Spreading Mustaine

So Dave Mustaine from Megadeth has reportedly endorsed Republican candidate Rick Santorum. The man behind two of the greatest thrash metal albums of all time, and who sang and riffed about serial killers, alien conspiracies and the despicable state of music censorship, is now getting behind a presidential-hopeful made infamous from a nasty Google bomb that likened his surname to a by-product of anal intercourse.

Not a by-product of lube and fecal matters. Although his detractors might argue against that.

The full story can be found all over the web, but suffice to say that it started with one political activist who — wishing to get back at Santorum for making anti-gay comments — started the spreadingsantorum.com site which led to the Santorum association retaining its colourful top Google ranking.

Would it work for metal? Is an endorsement of a traditional enemy of metal by one of its elders worthy of its own association? Would spreading Mustaine or spreading Ulrich go far?

Then there’s the real nutjobs. Vikernes (Grishnackh?). Benton. Darken.

I’m currently lacking the energy to think of some sufficiently humorous definitions.

Suggestions on a postcard please. Our you could leave comments below.

Blackness in metal

Is this the best worst classified of all time (click the image for the link — and no, that doesn't seem to be a stock image)? I don't know if this is true or not. Or maybe it is true and someone's taking the piss. So far, it seems to be a real classified, but I haven't been brave enough to contact the owner. This would make for a funny, funny prank call. It practically tells itself.


This actually reminds me of this gem from some years ago. The caller (rumoured, after this did the rounds, to be from a hardcore outfit... the name escapes me) is clearly hamming up the fact that he is black. He is calling 'Joe' in response to an ad to join a black metal band. The humorous exchange predictably goes back and forth about what is "black" as in "dark and evil" to which the caller exclaims, dammit, that he is "dark and evil"! And so on. The astonishing part, though, is near the end, when Joe, having earlier listed Burzum, Darkthrone, and Mayhem as the kind of bands he likes, reveals that he's not overly badass and in fact "lived in the suburbs" as "an only-child".

Alas. Earwax.

I’d like to think (with extra smugness I might add) that my geek hierarchy street cred has improved since I started reading The Science Fiction Hall Of Fame. How could it not, what with this three-volume collection of classic sci-fi short stories and novellas being so widely regarded as a definitive work in the genre? Now that I’ve read it (once) I’ve totally progressed from “People who write erotic versions of Star Trek where all the characters are furries” to at least “Fanfic writers who put themselves in the story”.

Having said that, one story I thoroughly enjoyed was called Microcosmic God, by American author Theodore Sturgeon. Apart from being a brilliant and compelling tale about a scientific genius who is almost too smart for his own good, it also happens to be from an author who was sufficiently well known to have been credited with an eponymous law: Sturgeon’s Revelation.

Basically, 90 per cent of everything, says Sturgeon — be it science fiction, romance novels, films, art, consumer goods and, yes, even (or perhaps even more so) music — is “crud” or “crap”.

I like that. In fact, it resonates with me because it’s something I discovered the hard way (and at considerable expense) over the last few years. Let me elaborate…

Quantity not quality

In my previous post I mentioned how a substantial part of my music collection was the result of a retail fix-driven desire to experience the thrill of acquiring music. That is, while I hate to admit it, my music collecting was as much motivated by the retail therapy thrill that was the ritual of buying music, as it was about actually owning it. Retail therapy of the worst kind, basically. And one of my very worst excesses came about a few years ago when I purchased wholesale CD bulk lots from two record stores.

One was a collection of mostly second-hand industrial CDs while the other constituted all remaining music stock from an obscure little shop called Synaesthesia Records, specialising in experimental, weird, abstract and unusual recordings of all descriptions. I might point out that this second purchase was the first and last time I ever purchased music by the kilo.

My theory was that I couldn’t possibly lose: either my personal collection would expand with vast quantities of quality music, or I’d make a killing on eBay.

Sadly, I couldn't possibly foresee just how very wrong I would be on both counts.

This is what 48 litres of industrial music looks like.

There are 25-40 CDs in each of these 12 boxes.
The blow-up plastic hammer is unrelated to this picture.
Also, my fiancée hates how these boxes have literally
gathered dust for the last three or so years.

Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans

The approximate 1000 CDs which I acquired were a most unfortunate purchase and a real-life reminder that Sturgeon’s previously mentioned Revelation is as relevant to alternative music as it is with anything else.

A case in point was the first bulk lot of predominantly of 90s-era industrial, EBM, synth-pop, goth, and electro along with a few other bits and pieces, much of it from artists who had long disappeared into obscurity.

The hundreds of industrial music CDs, for example, seemed to conform to the notion that “one sound fits all”. Just start with unimaginative sequences from an analogue-sounding synthesizer and add in a few samples; throw in that done-to-death Ministry-style vocal distortion; then extend the recording with some dubious remixes. As for the synth-pop, while there was (some) noticeable variety, it was generally a case of merely composing a vaguely catchy melody, adding clean vocals from someone who may or may not be able to sing in tune, then extending it again with various ‘remixes’. Seriously, so much of it sounded the same, and much of it was positively awful. Not all of it, mind you, just much of it — the vast remainder was mediocre at best while the remaining small proportion — the very small remainder that actually made it just worthwhile — contained those gems that were worth getting excited about.

The Synaesthesia lot contained even more astoundingly awful recordings. We’re talking so-called field-recordings, live recordings, improvisations, ambient, drones… the whole gamut of what I suspect is really just rubbish made by people without any musical talent, or even an understanding of basic musical principles, somehow committed to audio.

Again, I’ve found some absolute gems in there — from quirky home-made self-produced recordings to a field recording of a real street fight to just plain outworldly weird and bizarre albums — but goddamn, am I fed up with ‘organic’ and ‘drone and ‘improvised’ and ‘experimental’ and many otherwise worthy terms being passed off as something other than the worthless rubbish recordings that they really are. Seriously, a recording of an afternoon’s worth of pissfarting around with a crappy synth and adding in some dodgy samples does not an album make. And yet, this bulk lot was filled to the brim with dozens upon dozens of such recordings — and a suspiciously high proportion of them were wrapped in fancy, often DIY-produced packaging. In fact, the elaborateness of the packaging was almost directly proportionate to the awfulness of its contents. Almost… because, as I said, there were some gems in there. Some gems.

So that’s how I was proven wrong in the belief that I would embiggen my music collection; and to add insult to injury, I couldn’t sell this stuff online. Indeed, I have many of these CDs on my eBay account for next to nothing and they still don’t sell.

Sadface.

Which brings me to the whole Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans thing. In Harry Potter, these are the sweets at Hogwarts that have a random flavour — as in literally anything. They famously appeared at the conclusion of the first Harry Potter story, when Dumbledore tells Harry about an unfortunate experience in his younger days when he came across a vomit-flavoured one. He then warily consumes one, hoping that it may be toffee flavoured, whereupon he remarks: “Alas. Earwax.”

For better or worse, my 700 or so yet-to-be-listened-to CDs are my personal Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. I’ll grab one at random — doing the dishes, heading out in the car, working on the computer — and usually I end up not thinking much of it. I’ve long since become oblivious to the notion of disappointment. If it’s not awful but just mediocre it promptly gets relegated to the eBay pile.

Occasionally I’ll find a keeper.

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 30^th 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!

System Of A Down — Aerials (seven-inch)

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.

Black Sabbath — Vol 4 (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.

Ministry — The Last Sucker (album)

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.

Manowar — Kings Of Metal (album)

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!

Hocico — Aqui Y Ahora En El Silencio (album)

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?

Iron Maiden — Flight 666 (live album)

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.

Rammstein — Ich Tu Dier Weh (single)

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!

The Offspring — Why Don’t You Get A Job? (single)

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.

Web: www.heartlandrecords.com.au

Tel: (03) 9329 9636

Email: heartlandrecords@yahoo.com

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.

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…

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!”

Click the link for some REAL industrial EBM cowboy goodness

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.

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.

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 & Conquer —the 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.

Heavy metal and Eurovision rarely get along

I occasionally like to write Top 7 music lists that consist of artists and tunes that I’ve recently played on high rotation. You should so totally read it and comment because it’s like totally awesome.

