Ulcerate, Denouncement Pyre, Altars | Death metal at the Bendigo Hotel | June 27, 2015

“What are you doing for the weekend?” someone asked? “I’m going to see some wonderfully disgusting, filthy death metal at a wonderfully, disgusting, filthy venue,” I said.

Ok, so the Bendigo Hotel is actually not bad a venue, and is hardly disgusting and filthy. Indeed, if you’re a live rock music kind of person from Melbourne then you may be acquainted with the toilets just down the road at the famous Tote hotel. Now they’re pretty special!

The Bendigo Hotel is one of those venues that is brilliant by virtue of the fact that it puts on gigs and music that most other venues won’t touch, among them a high proportion of Australian death metal, black metal, punk, and rock gigs — music that gets people running and screaming. Plus, it’s got a nice beer garden.

The occasion to visit the Bendigo Hotel was to see an extreme metal band showcase, featuring two Australian death metal outfits (ok, one was technically blackend thrash for the kvlt purists; hands up all two of you), plus some well known gentlemen from New Zealand.

Altars are a local outfit I don’t know much about. I’d call them an underground Australian death metal act, playing thick, heavy and complex extreme music that Morbid Angel lovers may appreciate.

Denouncement Pyre are another Melbourne band, playing a fierce brand of what some like to refer to as blackened thrash. They’re on the Hells Headbangers record label and heavy metal shop and have a thing for playing tight, heavy, blackened death metal.

Ulcerate were the headliner and are arguably New Zealand’s best known extreme metal band right now. They play complex, technical, dark, thick, oppressive death metal; they have time changes and ever-changing murky guitar riffs; they all have short hair; and they’re on the well-known Relapse Records store and label that provides international distribution. Choice bro!

It all looked like it was going to be a good gig. But first, we had to get there! You see, public transport in Melbourne is fundamentally designed to get people into the city and out again. As we soon discovered — or perhaps we should have known better, seeing as we both live there — travelling through the inner city isn’t quite what as easy.

We had the audacity to visit a friend’s house beforehand in Richmond, which took a train and a tram to get there. From there it was another two trams plus an extensive walk through the back streets of Collingwood. We called it the scenic route. In winter. In the dark. That’s pretty metal, right?

Eventually we got there but before I go any further, I should get one or two things off my chest.

Denouncement Pyre at the Bendigo Hotel (pic: Bed)

Australian death metal

I always say — because it’s something I feel very strongly about — that people get way too obsessed about making it known just how rubbish a certain band was they didn’t like. The mere fact that you were there becomes all the more reason to cry even louder about it, even if the performance wasn’t actually that terrible and merely didn’t knock you off your socks. Indeed, if you want to know what real rubbish sounds like, just glance at this week’s iTunes charts or last year’s most streamed music.

I guess that’s my feeble excuse for disclosing that I didn’t see much of the first band, Altars. The tremendous amount of changing trams, the long walk, and the sheer enthralling scenery of the back street of Collingwood had thoroughly worn me out. I did say the Bendigo Hotel had a nice beer garden.

Denouncement Pyre

Denouncement Pyre live was the outfit I was most looking forward to. I could attempt to half-arsedly describe the Denouncement Pyre live set, but you’ve heard similar accounts a million times before, filled with terms like “brutal” and “heavy” and “savage”. It’s far more meaningful if I tell you that one person in our entourage who is not at all into black and death metal — but who still gets out plenty and is into some cool music — made a point of saying how much he liked it. When someone who doesn’t own or wear a bullet belt says how tight your death metal band is, then you’re onto a good thing.

Denouncement Pyre are a band going places – literally. They’re playing Maryland Deathfest 2016. Plus, a cover of Motörhead — Sacrifice near the end was a great way to close proceedings (also, everyone should listen to at least on Motörhead album every day).

My only real complaint was the conduct of one or two punters in the front row. Call me old and cranky, but — now that I’m no longer of that age where I can happily drink and party all night, grab two hours of sleep and still survive a shift at some shitty casual job, and then have enough spark to head out again that night — I’ve also grown noticeably less keen on copping beer showers.

Now, During Denouncement Pyre, there were one or two interesting characters near the front. One chap (not the dude shown below; he was having an awesome time), a rather rough looking gentleman, was clearly and very intensely into the music, which was a good thing. Much rage and blasphemy was evident in him, if the way he invoked the Elder Gods in the sky of the Bendigo Hotel band room ceiling was anything to go by. This too was a good thing.

Not so cool was the fact that all this skyward blaspheming evidently wasn’t enough to appease those dark deities and bring about the desired Apocalyptic Reckoning — those Elder Gods demand more, in this case in the form of a beer sacrifice (maybe he knew that Motörhead track was coming?). 

Denouncement Pyre put on a tight set. This guy (not the Beer Blasphemer) in the front was awesomely getting into the drumming.

Entire volumes could be written (and probably have) on correct behaviour at a heavy metal show, be it a pub, a festival or a squat. That unspoken line that dictates when it’s cool to be thrashing like a maniac and when you’re expected to mind your personal space is a silent code that blow-ins, onlookers and other non-metal types find hard to comprehend. Kind of like when foreigners try to comprehend Aussie rules footy.

For the uninitiated, all that good, friendly, violent fun at a heavy metal gig means learning a whole new etiquette, much of which can only be truly understood by being in the thick of it. And while the Rules of Metal abound with oddities, contradictions, and exceptions, the one thing everyone does agree on — whether you’re making a grim statement on the human condition by misanthropically crossing your arms in the front row, or running laps in a circle pit with 400 other human bumper cars — is this simple rule: don’t be a tool!

Now this gentleman wasn’t doing the right thing by his beer. Appearing somewhat tired and emotional, he had his arm outstretched and his beer at the end of it, swaying about, threatening to spill over at any moment. While there are those who may enjoy dousing themselves in beer, I personally prefer to go home dry. There were at least half a dozen of us and we all stepped back, resulting in a subtle but nonetheless unnatural gap near the front of the stage, a gap that should have been filled with banging heads and thrashing hair.

But here’s the odd thing.

As Beer Blasphemer did his thing there was suddenly some unexpected body contact with a fellow innebriator. It was hardly a collision, nor was it that dramatic, but it was definitely a close meeting of personal space.

Beer Blasphemer slowly raised his head and looked menacingly at the other chap.

“Here we go,” I thought, readying myself to retreat from something that looked like it could blow up — whereupon Beer Blasphemer promptly smothered the guy with a glorious man-hug, a warrior embrace that would make a Norse chieftain proud. It happened several times and they all had a great time.

No violence ensued and the Elder Gods were pleased.

