for the night, and one which I would be repeating during the lulls between songs for the rest of the night (again, much to the annoyance of the “serious” attendees). “Play some fucken Barnsey!”


Incidentally, at a similar gig some weeks later I would have this party trick backfire on me when the singer, in all seriousness, yelled back: “What? Play something bouncy?”

Icon Of Coil
The highlight of the evening was naturally going to be the main serving comprising all three members doing their thing. Front-man Andy did an excellent job of working the crowd and basically being very imposing, but even so, the performance wasn’t the sheer aggression and hateful craziness of the two Combichrist gigs that I’d seen in years past. Instead, he came across more as the singer in a cohesive unit, albeit one made up of guys playing pre-recorded music on synthesisers and laptops. Of course, one of the downsides to having all your music sequenced is that when the house audio controls go down unexpectedly, your entire performance disappears with it. In mid chorus there was an odd pop whereupon everything went dead. “Welcome to Australia,” cam the immediate response from crowd.
Thankfully, this technical issue got sorted quickly and it was on with the show. As I mentioned before, back in the day just about every industrial DJ carried a good number of IoC tunes in their repertoire, the reason being of course that this band was responsible for releasing so many great songs. Sadly, one of the things about a band not being in your face all the time and fading into nostalgia is that you’re more likely to forget what made them great in the first place. My logic is that a band that releases rubbish at least reminds you of the good old days when they were still releasing quality. I think the effect of the evening was succinctly summarised by my good friend Abby, a massive fan from way back and also the person who kindly provided the photos in this post.
“What did you think?” I asked in my croakiest post-cheering-til-I’m-hoarse voice.
“You know, I love Icon Of Coil, but I forgot just how many great songs they had. It just kept going and going. It was awesome!”
It certainly was. And it was a heck of a lot more than mere nostalgia. The small but exceptionally enthusiastic crowd did its best to ensure that this evening would be a top night. Plus that extra room on the floor left plenty of space for all to dance their arses off.
Now if only Andy LaPlegua would revive Scandy. That’d be brilliant. Or at least get back to making another decent Combichrist album.
And finally: a word on musicians…
What is it about musicians and their capacity to be so exceedingly harsh to their own kind? Maybe it’s just me, but it seems to be a particularly prevalent phenomenon when someone becomes commercially successful in what was previously a small pond. Or maybe it’s just the good old fashioned Aussie tall poppy syndrome?
The goth industrial world and the success of Combichrist is a typical example. There’s a reason why the inlay notes to the Get Your Body Beat EP — the first release to follow Combichrist’s first commercial-breakthrough, Everybody Hates You — contained the words “With success comes bitching.”
Two comments from people I talked to on the night really stuck with me, both of them from seasoned musicians.
One was from a talented young chap who listens to a lot of harsher, twisted electronics. He’s a lovely bloke who takes his music producing very seriously and I genuinely hope that one of these days he can take credit for one of his own breakthrough releases. “I’m only here to see NorthBorne and Komor Kommando,” he announced to me. “Fair enough,” I thought, seeing as IoC is not everyone’s cup of tea. “Will you be leaving straight after Komor Kommando then,” I asked innocently.
Oh of course not, was the reply, and I left it at that. But I had to wonder why someone felt the urge to go out of their way to make it clear to me that they weren’t here for the main attraction? What’s the objective there? I don’t know.
The other comment was from a seasoned musician with a load of projects and quite a few gigs under his belt. I explained to him how awesomely bad and brilliantly cheesy and catchy Komor’s previously mentioned Hasta Luego track was.
“It just goes to show,” he said. “You can have the shittest song but people will still like it if you get the layers just right.” I was tempted to disagree but again I left it at that. What makes a good song, I wondered? If the effect of a song is that it’s enjoyable and good fun, does it really matter how it’s produced?
Fun is why we listen to this music and why we dance to it. Fun is why some people take the time and effort to produce it. Fun doesn’t have to be complex or inaccessible or take time to develop. Fun should be just that — fun. Let’s not forget that.

5/1/11

The Ren & Stimpy Show

I found this single for $0.99 at my local Salvation Army store. That’s cheaper than iTunes. Of course the Salvation Army is — for all the good it apparently does — a rabidly anti gay evangelical church that operates a slick PR and advertising machine. I guess that’s a discussion for another time… probably in relation to the number of concerts that have been cancelled in recent months due to organised religious lobbying. For now, here’s something less religiousy, namely…

I Wanna Be A DJ [click to see the Discogs.com release info]

A radio DJ!

This two-track single appears to be part of what looks loosely like a 1995 concept album released by the voices of cartoon characters Ren and Stimpy, along with a backing band. The title track on this single, which refers to the traditional radio announcer DJ, is a three and a half something ditty straight out of a musical, orated by Stimpy. At one time he even refers to himself as DJ Stimpy.

It’s a quirky tune where he keeps repeating the title words, then on each hook he is accompanied by an over-the-top male radio voice exclaiming the same. The lyrics deal with Stimpy’s desire to announce, interview, and in particular his wish to give things away on air.