7) Strapping Young Lad – The New Black
Canadians SYL put the heavy in heavy metal. They occupy a special place in my heart following their 1997 all ages gig at Melbourne’s Hi-Fi Bar, which ranks as one of my favourite gigs. It got even more awesomer when that gig, as well as the “piss heads” over-18 gig on the night before, was turned into a live EP. I’m sure if you listen closely to the crowd noises you’ll hear a muffled voice shouting “Oooooooooooooooh yeeeeeaaaaahhhhhh aaaaggggggg my back!” as I attempted my first and last ever stage dive.

It totally wasn't like this at all.

The tour was in support of SYL’s angst-ridden City album which I seem to recall kind of stormed out of nowhere with its vague wisps of industrial music and white hot intensity. It’s an album that somehow manages to sound immensely heavy without coming off as unnecessarily extreme or over the top for the sake of extremeness.

For whatever reason I kind of lost track of SYL and main man Devin Townsend’s bazillion other side projects after that but I must say I was delighted when I “re-discovered” him when I came across The New Black from 2006 in a JB Hi-Fi discount bin.

It may not have the cold neon blue teen angst that I’ll always associate with ‘City’ but it’s got the heavyness and some brilliant tongue in cheek moments to match. This is an intense album, that totally rocks out and which is made even more enjoyable by the fact that it doesn’t take itself painfully seriously. Check out tracks like You Suck and Far Beyond Metal to see what I mean.

6) Daft Punk – Homework
Released in 1996, this is a definitive moment in “French house” or “Euro disco” or “repetitive bleep noises” or whatever you want to call it. It had no bearing on anything I was into back then but it’s another JB Hi-Fi discount bin item that probably feels like it deserved a couple of listens.

I heard an unconfirmed story that Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter (whose surname sounds like a German precision hi-fi company) spent something like a week perfecting a three second hook for one song. Whether this is true or not, either way the result of this extraordinary production effort is a minimal, bleeping, grating and yet somehow insidiously catchy electronic album about which your mates and parents will say (to quote a friend here) “I could have made that.” But seriously, apart from the battle robot space costumes, you know that, deep down in your heart, you are but like a rat to the piper of Hamelin once confronted by the ridiculously catchy strains of ‘Da Funk’.

"Do you have any idea how hot it gets in this helmet!?"

5) Danzig – Dirty Black Summer
Former Misfits frontman turned blues metal master, Glenn Danzig, is like a hybrid between an undead Elvis Presley and Jim Morrison if he was more of a headbanger. His first three or four albums rocked but then he lost the plot a bit and started making dubious industrial music. Sadly he was never as good when he returned to rocking blues metal. That, and he also epitomises small-man syndrome and is something of a douche.

Nom nom nom.

‘Dirty Black Summer’ was the lead single from the ‘Danzig III: How The Gods Kill’ album. Glenn manages to appear shirtless in almost every promo photo for this album, and the one before that too, and the one before that too (hell, the previous album, ‘Danzig II: Lucifuge’, is my favourite of all time, even if the artwork is a close-up of an occult cross… resting on Glenn’s manly naked hairy chest.

Everybody knows black t-shirts absorb uncomfortable amounts of heat.

The music from the ‘Danzig III’ era has special significance for me because I remember it being played an awful lot by my older sister when I was like 11. I recently dug out ‘Dirty Black Summer’ after years in storage and after one play it all came flooding back… the seemingly unnecessary minute of silence at the start of the song… the rather memorable but eventually jarring lead riff… the black and white mid 90s video clip … and yes, he’s missing his shirt in this video too. In fact, he’s got his shirt on and off at the same time!


4) The Anti-Nowhere League – Best Of
Filthy, in your face bri’ish punk rockers who put the “cunt” into “you’re a dirty cuntfaced cuntfucking cuntfucker fucking cunt.” They’re best known for their 1981 song ‘So What’ which contained such fabulous lyrics as “I fucked a sheep / I fucked a goat / I rammed my cock right down its throat” and “I’ve had crabs / I’ve had lice / I’ve had the clap and that ain’t nice”. For some strange reason, English authorities, using harsh Obscene Publications laws, seized copies of this song after it came out in 1981.