Ulcerate

All this excitement was getting too much for an oldie like me, so once Denouncement Pyre finished we returned to the beer garden. Eventually I got back to the band room to catch the last three or four tracks of Ulcerate’s tar-like brand of complex, technical death metal.

It’s great to see a death metal band obviously enjoying the music they love. They must have worked hard for it throughout their discography and have some notable recognition by being on the well-known Relapse Records heavy metal record label. They took the time and effort to tour Australia, which cannot be cheap when coming from New Zealand.

I especially liked the ferocious vocals, and the rest of Ulcerate were exceedingly precise. It’s the first time I’ve seen a metal drummer — on a kit that must have occupied half the stage — play live with some large headphones, which, I was told later, was a click-track. His look of concentration could have stunned a small child, and the whole setup suggested that this was someone who was highly dedicated to their craft (although I heard at least one comment of “isn’t that cheating?”).

If only there’d been a momentary lull in the applause and cheering between songs. That way everyone could have heard me yell out “Choice bro!” I’d been hanging out all night to say that but all that crowd approval meant no one would get to hear me do it.

So I enjoyed Ulcerate but I concluded that it wasn’t quit my cup of tea, this dark and heavy music meandering a little too much for my liking. There were nonetheless many in the audience who evidently were far more into this brand of New Zealand death metal than I was.

And yes, I still bought Vermis, the fourth album in the Ulcerate discography, for $20, from the death metal merch table.

Ulcerate live. Yeah, I know it's a rubbish photo. Send me a better pic if you've got one.

Ulcerate: Vermis

There’s an old bit of conventional wisdom that says value equates to a dollar a wear. It’s the same with music, particularly if you collect a lot of physical media like I do.

A dollar a listen per track means a $10 album, once listened to 10 times in full, has paid for itself. This formula is great for a $5 CD, since you can probably bring yourself to listen to something at least five times if you want to be absolutely sure it’s not for you.

However, it can be a problem if you invest in a fancy box set that turns out to be disappointing. Imagine, having to listen to a mediocre album 50+ times just to get your money’s worth!

At the time of publication I’d listened to Vermis about six or so times. This means I’ve got another 14 full listens to go before I get proper value from it.

Maybe by then I will have become a full convert and Ulcerate’s death metal will have become my cup of tea?

Kollaps + Terror Nullius at the Lyrebird Lounge: the memorable gigs aren’t always the most anticipated

I went to see post industrial music mongers Kollaps and supporting crust punk music outfit Terror Nullius at Melbourne’s Lyrebird Lounge. It was a free gig on a Friday night in a small but cosy suburban pub. Personally I couldn't think of a better way to seek out the (possibly) best industrial music (and filthy, thick crust punk)?

Kollaps + Terror Nullius at the Lyrebird Lounge | June 19, 2015

I’ll tell you shortly about the gig and how it went. But the dominant thought on my way there was how lucky I am to live in a city such as Melbourne with such a fantastic live music and rock scene. It reminded me how the most memorable gigs are often the ones preceded by minimum expectations.

To clarify: memorable gigs aren’t necessarily the best gigs, and minimum expectations do not necessarily mean low expectations.

Rather, memorable gigs are those which, for whatever reason, become happy conversational references. It might be the unexpectedness of the occasion, or the lack of preconception as to what’s about to occur on stage. It’s a principle that holds true for almost any type of fun social encounter, be it seeing a movie you’d never heard of or bumping into someone you hadn’t heard from for ages and then having an unplanned coffee or stronger beverage.

As for gigs, sometimes it’s the oddities before or after the event that transform the occasion from something that simply happened into an actual future talking point.

For example, when the four of us headed to the Lyrebird Lounge from my friend’s house — his place is located within close walking distance to his local rock pub, which is of course the best kind of distance to any rock pub — we spotted this finely dressed gentleman standing by the front of the gate in this block of apartments.

Now keep in mind that it’s Friday night, it’s very dark, there’s no one about, and it was the middle of winter. This chap smiled at us and with the utmost friendliness mentioned that he was having some small trouble with his mother-in-law.

“She has trouble sleeping with the light on,” he said.

Suddenly, a member of our group sprang into action. Why, of course he could help. “Do you have a light switch that needs switching off?” he exclaimed, whereupon he was promptly invited into his place to turn off said light switch. The gentleman was most thankful, even apologetic, but we made a point of saying that it was no problem at all and we wished each other a good night.

If it’s not obvious what was going on, religious doctrine constrained this man from doing — and directly asking for — that thing which he so politely implied he needed help with. And while I’m an atheist who sincerely feels you are entitled to believe in anything you want, from Pastafarianism to multi-millennia old scripture — as long as you’re not an asshole about it — I admired this gentlemen for his intense dedication. In the middle of winter. In the dark. On a dark Friday night. Plus, he seemed like a lovely guy.

As we headed off into the dark backstreets of the actually-quite-lovely Ripponlea, we knew we were close to the Lyrebird Lounge.

Terror Nullius. Crust punk!

We felt it. And then we definitely heard it before we came close to seeing it. A piercing, teeth-jarring noise from across the street. Clearly we’d arrived in time to hear crust punk outfit Terror Nullius. We went to across the road to withdraw beer money before bravely entering the Lyrebird Lounge. There we were met by shrieking riffs, screeching vocals, a drumkit suffering some severe abuse, and a polite and respectful audience sitting close to the stage around assorted round bar tables.

I mean no disrespect to anyone when I say Terror Nullius were discordant, harsh, and brilliantly, ear-bleedingly awful in so many excellent ways. If collapsing institutions and the violent fall of authority has a sound track, it would be a crust punk band like Terror Nullius.

Talking of things collapsing, the second band on the bill was industrial band Kollaps — and again, a band name doesn’t get any more industrial than Kollaps with a k.

Apart from the obvious Einstürzende Neubauten references, seeing this performance reminded me that there has historically been so much more to that complex and inherently contradictory phenomenon that is industrial music than just synthesizers and the large amount of gothic industrial music that is occasionally a rich source of debate among goths and rivet heads.

The Kollaps Facebook page describes the band as a “Nihilistic Melbourne based post-punk/noise trio.” There was lots of guitar feedback and post punk vocal wailing. It seemed like there was some Serious Business on the small stage. It wasn’t my cup of tea but it certainly wasn’t boring.

I imagine that this is the closest I’ll ever get to travelling back three decades to an English squat gig, somewhere within the abandoned wastes of a declining industrial town, hanging out with musical deviants to see dangerous artistic sickos become wreckers of civilisation. It was actually in a small suburban bar that happens to serve excellent pizza, with a small but appreciative audience sitting mere feet from the small stage around bar tables. There was no broken glass or civil disorder, although both bands announced they were in fact playing a squat gig next week, so that did enhance the authenticity.

