13th October 2000

WHITEHOUSE LIVE ACTION 86, KRAANG, WERTHAM

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

A word of warning to anyone planning a first time visit to the Red Rose – don’t sing in the bar area. Narrowly avoiding being chucked out for yelling a few Irish rebel songs with the regular locals, we had to scarper into the backroom, where Ilse Ko…er, Gaya Donadio was overseeing the removal of banknotes and the systematic stamping of hands. New Britain, we love it! The support group gave ‘art wank’ a bad name, but the drinks in the Rose are ultra-cheap – just a shame some of the pensioners in the bar weren’t allowed in for free.

‘Tit Pulp’ kicked off at 10.30pm, Phil Best hollering and chain smoking, William Bennett grinning in the background, Peter Sotos gobbing beer onto the front two metres of audience and some geezer (possibly Glen Michael Wallis?) standing erect, lips pursed, by the edge of the stage, like a pervy old schoolteacher. The sound was more than impressive, though not the eardrum-cauterising barrage I was expecting. Just one PA criticism – Whitehouse should have tried to do more with the actual microphone, as at times the vocals came out a little flat and dull compared with the electronic showers spitting venomously from the main amps. But even that couldn’t negate the pleasure of seeing Bennett snatch the mic from Best as the sonic tornado bled into ‘Thank Your Lucky Stars’ and ‘Rock and Roll’ (still sounding like a nuclear powerplant on meltdown) and you realise just how sweet life could be if all gigs in London had this much black humour and passion.

A short porn story followed, read out over a crackling chunk of pink noise, ‘Mindphaser’ style, before Bennett and Sotos stomped off, leaving Best to torture his effects box for ten minutes or so. As for the finale, ‘Just Like A Cunt’ saw Sotos really getting into the beer-slinging, Bennett and Best fighting over the microphone, and Bennett eventually flashing his bare chest and joining in the aerial lager attack mission. Thank Christ Best and Sotos kept their shirts on! Some genuinely imbecilic abortion down the front row with a videocam took the song as his cue to start shoving people around, including some Asian chick. Luckily this specimen got his comeuppance later, when he made the seriously ill-considered mistake of parking his arse on the front of the stage, only for Sotos to boot him soundly to the now beer and phlegm-drenched floor! Nice one, Pete.

So what can we conclude from this live action? It was a great homecoming, and well worth entering ‘arsenal f.c’ scumbag territory for. It was also extremely funny at times, the mood and expressions of the group verging on the completely bemused and absurd. And while musicologists can all wax on about the ‘implications’ of the lyrics, the value of this night out has to be measured in the sheer ecstasy of laughing like a demented hound in the faces of Victoria Line passengers, splattered in Becks, tearing back down to Kings Cross on the tube and wondering why techno clubs were never this much fun. Happy 20th, lads.

Martin Conway.

13th October 2000

WHITEHOUSE LIVE ACTION 86

Gary Simmons

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

“Too many idiots, rape and kill. Hordes of children, fucked-up morons. But once in a while, a genius comes by. He knows what to do…” (1) Brainbombs 1998

Friday 13th October 2000.

I could have danced all night. I could have been shafted all night. By the Bennett himself, and still I’d have begged for more. Look, I’m not a homosexual. Faggots are maggots. I’m not a gayer, despite my cunt fag fucking Bon Jokey cunt fucker looks, a look I’m accused of by people supposedly living on the fucking edge of musical appreciation … oh man, you’re all so bleeding alternative aren’t you!? Poseurs! No, I’m not ‘puffy’ as they say in El Escorial. No, not much. At least I didn’t think I was, until …

The evening began nicely, very nicely. First stop the ‘Manowar pub. It’s not really called that. Steve, my friend of 23 years from East Ham College (studio crap-fucks department) and I (Withnail?) named it that when we were both seeing U.S. HM band Manowar on an unhealthily regular basis in the early 1980s. Well, it looks like the sort of place Manowar would drink in, sword fight in, rape and pillage in, etc etc. It’s actually called the Cittie of Yorke and there’s been a pub on that site since 1430. Hey, directionless arseholes, why not go check it out? An easy 1 min walk from Chancery Lane station. Alas, 20 mins worth of being surrounded by Friday night city bastards was quite enough, although some of the girls set my cock ablaze (with matches, lighters… and, considering the ultra-high level of excitement 1 had worked myself into, to see Whitehouse that is, I fucked off.

