RIGHT I've just about had enough of the corporate pop sluts and their over-hyped, preened poseur madness. This week we're marking the tragic sinking of the Titianic. So what's Belfast offering up in terms of music...well some wankers whose names I can't bear to type let alone listen to.
This week I've been reading some of the work of the late, great Bill Hicks; who believed that the likes of Debbie Gibson, (MC) Hammer in the 80s and early 90s were "suckers of Satan's cock". He advocated - in a comedic sense that those who pranced and preened their pre-pubescent pop and sucked at the corporate sponsorship teat - that they should be put down.
At the same time as re-reading Mr Hicks sophisticated humour I've been delighting in the new Soulfly release and two releases from Grindscene records. Now Journey fans may want to step away for a while (not that I don't like the lighter side of rock, there are just times when the slavering metal ghoul in my soul shreds its way past the mask of respectability...)
Amid a corporate world infected by mediocrity and mainstream radio playlists riddled with rubbish you can't beat it when a CD lands on your doormat with the subtle, delightful title of 'Hammered to Fuck' - then the metal Ghoul in me fights its way to the surface, slavering and drooling with delight. Yep Fuckhammer are as subtle a smack in the balls with a bag full of spanners.
|Fuckhammer preparing for the Drone|
De-tuned, deathly sounds abounding, terror stalking the unwitting listener...this is not for the faint hearted frollicking with their chords filled with joy. The four-tracks slither and ooze from your speakers. By the time you've recovered your composure from opener Born of the Ass, Drone picks up a sledgehammer, and slowly, with intimate precision amidst the sludge, makes sure you are truly hammered to fuck. Completed by Hillbillies and Abortion Addict this is social commentary with a machete and a mace. With the band comprising of members from north and south of the border (members CVs include War Iron, Dyslusic and Two Tales Of Woe) I'm pretty sure there must be a European grant for this sort of metal collaboration across boundaries: if there's not there feckin' well should be!
Stepping back with a cold sweat trickling down your pale face take a wee trip down to Cork for the intricacies of I'll Eat Your Face. What the fuck is going on with this duo? Boy (guitars) and Tron (drums) are the bastard offspring of Mastodon, Satyricon, Dream Theatre, Rush, Pantera, Slayer and some unholy freeform jazz funk lovin' mama.
|I'll Eat Your Face readying their escape|
from the the Prawn Master
On Hot Brain Terror lyrics? Screw that when you're on a musical journey that stops and starts at all points marked Supergrind (they apparently made that term up over a can or two...read more here). Time sigantures - sticking to them is for wimps in the world of I'll Eat Your Face. And how in the name of all that's black could you not like a band with song titles like Acid Worm Monsoon, Castle of Vomiting Owls or Enslaved by the Prawn Master. Stand out track Reverse Eagle Embeastment builds the terror and change-ups throughout a myriad of layers. On Hot Brain Terror are nine tracks that will leave you in equal parts amused and bemused...Supergrind? No this Uber-Prog-Grind!
So...after all that where does this humble reviewer go when the cathartic chords have finished echoing through his ears. He gets more and more irritated by the mainstream...Now before any of you undergroundy-types start sniffing about mainstream rock and metal, hold on to your inverted crosses. I'm talking about the mainstream media: the purveyors of filth, the publicists and kingmakers who preen as their latest no-talent worms mime their way onto stadium stages with choreographers orchestrating their sad, pathetic dance routines.
And, as for the dance and DJ scenes... From Trucker Diablo to Fuckhammer, from Sinnocence to Stormzone, from A Little Bitter to Triggerman there is a common theme: they can actually play their instruments; they don't push a bit of vinyl back and forth.
As for the 'dance shows' with groups of idiots working out how they can 'perform' - they've even pushed their corrupting ways on to the streets of Belfast with wallies in baggy pants bounding round as if infected by fleas. Damn the ban on semi-automatic weapons, for it would be a kindness to murder them en masse without mercy, and then with a brief stop at the so-called radio stations for some C4 desposits, ahhh then all would be well in the world. [For those impressionable readers I nor anyone connected with this site advocate the use of violence as it is better to pity their misguided ways.]
We live in a time when science has never advanced as far; when we can peer into the beginnings of spacetime; when we can unravel the base code of species' DNA; when we can plumb the depths of the ocean to understand life; when we can watch kilometre high eruptions of gas and water on the moons of Saturn...and the mainstream pumps another no-name wannabe on to the stage.
Where our young people once strove to achieve the aspirations of past generations fold into themselves in horror and it must despair even the most jaded careers teacher as "I want to be famous" is the vapid cry of the cretins.
How are we to convince these children destined for careers as trainee hairdressers and fast food servers that there is more to life? How do we convince them that there is an amazing thing that anyone can learn...it's called reading.
Where music was once social commentary the mainstream now convinces the youth that a dance move and a pro-tooled mime is 'success'.
Hard rock is an affirmation of life, a party led by the combined pied pipers of guitars, bass and drums. Heavy metal is also a release as it expresses the inner man/woman: and when it is at its best it challenges your views, it casts a jaundiced, cynical eye at the diseased world. And at the heart of every cynic and every doom-laden, drop-tuned, long-haired asshole there is a heart that understands romance is to see the decaying world we live on and still love the life and people on it.
Bill Hicks concluded most of her perfornances with one word: "Peace." Not to sound like a hippy, to you, faithfu, readers...Peace! Now I'm away to get Hammered to Fuck!