My favourite part of the Kollaps industrial music set was the use of a steel spring as an instrument. I thought it was an excellent use of industrial materials, in the finest tradition of DIY, improvised instrument in industrial music (although I was told by a separate source that steel springs were previously used by Einstürzende Neubauten). If I do see Kollaps again, I hope to hear more live steel springs. Because steel springs are farkin' industrial!

Melbourne's Kollaps. Wreckers of civilisation.

Pity I didn't get a pic of the steel spring as an instrument.

So that was our night. It was a free gig with two bands making noisy, abrasive, unconventional and nihilistic music. I’ll be filing away pleasant recollections of this event for the future. I’m not a mystic so I can’t tell you under what context that’s going to occur. “Remember the time we went to the Lyrebird and that guy asked us if could turn the light off in his house for him” might be one. “This reminds me of the time that industrial band had a steel spring as an instrument” might be another.

Too many people — when they see a metal or punk or industrial or rock band they don’t like — get caught up in energetically making it known just how much they feel these bands are rubbish.

Yet one merely need turn to almost any radio station or on-hold music to be reminded that the real rubbish is forever stacked up as far as the eye can see.

It’s something, personally, that I feel very strongly about. “Internecine conflict is always the most savage,” a friend often says. Terror Nullius + Kollapse live at the Lyrebird Lounge will not rank as one of the best gigs I’ve ever seen, but it certainly was memorable, and for all the right reasons, if not for all the obvious ones.

Is there any point to enjoying a cultural event if it leaves no lasting memory? I would take two bands like this any day over the sea of commercial rubbish known as mainstream music.

When it was finally time to leave the venue we concluded that there just aren’t enough cool places like the Lyrebird Lounge.

If you live in Melbourne, it’s not a real suburb until it’s got its own rock bar.

Especially when it serves such excellent pizza.

What did Trent Reznor say to this fan who wanted his autograph tattooed?

I met Chris at a friend’s barbeque, talking, as one does, about music. He happened to mention how much he was looking forward to seeing Godflesh tour Australia as part of the Soundwave festival — or preferably, as a Sidewave show featuring Godflesh, Fear Factory and Ministry. Now that would be a gig if it ever happened.

He also mentioned he was a NIN and Trent Reznor fan. It was a hot day and we were all wearing shorts and t-shirts, so I happened to ask Chris about his tattoos.

No, he said, there was no connection with The Human Centipede, a question he’d clearly been asked on more than one occasion. Rather, much of his work is based off the art of Keith Haring.

Then I noticed he had a Trent Reznor autograph stencilled on the front of his wrist. There had to be a good story in there somewhere.

Just another Trent Reznor autograph tattoo.

It turns out, Chris acquired Trent Reznor’s autograph signature after he bumped into Reznor outside a hotel, prior to a Nine Inch Nails gig soundcheck. Chris asked Trent if he’d mind signing his wrist. Trent obliged and asked him what he’d do next, to which Chris replied with words to the effect of “if I can afford to get it tattooed, I might get it done tomorrow.”

So what do you do when a fan tells you they’re going to get your autograph tattooed onto their body? If you’re Trent Reznor, you pull $50 out of your pocket and give it to the fan to make sure they can get the job done.

Then Trent asked Chris if this was the first time he’d done this.

“No,” said Chris.

“Henry Rollins got to me first,” he said, turning his wrist to reveal a Henry Rollins autograph tattooed on the other side.

The reply?

“That dirty Henry,” said Trent with a laugh.

"That dirty Henry..."

We all thought this was a great story but then Chris pointed out there was one problem. While he had the signatures of two of his three favourite artists, he was missing the third one: Tom Waites.

Given the elusiveness of Tom Waites, Chris reckons he might have a hard time getting that third autograph tattoo.

But who knows. Maybe Soundwave might bring out Tom Waites one day? Are you reading this AJ Maddah?

This is Chris. Note the Keith Haring work. Also, GOD HATES FACTS. Where can I get that shirt?!

GWAR’s Dave Brockie: his haunting words 24 days before he died

Heavy metal music lovers got a terrible shock this year when they heard about the unexpected death of GWAR front-man Dave Brockie, better known by his stage-name Oderus Urungus.

At first, Dave Brockie’s cause of death was unknown, although the cause of death was deemed suspicious from the outset. Click bait-websites enjoyed major traffic spikes just for hosting photos of the masked one’s unmissable likeness with lurid headlines. When Oderus Urungus’ cause of death was finally determined to have been due to an accidental heroin overdose, those same websites which had most likely never before mentioned GWAR went into traffic-driving fits, while the rest of the heavy metal internet mostly expressed their grief by pouring out tributes to Dave Brockie.

Photo: GWAR.net

Lamb of God singer Randy Blythe was among them. His impassioned rant about the dangers of drug and alcohol abuse among the rock and heavy metal fraternity was representative of the collective grief felt at the time. Unlike the fans though, Randy Blythe was hassled for a photo after giving a stirring eulogy Davide Brockie’s funeral. Understandably, this upset him.

From all accounts the David Brockie funeral was run in the only way you could possibly imagine running an event commemorating the GWAR chief talent: with heckling, a faux blood-splattered altar, and the (subsequent) burning Viking funeral of Oderus Urungus’ body.

Nonetheless, the identities of Oderus Urungus and Dave Brockie were always separated. Apparently, interviewers preparing for the unique experience that was a conversation with GWAR would be advised beforehand that they would be talking to Oderus Urungus and not Dave Brockie. Quite simply, Oderus Urungus / Dave Brockie did not break character. At the funeral, all agreed that underneath the thick rubber veneer of the Oderus Urungus mask was a master lyricist and a talented artist called Dave Brockie.

DAVE BROCKIE’S HAUNTING JOKE

Earlier this year I had the privilege of seeing GWAR live in Melbourne, Australia, as part of the Soundwave festival. I feel especially lucky because I got to see GWAR live twice: first at a Sidewave (side show) along with Amon Amarth (who were bloody funny and entertaining), Satyricon (who really didn’t blow anyone’s hair back) and The Black Dahlia Murder (if that’s your cup of tea, good on you). I got to see GWAR again about 12 hours later at the Soundwave festival.

I consider myself a seasoned concert-goer and I can confidently say that to this day, seeing GWAR live ranks as one of the most memorable heavy metal shows I have ever seen. I emphasise the terms ‘show’ and ‘see’ because the sound mix was terrible.

This was what the sound mix was like for most people.

Totally an actual photo from the GWAR concert.