Next stop. Met Stevey baby outside the Dominion theatre in Tottenham Court road and from there to Euston station and a pub called the “Head of Steam” We yakked away about the Timo 7″ I’m financing and of which, hopefully, Steve will be doing the sleeve artwork for, using one of my Nagasaki photos. Along comes Chris, Steve’s fiancé (of 13 fucking years, don’t rush into it loves!) and so we, that is I, Gregory, Steve and his old trout Chris smecked away, govereeting and paid regular trips to the toilet the door of which had a combination lock so as to stop ‘drifters’ as Steve so politely put it, er … drifting. . If you want the code number and can’t be fucked to ask for it at the bar it’s CX28 as of 13.10.2000.Good luck and now sod-orf back to your cardboard box. Then it’s gone 8:00pm, time to leave the miserable couple ano’ see if I can get myself to this Red Rose dive I’ve heard so much about this summer.

On exiting the tunnel (of love) from Finsbury Park station you are faced with the nuclear wasteland that is in fact the Seven Sisters Road. Bring back the Marquee club in Wl for god’s sake! I’m all alone in a part of London I never visit, hope the venue isn’t too far. Thankfully it isn’t … a 10 min walk and there before you is the oasis of the Red Rose in all it’s splendour. After a quick look around to see if I know anyone (I didn’t) I got myself the obligatory pint and made my way back to the front garden’ to, perhaps, make friends. I spied two guys who looked approachable, sensible chaps you know, one with a Coil t-shirt, t’other with shaven head except for a patch of long dready-weds. Charming gentlemen they turned out to be but they hadn’t heard anything by Whitehouse, only heard of them at the Coil gig I think. Hmmm … ‘To the curious’, those were such great days … and we’re going to see great days again! Sitting on a bench in front of us was a fuck I later found out to be called Ian. Let’s call him irritable Ian, for such he was. Irritable at being alone, irritable at not having seen or heard Whitehouse before, irritable that his sister is a successful porn actress … well, he bore a striking resemblance to one I’ve seen having the arse torn out of her and irritable at my clothes, accusing me of being a Europe fan!!!! 0k, perhaps he wasn’t so wrong, I fucking saw them circa 1986 or 7, with Steve because Steve’s bitch at the ‘Lime blew him out and I got the spare ticket for free. That’s my excuse so fuck you, I fucked all your mothers and each one was complete crap. Still, at least Joey Tempest (Troy’s brother) looks remotely attractive to the opposite sex, more specifically, to the 12-year-old rock chicks of that time, which is more than I can say for irritable Ian. Maybe your sister will screw you … for a price, though I doubt you could afford her these days, fucking human toilet. Moping old sod. I fired back, it passed the time, psychiatrically and sarcastically, telling him he looked like a rockabilly, even though he didn’t but it was the nearest I could get and, besides, I was running out of patience. He went fucking mad, obviously a sore point. I gave up with Mr.Worthless (2) nobody likes him, end your life, end your life now, do it now! Later though in the Hinoeuma, we shook hands, kissed and made up. Even though by this time irritable Ian was already dead.

I joined the queue in the corridor and got talking to a 52-year-old geezer called Buffalo Bill! He was only in the Red Rose for a drink, definitely not a Whitehouse fan. We spoke about Bob Dylan of all things and how Buffalo Bill had seen him in concert at Wembley not so long ago and what a disappointment Dylan had been! I’ve got a couple of Dylan records myself, old, old, old ones … ‘Highway 61 revisited’ and ‘The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylanl (3). Highway 61 is a superb song, makes all the malenky hairs on my plot stand endwise oh my brothers! Go seek it out, so called noise freaks! Ha! Ya fucking tunnel-visioned pussies, eat me, eat my snatch or don’t you like your faces covered in pussy pus? You wankers! And, and, and, blow me down, Buffalo Bill went away and came back with a pint for lil’ol me! Cheers man, happy days! I owe ya one!

So, the doors open. In we go, into the warm cosy darkness that is the Hinoeuma (it’s also a comedy club on other nights). I had to pay a visit to the Cheeses International stall (4). This is a little mail order firm specialising in noise, weird and experimental music etc that I have been buying from for 9 years or so. Run by the trustworthy Sfeve Fricker I finally got to meet the man himself at long last, face to corrida splattered face. Amazing how you have an image of someone in your head and yet when you meet them they are completely different to how you had imagined! Steve thought that 1 looked a cunt too.