This CD reminded me of the cartoon (funny that). While I confess that I never watched enough of The Ren & Stimpy Show to call myself a real fan, I did catch enough to appreciate its warped humour — a hard to define mix of the very funny yet the somehow tasteless and gross. Indeed, the “earwax” or “nostril hair” humour of this show went on to embody the neurotic style of so many Nickelodeon shows after it.

And that’s what this CD has even though I feel it’s kind of toned down. The first lines detail how Stimpy was born inside an old tube-radio, followed by how his mother licked him clean while he slept (complete with slurping sound effect). There’s the juvenile humour — he refers to “breaking news” and how he’s going to “glue it together again”. And there’s much of the dumb innocence of Ren’s character.

This last point, I feel, may go a long way to explaining why some people just don’t get Ren & Stimpy. They see the grossness and the earwax, the close-ups, and the neurosis-induced bloodshot eyes. Yet the characters were exceedingly well refined and developed (at least based on what I saw). They might constantly act in a way that would get the writers in trouble with the Nickelodeon producers; but if it was shocking it wasn’t merely for the sake of it. As I said, its influence was quite something. There’d certainly be no SpongeBob SquarePants or Invader Zim if it weren’t for The Ren & Stimpy Show.

So maybe get this if you’re a fan? Or maybe get it if you just want something that gives the appearance of being clean and innocent, but which you know, just under the surface, harbours something hilariously unspeakable.

4/24/11

Act On Instinct

Josh (aka Sirus — he’s got an EP out by the way which I recommend you check out) and I were having a rather nerdy conversation at Cabaret Nocturne nightclub last week. It was early in the night and serious dancing was yet to begin (the EBM / industrial room hadn’t opened), so naturally the conversation steered to video games, specifically video game soundtracks.
As we talked, this nice chap whose name I forget was sort of on the periphery of our conversation, kind of just politely listening as one does when one isn’t quite involved in a conversation but is still signalling one’s intent to join in. Then Josh happened to mention how much he liked the soundtrack from Command & Conquerthe classic PC game that essentially invented top-down view, real-time strategy shooters upon its release all the way back in 1995, and which kicked off a franchise that is still making lots of money today.

Suddenly this chap’s eyes lit up and he mentioned that he was a fan. “Oh yeah, cool,” I said. “Which one’s your favourite,” I asked.

“All of them,” he said.

Then he showed us his Brotherhood Of Nod shoulder tattoo — they’re the bad guys from Command & Conquer and its many sequels.


This guy is serious about playing Command & Conquer.
Damn serious, son, damn serious.





A momentary silence followed as we suddenly came to the realisation that we’d been thoroughly out-nerded. “Respect!” I think was our immediate response.

Anyway, Josh had mentioned how much he liked the original Command & Conquer soundtrack, and then he said that it happens to be free to listen to (but not download) on the composer’s webpage, a guy called Frank Klepacki.

I’m told that being a video game programmer is a thankless, poorly paid, horrendously competitive profession, especially for the legions of entry-levels who hope to make it big some day.

So I imagine that being a video game soundtrack programmer is even more cutthroat. Frank Klepacki has, by the looks of it, made a serious career out of it (though I can’t tell you if he also has a Brotherhood Of Nod tattoo). Among his achievements he lists beating Trent Reznor in the PC Gamer Best Game Soundtrack award, going up against Quake, another classic videogame; being a session drummer for funk legends The Family Stone; and a producer in Las Vegas music studios, which I’m guessing is probably both far more profitable and also far less glamorous than being a video games music composer.



Trent Reznor finds out he didn’t win the PC Gamer award for Best Game Soundtrack.




Anyway, upon visiting his site my personal highlight was finding the music for the track Act On Instinct. For some reason I always thought it was called The Command & Conquer Theme or something.

To get to it, scroll down to the bottom of the page, scroll through the ‘music’ tab and find Command & Conquer, then scroll down in ‘track list’.

When you click on it the description reads: “The track that kicked off the game and made history!”

That statement can be taken literally, as this track was indeed the opening music to the first mission on the original Command & Conquer game.

It’s an instantly recognisable tune — its menacing, militant, industrial theme is unmistakable to anyone who ever played, or should I say, became hopelessly addicted to, the original Command & Conquer game.

The funniest part (to me anyway), however, is the fact that I found it impossible to listen to the first minute or two of that track without also imagining the automatic gunfire and cheesy screams of dying soldiers that occurred within the first 30 seconds of playing the first mission.

Seriously, if you’ve ever played this game at any length do me a favour and play Act On Instinct and try telling me you don’t imagine those very same sound effects.


You can buy Frank Klepacki’s music on iTunes where I notice the track Hell March, which featured in Red Alert, the Command & Conquer sequel, is by far the most popular track. Sadly, I recall how back in the day, my PC didn’t have the specs for Red Alert, so I never quite got into it as others evidently did. Clearly, Hell March, a metal-guitar driven industrial stomper (yeah it’s a good track but it didn’t quite do it for me) is for many more people what Act On Instinct is for me.

So please, one of you clever EBM / industrial DJ types… I urge you to unleash the inner nerdy brotherhood on the dancefloor and mix this track into your next set. The intro will go beautifully with lots of dancey industrial stuff. Maybe even loop that intro once or twice if you’re really clever.

Please do it. It’ll go off like a GDI ion cannon.