At the first gig, within minutes of GWAR appearing on stage I personally saw people leaving because the sound mix was so bad. I mean, it was terrible — muddy, garbled, way too loud and not in a good way. Sadly, the sound mix was almost as bad the next day at the grand festival stage.

And yet, GWAR managed to captivate — no, mesmerise — their audience. Naturally, starting right away with the spectacular blood-soaked gimmicks for which GWAR are so famous.

One moment the venue had dimmed lights. Then, half a dozen rubber-mask-clad interstellar Scumdogs were performing GWAR songs onstage. Within the first song, Oderus Urungus had whipped out his prosthetic monster cock and literally hosed the audience with a continuous stream of fake blood; then they mutilated the Queen, who proceeded to hose the audience with fake blood from what were previously her boobs; and then they decapitated Australian Prime Minister Tony Abbott. You know where this is going, right?
Tony Abbott’s headless body then spewed gallons of blood onto the audience.

Gwar decapitate Australian Prime Minister Tony Abbott

True to form, GWAR milked it for every red blood cell of publicity, as evident in this News.com rabble-rousing piece of formulaic outrage.

For many of those who attended this gig with no idea what to expect at a GWAR show, to say they were astounded would probably be an understatement. It probably has something to do with the fact that it’s kind of hard to accurately explain what it feels like to witness an industrial volume of fake blood deluging onto the first 10 rows of a willing audience for half the duration of a heavy metal concert.

While one could go on and on explaining the minute details of what made this GWAR concert so memorable, there’s no shortage of online videos that do it better than words. Save for those who couldn’t stomach the lousy audio mix, so many of those who saw the full act left impressed, if not gobsmacked — not a bad achievement when you consider how picky and outspoken many metal heads are when it comes to fine details like sound quality.

So when I heard that Dave Brockie was dead (and in particular, the cause of death) I suddenly thought of one fleeting moment during the GWAR concert that, suddenly, had become very poignant.

That brief, fleeting moment occurred somewhere towards the end of GWAR’s set. Between the Tony Abbott decapitation and the mutilation of the Queen and the announcement that GWAR would perform a Billie Holiday cover, Oderus Urungus said a few words to the audience about the success of the latest GWAR album in Australia. He said Australia was one of the few places on planet earth to still buy GWAR albums, and thanked the audience for ensuring that the GWAR album Battle Maximus actually did something in the charts.

“Every dollar you spend goes right into my fucking veins,” he said.

The crowd thought that was very funny and the band went on to perform the next song from the GWAR discography.

Was that line merely off-the-cuff schtick? Was it a grim in-joke that only Dave Brockie knew about?

We’ll never know what was going through his head. However, just 24 days later, Dave Brockie was dead.

"Every dollar you spend goes right into my fucking veins."

Yeah I'm a terrible photographer.

The loss of Dave Brockie: GWAR front-man, shock rocker, lyrical genius and (believe it or not) biting social commentator, is irreplaceable in the world of heavy metal. My heart goes out to his family, his friends and GWAR fans.

David Brockie would not have wanted it to be this way. On the other hand, Oderus Urungus probably thought it was brilliant.

Alt Fest cancelled after organisers “forgot to book venue”

In news that is certain to disappoint alternative music fans in the UK and abroad, the organisers behind the UK’s largest alternative music festival have announced the event’s cancellation – after discovering they had forgotten to book the venue.

Due to be held in August at Boughton Estate in Kettering, Northamptonshire, Alt Fest was billed as “the largest outdoor alternative festival ever staged”. More than 45,000 bands and performers were booked for the 200-day event, playing across 97 different stages.

According to the organisers, everything was running smoothly until an intern working at the Alt Fest office discovered that the venue had not been booked.

“Sometimes, it’s the things that are most obvious that are the easiest to get wrong,” said Alt Fest organiser P. I. Staker.

“We booked the bands, organised travel and accommodation, and even raised £61,762 on Kickstarter just to pay for all of Thomas Rainer from Nachtmahr’s uniforms. Unfortunately, due to a misunderstanding, we inadvertently forgot to book the venue. My booking agent said “don’t forget to book the stage”. I thought he said “don’t forget to cook the sage”.

“Naturally, with less than a month to go before the event kicks off, we immediately phoned the venue to try and sort it out. That’s when we found out that Robbie Williams had booked the place for the next two years.”

According to a statement from Williams’ agent, the pop artist offered to “perform some of that alternative music” at his shows.

“Forgetting to book the venue? We’ve all done it, so I totally understand where these guys are coming from,” said the statement, quoting Williams.

“So when I heard about the mixup I offered to do a couple of songs from the artists that wouldn’t be playing. I might play pop music but I’m still an open-minded sort of guy. So I started listening to some of the artists on YouTube and I actually liked what I heard.

“I really liked that Dani Filth guy’s voice. And that Belgian Suicide Commando orchestra, they were cool too. I was just about to call the organisers and tell them that I’d be happy to perform a couple of those ‘alternative’ numbers when I heard some of that Faderhead music.

“That’s when I thought, no way, this music is waaay too poppy for a Robbie Williams show. I sympathise with the organisers, I really do, but I just can’t see myself playing music that sounds this poppy. My fans might think I’ve gone soft.”

Visit www.alt-fest.com for more information.

This article is satirical. It is entirely fictitious. With the utmost sympathy to the fans, bands, and the organisers, it sucks if it falls over. Here's genuinely hoping it gets sorted.

The coolest bands always have the most diverse crowds

Not so much a pet hate but rather a pet regret is showing up at a venue after the support has finished, only to discover you missed a quality act.

Such was the case when we went to see Forces and The Night Terrors back in April. The occasion was an ANZAC long weekend of gigs — the only Australian goth industrial EBM festival that is Fiend Fest was also on that weekend — and the venue was the Melbourne hipster hive mind that is Howler.

But don’t hold against them the fact that there were bicycle racks filled with fixies — it’s actually a pretty cool venue.

The artist we had just missed as we walked in was Italo disco man Fabio Umberto. Now I like my electronic music hard and dark and filthy and prior to the event I’d made my feelings clear on the venue’s Facebook page with some mildly disparaging comment about the genre. Yet, as we entered the venue, a mate grabbed me to point out just how awesome this dude was and had I seen it?

Said mate happens to be a long-haired, tattooed, leather jacket-wearing, bass playing maniac who plays savagely brutal blackened thrash metal. When someone like this points out the merits of an electronic artist — and particularly an Italo disco electronic music artist —it’s probably because he’s onto something.

This was to be a theme throughout the rest of the night. The best band seem to have the most mixed and diverse crowds. But more on that later.