I made my way to the bar area and got chatting to a very talkative bloke from Arizona no less! I can’t remember his name but he showed me his Circus Freek show t-shirt and described some of its extreme goings on, live maggot and fly-eating and the likes! I find the idea of a girl eating live maggots particularly appealing, see my infamous and rejected everywhere Mira Calix – Oneonone review (5). Hey, Arizona man, if your illicit video came out then I’d love to have a copy … get in touch!

Then I saw a girl. A real live girl. Don’t get ‘too many of that lot at Whitehouse shows (according to Richo of Fourth Dimension Records and mail Order (6)and a man of whose opinion I hold in the highest regard, we’re, that is him, me, are in the ‘sad male geek domain. So, it’s official. Off I go, like a fly to poo poo and plop plops. I buzzed around Ami for some time, asked her about her smell (but not her quim, ha, ha! Get it, noise freek fuckin’ bastards?!) “It’s Jean Paul Goatie-hay”. Oooohhhh dear! Yes, very extreme, very experimental, very arty-farty-skinnyhead-hermaphrodite- woofter! Darling, must you do what the glossy ads tell you to do and wear that over-designed bottled up over-priced piss? Why cover up your very own girly smell? And why shave those miraculous little armpits? I love to see a smattering of hair. There. Like two extra honeypots. Come on sweetheart, you’re the one, that I choose, it’s your lucky day, you don’t have to say please!

Guess I said the wrong things to Ami, sick and wrong things, from start to finish … the final straw being my admission that I’m not one bit interested in ‘girls’ of my own age, 41 that is, and by referring to these said ‘girls’ as wrinkled-up old sows, the Citroen Ami 8 got all defensive and made her escape at the next opportunity which from her point of view wasn’t soon enough. I have a way with women. Cheque!

Anyway, Ami’s departure did me a great favour(not really, but I have to put on the brave face) for I was able to sit on the table by the wall which she had unwittingly been buttock heating (like Duchamp’s Mona, she has a red hot arse) and began talking to a brilliant couple from Rugby … I forgot the guy’s name but he was without doubt the ‘coolest dude’ that I’d spoken to throughout this whole sordid affair. We watched the support band together, aaahhh GeroGary made a friend. Dachise-Vex I think it was. Not a bad band at all, projected back-drops of the usual imagery that you’d expect on such occasions, close-ups of stitched-up lips, 1950′s futuristic machines, beaten-up bods coughing up blood etc. Musically I guess they’ve played the odd Whitehouse record, old Ramleh (where are you Gary Mundy?) and all that cal. Mr.Rugby and 1 enjoyed it until we got bored and wanted them to finish so we could watch Whitehouse of whom Mr.Rugby had never heard or seen … so many innocents awaiting defloration! Not like ultra-seasoned ‘Wreck of Rock’n'Roll Former Self,(7) GeroGary (in a white wine sauce with shallots and herbs).