What a nice bunch of chaps.

But apart from ‘So What’, which years later enjoyed further exposure thanks to Metallica covering it, The Anti-Nowhere League produced a stack of other rockin’ punk tracks with brilliant titles like 'I Hate People', 'Rocker' (“The clothes that I wear / are the colour of my hair / I’m a rocker”), and one of my favourites… 'Woman' a song that espouses the joys of marriage and companionship like nothing else. Seriously, listen to this heartfelt ballad. This is getting played at my wedding (yeah sorry about the lousy fan vid).



3) Lordi – Hard Rock Hallelulja (from the European song contest)
Everyone has a guilty pleasure and Eurovision song contest is one of the few I’ll admit to without killing you in your sleep later. Everyone knows this annual circus show as a celebration of outrageous campyness and awesomely bad pop schmaltz, but once in a blue moon, Eurovision produces something brilliant.
In 2006 it was Greece's turn to host Eurovision and poor old Finnland, which hadn’t won a top spot in like 800 years, had as its entrant an obscure band called Lordi.
But not just any band. Lordi was a waning hard rock /cheesier heavy metal outfit with a gravelly-voiced vocalist who, along with the rest of the band, took to the stage in absurd latex horror masks and ridiculous gridiron battle orc giant spiked shoulder pad monster costumes. Seriously, check out the video! You'd be hard pressed to imagine something more diametrically opposed to everything Eurovision had ever stood for, right down to lead singer “Mr Lordi” who wielded a battle axe for a microphone.
During the lead up to the finals, Lordi were ridiculed by horrified onlookers who feared that such a bizarre act would result in Finland not only losing (which was kind of expected at the time) but actually taking out the humiliating last spot. Greek religious figures demanded that Lordi be banned from the contest and there was even a goddamned personal appeal to the Finnish Prime Minister, urging him to intervene.
So what happened? Well not only did Lordi storm through the finals with a huge score, they ended up winning the contest… by the largest friggin’ margin ever recorded up until that point in the whole goddamn history of Eurovision!
Seriously, a bunch of guys in monster costumes singing about the Arockalypse – with, and I’d really like to emphasise this… a lead singer wielding a battle axe for a microphone – took out pole position in the same cheesy pop contest that had previously spawned Abba.

Now THIS is how you win Eurovision BIATCH. Suck my battle axe.

The Rock Gods were proud that day – especially when these costumed freaks accepted their flowers and trophies and inadvertently got monster dirt on the glitzy TV presenters who dared go in for a hug and kiss.



2) Beastie Boys – Intergalactic
Back in the 90s, community radio stations like 106.7 PBS FM were for many people a genuine (and often the only) source of alternative or underground music. A 56k internet dialup connection was fast, kids would chat on a thing called ICQ rather than Facebook or Gchat, and it would be several years before pedo bear reared his handsome face.
This Beastie Boys single was released at the latter part of this period, when as a pimply teenager I did my community service (the “good” kind where your school forces you to help old ladies or disabled children for two weeks) at PBS FM. My day began with a tour by one of the station managers, a hip hop enthusiast called Nick Tripp. He showed me around the building, demonstrated production techniques, and got me to help record a cart promo (i.e. 30 second pre-recorded announcements that would promote the station – this was before MP3s), for which he sampled part of this newly-released Beastie Boys single.
The coolest part, however, was when he pulled an LP from his record crate – I distinctly remember it consisted entirely of crackly spoken word recordings from the Salvation Army – and gave me a hands-on turntablism DJ demonstration.
Then a hot girl walked into the building and since she obviously needed the “grand tour” I was left for like an hour by myself, cutting between ‘Intergalactic’ by the Beastie Boys and helping the homeless at Christmas time. I wish I’d recorded it.

One half of the Beastie Boys.

I rediscovered this single last week when I paid $1.99 for it at an op shop. That’s cheaper than iTunes you know. So check this track out if you’ve never heard it, and try and tell me you don’t love that cheesy vocoder. Oh, and the video clip is loads of fun with its take on Japanese monster films.