FORCES LIVE

Melbourne’s electronic synth duo Forces were up next. The electro music pair of Alex and Tom are building quite a following, if the number of faces also seen at previous Forces gigs is anything to go by (airplay on Triple J doesn’t hurt either).

Seeing Forces live is always a memorable experience. One guy presses play on his laptop to pipe out pre-recorded electronic sounds, while muttering incomprehensible words into a reverb-drowned microphone, all the while making awkward, jerking movements on stage; the other is always in his darkest sunglasses and thick bomber jacket, not moving anywhere while he’s stationed at his synthesised drum pads with a look of such intensity it could stun a small child.

It shouldn’t work. But it does.

I love the way Forces do this and evidently so do all those people who keep showing up at their gigs. I’ve seen Forces live half a dozen times and the best description that most seem to agree on is that it is reminiscent of an industrial music gig in Canada somewhere back in the ’80s with Skinny Puppy. Except, with that modern-sounding synth touch.

Melbourne's Forces live. Metal heads (only an arm is visible) are in the front row.

At the risk of saying something teeth-grindingly lame, it’s the live ‘vibe’ of Forces that I like most. While the electro Forces sound is magnificent, it’s the feeling of a dark performance in a warehouse, where you’re one of a crowd of miscreants, discovering something new and important, that brings me and others back — and it’s open to anyone who wants it.

Forces aren’t strictly about industrial music, even though EBM and industrial music lovers can strongly identify with this sound.

Force aren’t strictly about minimal, bleepy electronics, even though I’ve see veteran electronic music producers salivate over some of the sounds they come up with.

Forces aren’t even about being hipsters (indie rock anyone?) despite the strong hipsterish showing at every gig.

And Forces certainly are not metal heads, yet the front row at this Forces gig had three metal heads absolutely digging this massive electronically synthesized, 100 per cent guitar-free sound.

As I said, the coolest bands always have the most diverse following.

My only complaint? Perhaps I’m biased because I’ve loved metal since I was 10 years old…

Forces would bring the roof down if they added a live guitarist. Even if it’s just for the slow, chugging tracks. Those electronic numbers would become slow-paced monster headbangers.

THE NIGHT TERRORS

What is the band you’ve seen live more than any other? I was thinking about this the other day and through various circumstances over the years, for me it would have to be The Night Terrors.

I wish it were Iron Maiden, who I saw on five occasions over two tours, but alas the ticket prices, beer prices, merch prices, and relative scarcity of Australian Iron Maiden tours makes it a difficult proposition.

So Night Terrors is the local band (for local people, we’ll have no trouble here — see what I did there?) that I’ve seen live more than any other.

I could give you a blow-by-blow account of The Night Terrors at this gig but you don’t really want that because there are a million live gig reports out there.

Rather, the following anecdote will explain what The Night Terrors are about...

The Night Terrors live. To the left is the theremin.

It was my first ever Night Terrors gig, held eight or so years ago at that wonderfully warm and grotty little venue that is the now defunct Arthouse Hotel. And seeing this band live for the first time was strange. Mesmerising. Heavy. Hypnotic. All of it coming from the one source.

There was the theremin, played in full congress with the rest of the band as a legitimately in-key, actual live instrument. The first time I heard and most importantly saw this exotic device get played, I was left with a feeling of transfixed wonderment. The lauding expletive-ridden comments of other Arthouse punters at the end of the night suggests it wasn’t just me who felt that way.

Then there was the drummer. From that time onwards I seem to recall The Night Terrors beats were helmed by monster drummers, octopus sticksmen who could fill you with the warm comfort of knowing you’ll never be anywhere near that good.

One night (not at this first ever Night Terrors gig, but a subsequent one) they put on a show at another dingey venue with a small stage. This was back in the era of when smoking inside venues was still allowed, so with one song to go, the drummer lit up behind the kit.

I was looking at him and he just finished rolling his own cigarette when he started playing, that lit fag hanging from a corner of his mouth. Suddenly, his hand reached to his face in a panic, maniacally rubbing his eye. Turns out he got cigarette smoke straight in his eye — and like a true monster drummer, he just kept on playing. With one hand. While desperately wiping smoke out of his eye with the other.

Then there was the synth. Back at the Arthouse, during warm-up sound check, the in-house sound guy got the keys player to play her synth, remaking “That’s a rock n’ roll synth” at the kicking sounds it produced through the ‘well loved’ Arthouse PA.

And then there was that bass, Night Terrors front-man Miles’ other instrument. Played like a boss, according to my guitar-mad drinking buddy that night. I’ll take his word for it, even though I am not a musician myself (although I am exceptionally good at listening to music)

So that was my first ever Night Terrors gig. You could tell who there had seen them for the first night. Half of them uttered words to the effect of “that was fu***d up” — in the most admiring and best possible way of course.

I did feel for her. Her hair kept swishing around, which in turn kept obscuring her face. But what a trooper for keeping on playing with hair-impaired vision — Lord knows, I would have gone crazy if it was me.

So over the years and various occasions since during which I have seen The Night Terrors live, there have been changes in drummers, synth players and the overall direction.

There was the all-over-the-place-sounding, improvised feel of The Night Terrors from a couple of years after I first saw them live. Was it jazz? Free form? Impro? As I said, I have zero music-making ability. But it was all over the place chaos.

There was the crazy, musical virtuoso, stare-in-wonderment feel of The Night Terrors from when I first discovered them. I’ve already told you about that and the effect it had on the Arthouse punters whose minds — accustomed as they were mostly to simple punk riffs — were expanded by the enchanting sound of the theremin.

And then there’s recent Night Terrors sound, perhaps slightly more 4/4, or dare I say, more accessible? I’m going to call space — just space, not space rock, although it’s pretty rockin’ — for lack of a better term.

There’s probably a whole lot more Night Terrors in between.

Does that description do justice to the night? On this occasion, the gig was to promote The Night Terrors’ Spiral Vortex album launch.

As they were playing, I looked around at some of the faces, caught a conversation or two in the toilets, and I was reminded of my own first Night Terrors gig from all those years ago. The strange, mesmerising, heavy and hypnotic effect was as apparent on new faces throughout the dark room as it was back at the Arthouse.

More to the point, The Night Terrors sound may have changed over the years, but one thing remains constant with this band: they still make people’s heads spin when they’re seen for the first time.

The Night Terrors are many things to many people and this is always evident in the varied following that materialises at their gigs. Metal heads. Freaks. Hipsters and geeks.

As I said, the coolest bands always have the most diverse following.

Why I love the new Combichrist: We Love You album

The new album from Combichrist – We Love You, has been on super high rotation this past fortnight. Combichrist album number seven is the latest addition to the Combichrist discography and I can tell you, hands down, this release has re-invigorated my love for this band. It’s also sparked renewed personal interest in EBM, industrial, aggrotech and whatever else the kids call it these days.

According to my LastFM stats I played Combichrist 264 times in one week. That’s because I’m one of those people who just loves to quantify their favourite music. However, not everyone loves the We Love You album. I’ve had fierce debates with friends about this album’s merits, and predictably there has been no shortage of naysayers on the internet.

If it’s a matter of personal taste then that’s cool by me. However, I’m not convinced that many of the complaints that I’ve heard about the We Love You album are entirely legitimate.

Here are several reason why Combichrist: We Love You rocks out.

IT HAS GUITARS!?

What’s that? The new Combichrist album has *God forbid* guitars!? Aha! This must be a sign that they’re suffering from an identity crisis. No doubt those Rammstein guys had something to do with it on that world tour they did together, leading Combichrist away from the path of holy electro synth EBM purity.

Yes, the We Love You album has plenty of guitars. They’re not subtly ‘integrated’ either, buried behind the synths and other layers as many terror banana artists have been known to do. These are full, shred-driven tracks with minimal electronics.

And apparently that’s not allowed, if the great number of complaints about the guitars are an indicator.

You know who else played exclusively with either guitars or synths — and was then famously praised for doing a complete about face? How about Ulver. Ministry. Trent Reznor. Or if you want to dig deeply, how about that most revered of techno, acid house and Belgian New Beat producers, Praga Khan, the brains behind Lords Of Acid?

If you stopped enjoying industrial music when Throbbing Gristle stopped using tape loops, well that’s your right. But I just don’t buy the argument from the EBM police that the inclusion of prominent guitars automatically detracts from the Combichrist or EBM industrial aggrotech identity, or whatever the hell ‘it’ is.

You know where the name Combichrist came from? From a zine, published during Andy LaPlegua’s punk days. You know, when he was the vocalist for a punk band? A band that played those dirty, stinking, non-EBM-industrial guitars.

But let’s just say that if the We Love You Album did focus exclusively on synths, it raises the question of…

WHAT ELSE WAS SUPPOSED TO GO ON THE ALBUM?

I’m going to have a hard time supporting this bit of my argument, so here goes.

To be an artist who releases multiple albums is to walk the path of a moral dilemma.

That’s because when you release your first album, the second album better be different to the first one — but not too different, mind you. If you don’t change it enough, you’re stagnating. If you change too much, you annoy those fans who were there ‘from the beginning’.

The old adage that you can please all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but never all of the people all of the time, rings true here (see people's listening habits below as to how widespread this is). You tread an ever-changing, nebulous line because no matter what you do, according to someone, somewhere on the internet you’ll always be wrong.

 Combichrist listening stats according to LastFM. As you can tell, everyone
has their favourite (the ones with the hearts are my personal ones).

There are 13 tracks of varying lengths on the We Love You album. Three and a half tracks are primarily guitar-based: The Evil In Me, Love Is A Razorblade, Retreat Hell Pt. 1 and half of Retreat Hell Pt. 2 (half of this track is dodgy ‘ambient’ recording of some sort mixed with other sounds).

The remaining three quarters of the album is solid, comfortably familiar, electronic, synth-driven tracks, with either minimal guitars or none at all.

And that is the point that I think has been lost in translation. There’s very little filler (save for the stuffing around on the last track) on We Love You. There are half a dozen tracks of pure unadulterated electronic fun, plus a couple of toned down or more average ones. For me, the rest of the album just doesn’t feel like it’s packed with that all-too-common affliction found on so many electronic albums in this genre — filler.

Let’s face a fact: critically acclaimed electronic albums where 100 per cent of all the compositions are certified genius just don’t come round that often. Unless you’re Kraftwerk or Giorgio Moroder, fans are not going to drop to their knees at the mention of every track on even your very best full-length effort. In fact, even a very good album will still have the trusted standout tracks, which of course means there will be all those other lesser well known (stand in? sit in?) tracks. These selections will inevitably be thought of by many as filler, by virtue of the fact that they’re not soul-touchingly awesome like the standouts.

On We Love You, a brave attempt was made to do something genuinely left-of-centre with the tracks that aren’t barn-stormers. The exercise happens to involve guitars and it presents a new dimension. And it’s still Combichrist.

But you know what? Even if you’re still not convinced of the merits of the We Love You album due to the mere presence of a couple of stringed instruments, this doesn’t change the fact that…

THE ELECTRONIC TRACKS STILL ROCK

The pre-album single, From My Cold Dead Hands may not be the most memorable track, but I assure you it grows on you. I know this, because I bought the single and didn’t think too much of it at first. Repeated listens changed that.

I also had the privilege of being the first person to play a legitimate copy of this song at a club down here in Melbourne. It worked, and by that I mean it did everything you expect of a dancefloor track: it was fun, it got people moving and dancing, and I'm sure it would become a recognised and satisfying floor filler if it got played enough.

As for the album proper, there are no shortage of tracks which you'll instantly recognise, from the moment you hear them, for what they're meant to be: club hits like We Rule The World Motherfuckers and Every Day Is War. They are pure Combichrist, electronic anthem action, dancefloor assault fodder of the best kind, designed and built to honestly do one thing: rock out and dance your arse off.

The track Maggots At The Party ticks every one of those boxes, which makes it in my view everything that is great about this band.

Combichrist: Maggots At The Party

I could tell you how much I love this song but I think I’ll just repeat the YouTube comment I left instead (when I was in an admittedly excited state).

“Andy has absolutely nailed it on this track. A massive head banging sound. High-larious non-sensical lyrics. And a vibe that's dripping with tongue-in-cheek hedonism. The party on this track rocks so hard, if it were capable of being any more fun it'd cause cardiac arrests.”

Maggots At The Party is another Electrohead or This Shit Will Fcuk You Up. It’s unashamedly meant to be an anthem, a sing-a-along, a booty shaker and headbanger. Yet I’ve heard all sorts of criticisms, from the fact that the lead synth sounds suspiciously like a guitar to the lack of depth to the lyrics.

Which is all well and good I suppose, assuming one crucial thing is overlooked when it comes to Combichrist, namely…

IT’S ALL ABOUT HAVING FUN

It still astounds me when I hear complaints about Combichrist lyrics. Notwithstanding the fact that English ain’t Andy LaPlegua’s first language, the mere fact that anyone would search for deeper significance in Combichrist lyrics suggests that something in the listener’s life is being taken rather too seriously.

Combichrist has always been about partying and hedonism and rocking out. About drinking and getting wasted. About repetitive choruses. Inane statements. But always topped in thick layers of fatalism. Party-fatalism if you may.