1) Destroyer 666 – Unchain The Wolves
Unchain The Wolves by Destroyer 666 is one of my top five favourite releases of all time that I’m currently reliving after I thought I’d lost my copy when in fact I’d leant it to a mate (for like four years). Which just proves that re-discovering CDs you thought you’d lost is just like buying it new, but even more awesomer because there’s no risk of unexpected disappointment.
Destroyer 666 are Australia’s most successful extreme metal export, playing a growly brand of ‘blackened thrash’ as it’s called that has evolved over several albums. They recently toured Australia after a 10 year absence and they retain a global following, much of it derived from the 1997 release of Unchain The Wolves.
I had the incredible privilege of seeing Destroyer when I was 15 (at an 18+ gig), at a time when I knew every word and every riff from this album – backwards.
This came about after main man Keith Warslut – yes, that really is his stage name – and a bloke from a supporting band were guests on a community radio heavy metal show called The Hard Report, hosted on RRR 102.7FM. They were nominally there to promote the imminent gig but effectively spent their air time talking shit and swearing liberally. I recorded this interview on tape and the most "memorable" moment was when the announcer, clearly trying to keep his cool in the presence of these two (possibly drunk) headbangers, asked Keith what the wolf on the album cover symbolised to him. Snapping out of the stupor, he cooly replied that it represented “Strength and independence. Spirit of the white man” (more on this below) – which was promptly followed by an agonizing pause, before the announcer nervously laughed that he wasn’t quite sure what was meant by that.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, they gave away two free passes on the show, but only if you called in and told them the full name and nickname of the lead singer from an obscure thrash metal band from the eighties. Now as I’ve mentioned previously, before there was the internet, people didn’t look it up on Wikipedia and pretend to have the answer. Phone-in contests were generally based on, like, general knowledge, but because I owned a thing called the ‘Encyclopedia Of Rock And Metal’ I managed to phone in and get it right. Of course, I was technically not allowed to go because it was an 18+ gig, but then the most awesome thing imaginable happened (at least when you’re a pimply hadbanging 15-year old who doesn’t know his arse from his elbow) – Keith’s mate said on air: “I’ll get him in, I’ll pretend he’s my roadie.”
So I went to the gig, sat in a corner when bands weren't playing, and to this day I can’t recall ever suffering from a more severe case of extreme headbanging-induced whiplash. No shit, I couldn’t hold my head up for three days.
But this brings me to another point about this band, and that is that, for all their music awesomeness and thrashing headbanging glory, they also appear to be major douche bags. This is evident in, for example, the hand-written letters that I received from Keith after I’d written to the band, heavy metal fan club style. I’ve still got them somewhere, and while it was totally awesome to get personal correspondence, the bit where he mentions the virtues of the white man or how Pauline Hanson is a “media heretic” were a little bit dubious. The music is also filled with thinly veiled lyrical references to “certain” beliefs which at one time attracted the ire of Jewish groups. There’s even an apocryphal tale of Keith allegedly getting seven shades of shit kicked out of him, or so the story goes, after he allegedly approached an American death metal band and apparently asked why they’ve got "a nigger playing with them". Members of Destroyer have also recorded music or otherwise been associated with bands that are less guarded about their political beliefs. Vomitor was one of them, which they brought with them on their 2010 Australian tour. I like to consider myself fairly open-minded about extreme music, and in many years of seeing live bands I’ve never really understood why people throw bottles at bands. Then I saw Vomitor and I finally understood what brought on this urge. And so on and so on.
Incidentally, Richard Wagner, who gets regular air time on tweed jacket-wearing classical music radio stations, was rabidly anti-Semitic, which just goes to show that while you may think that some music is awesome, you may not necessarily think the same about the people making it.

Wagner was a dick.

Unchain The Wolves came out in the same year that Strapping Young Lad played Melbourne. Aside from the dubious lyrics and the sheer dumbassery of its creators at the time, it is in my view, the most perfect album in this genre that I’ve ever heard. It has the intensity, it has the epicness, and it's got the balance right. It's an irresistible album that needs to be heard in full to be fully appreciated, and which urges you to listen to it again and again and again. Check it out.