If you’re searching for profound and sentimental meaning in EBM industrial lyrics, you should follow VNV Nation and Stromkern (or for unintentionally hilarious lyrics, Centhron and Funker Vogt rarely disappoint).

Indeed, Combichrist lyrics are a common target for the band’s detractors. One could go on and on about how this accusation — as much as it is a valid indictment of a Norwegian man’s lesser grasp of English expression and syntax — is simply barking up the wrong tree. Instead of saying that guitars are not what Combichrist is about, the charge should be that “serious” is not what Combichrist is about.

As I said, there’s a lot to be said here. So instead I’ll let the following example speak for itself.

Firstly, watch this video. Or at least watch half of it. Bear with me, I assure you this is entirely relevant.

This track is called Treat Me Like A Pirate by hip hop crew Turquoise Jeep. They became popular after releasing some pretty funny videos on YouTube, albeit in the so-bad-it’s-good category. One of their videos has been viewed more than 10,000,000 times. And who could argue, what with lyrics like the following?

“Treat me like a pirate”

“And give me that booty”

“Got my long sword not to kill but to pleasure”

“Deep sea diving, searching for her treasure”

Now, below is a Combichrist live video (shot on someone’s phone?) when the crew were finishing their recent US tour. If you CBF watching, it’s Combichrist making a surprise introduction of the Turquoise Jeep crew on stage — where they perform Treat Me Like A Pirate together.

At a Combichrist concert.

Apart from being a great rendition, this moment says more to me than anything else about just where this band is at — and where their fans should be at. The EBM police would be outraged!

In conclusion, there’s a lot to love about the We Love You album. Yes, there were many who were shocked by the inclusion of guitars, and this has elicited many mixed feelings.

It’s radically different (I’m not counting the No Redemption soundtrack as a spiritual predecessor — it was a soundtrack commissioned for a video game and it was created for a very specific context).

Maybe if you love both electronic and analogue music (i.e. synths and guitar) you’ll get it. Or maybe you’ll like it regardless. Whatever the case, the changes on We Love You are a brave move for which Andy LaPlegua is to be applauded.

I once posted how one of the problems with getting older is that it’s so much harder to get excited about new music. This is most likely as much due to biological reasons — the brain physically gets more set in its ways — as it is due to the inevitable fact that your favourite band or genre was always at its peak when you first fell in love with it.

That makes me something of a cynic when it comes to new music. And this old cynic has not been this excited about a new album in a very long time.

If you’re not enjoying the We Love You album then it’s possible you have an allergy to fun.

Now all Combichrist need to do is come back to Australia and rock out.

If they still do it, I'm even looking forward to one of those VIP pizza nights they do before the show.

They should call it... Maggots At The Pizza Party! See what I did there?

Vader: Polish death metal available at all good Salvation Army shops

So I found Vader at my local Salvation Army op shop (non-Aussies: an op shop is a thrift store). And by Vader I mean the Impressions In Blood album by Vader, the Polish death metal band that’s been around for decades.

I was furiously stuffing VHS tapes into my bag when I happened to spot this gem from the Vader discography. The Salvos store was doing a “five for a dollar” VHS cassette tape special so naturally I couldn’t resist enriching my personal film collection with quality titles like Bruce Lee Fights Back From The Grave…, famously filmed well after Bruce Lee had well and truly died.

Anyway, this Vader album was behind the front counter, hiding among the fresh summer hits of the ’90s and Irish party jigs compilations normally populating the CD section at Salvos store. It was going for a bargainous $4, so I had to get it.

Vader: Impressions In Blood

The Impressions In Blood death metal album is release number eight for Vader. For those who can tell the difference, it marks something of a stylistic change from the thumping, blast-beat-driven death metal brutality of earlier Vader albums. The vocals are now comprehensible (but they’re not clean vocals by any stretch of the imagination); there are fast bits and there are slow bits; it has some atmospheric synths here and there; and there is even some creepy ‘experimental’ drumming (on the track Field Of Heads) for good measure. It has a bit less to do with death metal than previous efforts like De Profundis or Litany or Revelations. Instead, it borrows heavy duty head-banging riff inspiration from thrash metal.

If you know what kind of subject matter Vader’s lyrics tend to deal with, then you may find it amusing that a Vader album was for sale at a Salvation Army store. If not, then see below.

My copy actually has this cardboard cover on the CD jewel case. So far, nothing too shocking. It looks a bit menacing but then again so does the artwork for Bruce Lee Fights Back From The Grave…

Now here’s the actual Impressions In Blood album artwork.

“Hey, that looks like something from Giger,” said the guy serving me as he went to insert the CD disc. Well… not quite. Where are the biomechanical designs? But he left it at that. Because if he’d seen the album track names and lyrics…

  

... he may have seen that there’s a track called Helleluyah!!! (God Is Dead)! That’s some serious anti-religious, blasphemous death metal right there. The lyrics to the track As Heavens Collide… roll with lines like “Religion, as opium to mankind / Oppressed by myths and lies / All bibles, written by the human race / Institution for the sheeps (sic)” (Polish death metal bands are known more for their mastery of sonic fierceness than for their grasp of English grammar).

For me, the discovery of a Vader CD at this specific location is kind of amusing, given that… WARNING: RANT COMING UP… the Salvation Army is at its core a highly organised and militant religious lobby group backed by an exceptionally slick PR machine.

This isn’t to say that the salvos don’t do a whole lot of essential good for those who are most vulnerable. It’s just that their moral code — derived from an interpretation of documents that predate the invention of electricity or the realisation that the earth is in round — thinks of you as less if you happen to be gay. And by “less” I mean you don’t deserve to live if, for example, you’re a dude who prefers other dudes.

If your dinner-date is nice to you but for no reason is an arsehole to the waiter, then guess what: your date is still an arsehole.

And a charitable organisation that is generous and caring to the most disadvantaged but is intentionally cold and cruel to a selected minority is still cold and cruel.

So I’m glad I didn’t mention anything about those blasphemous lyrics when I purchased Vader’s Impressions In Blood. Had I opened my big mouth, I may not have left the store with such fine new acquisitions. Instead, I may have left with nothing except a copy of Bruce Lee Fights Back From The Grave.

Top Tuesday 27.05.14: Australian grindcore and classic black metal

So I once had this plan to make Top Tuesdays a regular thing. The idea was to not be too clever, but to simply talk about what’s been on high rotation this week.

After checking when I did the last one (because it was totally going to be a regular thing) I found that it was… uh… just over a year ago. So I should really be more consistent.

ALTERNATIVE AND UNDERGROUND MUSIC THIS WEEK

It sounds odd, but I have not enjoyed this week’s Top Tuesday releases very much. Most of this week’s the items on high rotation this week are the latest ‘discoveries’ from a secondhand metal collection I bought in June 2013 (‘novelties’ may be a more appropriate term). A labour of love, every week I’ve managed to get through a handful of albums from the original 200-CD lot, give or take a few. At last count I’ve whittled it down to the last 70.

Now I’m rather keen to get through this lot before the end of the year. Hence the high rotation of tracks which I may not be all that into. After all, every true music nerd knows that to really understand an album, you have to give it a proper listen to see if it grows on you. Of course, it could be a grudge listen maybe, but it’s still a proper listen. Because how else can I complain I didn’t get my money’s worth?

Here is what has received particular attention this week.

Very, Very Dead & Gory: A Veritable Paragon Of Wholesome Family Entertainment

The name is the best part about this band. And by “best part” I mean this outfit has a funny name. And. Well, uhm… yeah.

Very, Very Dead & Gory was a Melbourne-based outfit playing generic, thinly produced Aussie dickhead grind core. I mean that in the best possible sense. I couldn’t understand any lyrics on A Veritable Paragon Of Wholesome Family Entertainment but I’m going to assume that if one could, the prose would be masterfully hilarious. I’d like to imagine that the guys recording this had a blast, just dicking around, drinking (most likely) and making bad music. The music on this album is so dumb it’s fun. Indeed, check out the shamelessly sampled Burroughs Asshole (sic), a spoken word sequence ripped from Naked Lunch about a man whose asshole began to talk.

The closing track, Let The Grass Grow, is a 12+ minute epic — of which 8 minutes consist entirely of a recording of a lawnmower in action.

No doubt it was a brutal lawnmower.

 Very, Very Dead & Gory: A Veritable Paragon Of Wholesome Family Entertainment.

Alas, the band name and album title are the best parts.

Emperor / Enslaved: Hordanes Land

If you know your black metal then you’ll know why this split album is historically significant. Two of black metal’s most important acts made their ‘proper’ debut on this release.
Both Emperor and Enslaved started out on this record by playing that atrociously-produced, fuzzed out, shrieking, dangerous new music that became known as black metal (ok ultra kvlt smartarse, yes, it’s technically second-generation black metal — and if you can point that out, you’ve presumably also written to Metal Archives and asked them to remove your band listing because someone on the internet got a hold of one of your 50 hand-signed goat skin cassette pressings and uploaded the details on the internet).

Where was I? On Hordanes Land, both Emperor and Enslaved tried their hands at daring experimentation, though it’s often hard to hear it properly because of album’s toilet-grade production.

Despite the ostensibily subversive nature of black metal, paradoxically, black metal is also legendary for being so insular. Not in this case though: Emperor sow the seeds of what would become super-dense guitar fuzz and keyboard production (although the songs are essentially demo tracks); and Enslaved just do some straight out weird sounds and arrangements.

It’s not surprise that both Emperor and Enslaved eventually became black metal bands that took on densely produced, weird, progressive music as a trademark sound — the latest Enslaved album  RIITIIR and Emperor main-dude Ihsahn’s solo work being perfect examples.

Also, can I just say that I am in possession of the *cough* original Candlelight Records pressing?

Emperor / Enslaved: Hordanes Land.

When less was better.

Suiciety: Deeper Vision

Generic, weak vaguely-thrash-inspired hardcore, with some vague, equally generic metal bits.

I’ve given it three listens and it just doesn’t do it for me. There are a couple of ok riffs and decent choruses but otherwise that’s it — I just couldn’t find anything memorable here.

They’re from Melbourne, so that’s a plus, but this just isn’t my cup of tea.

As I said at the start of the piece, you have to give it a proper listen to see if it grows on you. After all, how else can I complain I didn’t get my money’s worth?

Suiciety: Deeper Vision.

Aussie hardcore that just didn't do it for me.

Nachtmahr joins Faderhead, VAC and Psyclon 9 industrial supergroup

Four of the EBM / industrial / aggrotech scene’s best known performers have decided to form an industrial supergroup after they stumbled across a satirical article on the internet that claimed they were forming an industrial supergroup.

The group’s formation appears to have its roots in a satirical story published in August 2013 titled Faderhead, Velvet Acid Christ and Psyclon Nine form supergroup. The story claimed the front-man behind each band — Sami Mark Yahya, Bryan Erickson and Nero Bellum respectively — had formed an electro-industrial supergroup called Misunderstood Industrial Artists (M.I.A.).

According to the article, the name reflected a common sentiment experienced by each artist over many years of being an industrial music artist. For example, Psyclon 9’s Nero Bellum told of the many years of painful misunderstanding that resulted from a botched chest tattoo.

“I’ve had my share of misunderstandings, just like Bryan and Fadey,” Bellum is quoted as saying in the fictitious article. “The “Ubermensch” tattoo on my chest is a perfect example. I asked the tattooist to write “Tumor Wrench” on my chest in those big black letters but he got it all wrong, so that’s how I ended up with this tattoo instead," he said.

The 'artwork' for the new 'album'.

Although the article clearly identified itself as being satirical, the idea has nonetheless been enthusiastically embraced by fans.

“It says that it is already out. Where can I listen to it? Spotify?” enquired one fan on the official Velvet Acid Christ Facebook page. “So the article says your cd is out now. Where can I find a digital copy” said another.

Indeed, so positive was the reception that it prompted Nachtmahr front-man Thomas Rainer to personally call Faderhead's Sami Mark Yahya.

“If ever there was a misunderstood industrial musician, it would have to be Thomas Rainer,” says Yahya.

“I was just there, hanging in a club, when I suddenly get this phone call from Thomas Rainer. He told me he wanted to join, but I was apprehensive at first because I wasn't sure if he knew what hanging with Faderhead was all about. But then he started to get really emotional and told me how Misunderstood Industrial Artists finally made him realise that he wasn't alone. That made me think. Maybe I can hang out with this guy?"
Rainer elaborates: “Fans may recall that my Nachtmahr Facebook page was taken down early this year. This was such a shock to me. How was I meant to know that my stage show and wardrobe were emulating this so-called ‘totalitarian’ aesthetic? People have so got the wrong idea about me. I’d never even heard of those ‘swastika’ things until after the account was closed. I mean, this symbol is banned in Austria so how would I possibly known what one looks like? Some people like camping and fishing and others like fast cars or motorbikes. Me? I just happen to like military uniforms and armbands. I don’t do it for attention, it’s just who I am and what I like. Especially if there are nekkid hot chicks involved and they’re like totally making out.”

Misunderstood… by Misunderstood Industrial Artists is out now.

Note: yes, it’s satirical