And now is the time. Whitehouse come forth. To London. Has it really been 4 and a half years? We stand, on the table against the Hinoeuma wall. The view is outstanding. I steady myself by holding a conveniently-placed length of pipe. LA86 begins … Philip Best screams ‘Tit Pulp’ (8). I scream along. Well, I attended sing-a-long-a-Johnny Rotten time in 1983 so why not sing-along-a-Whitehouse? Oh yes, you know it’s gonna be alright, you know it’s gonna be just fine. I make Whitehousian gestures in the traditional fashion. Raised fist, shaking fist, ” … and the next one’s you!” Pointing finger. Where is Mary Dowd these days anyway? I want to see the untitled short film from 1982 in which she lies buried in soil while snails, worms and beetles crawl over her partially exposed body (9). I’d love to see all those old films, someone stick ‘em on DVD please! Well Mary, what are you up to now anyway? Fat? 40? “Do you believe in Rock’n'Roll? (10) It’s William. Just William. Just William with Philip and Peter. Peter Purvis. Peter Pervert. Blue Peter. Pornographic Peter. But it’s just William if you want it to be. Sexy. I never noticed that before. “If you believe in Rock’n'Roll … ?? Must have been subconscious in there all the time in the back of my head. Dormant. William, tall, slim, dominant, cool shades, rock-god shades, good-looking. Tne Master… “Then why don’t you stand up for what you believe in???!!!” I dance. 1 tell you while I dance. Told(ll). I hold the pipe tighter. Ihe pipe. The pole. Pole dance “… You wankers!!!” I wish I was a girl. “… You wankers!!!” I wish I was a 14 year old girl, hormones seething, with all those teen clothes, those uniforms, those Trevor Brown drawings, just for tonight. Just forever. Just for William. Does he see? Does he see this? Rock god William. Cooler than any fucking ponced-up rock fag. Rock hag. Rocked sag. Indie slag. Now I see why my ex wife got home after LA78 (London 1996) yelling “I want William to fuck me!” Does your bitch do that? Did she? Has she? Fucking pig. Fucking whore. She made me a Slutmaster(12). A sick fuck. I kill for pleasure. I,live to hate whores, cheap sluts fucking cunts! You live to die. Human toilets. And now it’s me. Me waving at Sotos, Sotos waves back. We did this before, LA78. That fateful night. My bitch broke lose. My cunt. And I want to be that cunt. That bitch. That girl. Wanna be Bennett’s Lolita. Bennett. Humbert. Quilty. Wanna whore myself, be used. Abused. Pull my mouth apart just like Trevor’s ‘Just like a cunt’(13) painting. Fill it. Split it. Japanese porn mag violence. I was born for this. If only I didn’t have this stubble, these chest hairs, leg hairs, slug between my thighs. If only I wasn’t 41. If only, if only, if only. And where are they now, the years, the years?(14). The Pink Fairies did a song… ‘I wish I was a girl’. Never heard it. Robert Silverberg’s ‘Son of Man’(15)had our descendants, aeons into the future, able to change sex at will. If only. And my panties are wet, though not from that. From pissing my strides after putting it back too soon in my rush to get back to the hall and from not wearing sensible trousers. Home made lace-up fly you know. Awkward. William reads from letters received. I can’t hear. A recipe. A pinch of salt. Cook for me babe. Ply me with fine wines like at the Ideal Home exhibition. You don’t need that slut. That Barbie. Barbie is a slut. “bear the breast from her heart, nail her cunt to the wall, scold her stinking orifices, convulse the body in pain. Undress me, caress me, love me, don’t let me die. Mine is a heart that breaks in no time or place. No soul, no love, nothing” (16). SPK’s Sinan, on TV’s ‘the Tube” in 1983. I want to be dressed the same, 100% the same, be the same. Be her. Then.1983. Now a new song? I don’t recognise. Philip’s solo. Guitar solo. Drum solo. Yamaha solo. Rock god. What’s the difference? I liked your long hair around 1995 Mr.Smoketoomuch. Better cut down then. Teenage runaway. The audience goes for it. Don’t fuck with Sotos. You fuck with him he’s gonna fuck with you, that’s what he’ll do. Yeeaahh! Monster. A writer of subversive literature. Rock god.

I’m too busy trying to get my ‘Live at Tabula Rasa T-shirt (17) onto the bootlegger’s video to notice ‘Hinoeuma Girl’ waving at me. She who I met a couple of times at Gossips nightclub’s Goth nights and who recommended this Red Rose place to me. On the table I was high above her, she came to me. She said I looked as if I was … really enjoying myself. Yeah, Whitehouse are my favourite band, the best band in the world”. She seemed confused. I don’t think she agreed. I bent, held her perplexed face and smothered it in kisses. Sort of. I think she was with a guy, probably Peter Perfect. Wacky.

‘A cunt like you’ (18) gets its London debut. Bennett and Best take it in turns to sing … “You look like a fucking bat you old slut!” That’s no way to speak to a lady. “I really loath vulgarity!” [No way to treat you. Baby. "So common!" But I'm only 14. "Fucking stereotype, fucking stereotype!" Well,14 going on 41 ... oh,thee fucking majik ov thee numbers man. What's it mean, Gen? You take, you ache, you fuck just like a cunt. The fire in my pants is about to explode, feel it's gonna blow another load. And I'm the kinda girl who wants to take that chance ... with G.G. (19) with 'William. Take a chance on me, I'll be the first in line ... a cunt like me, a fucking mess, a fucking disgrace! Here's a thrilling piece of observation on my part; Bennett and Best don't just hand the microphone to each other ... they snatch it. Snatch. Snatch. Bennett, snatch, cunt, Best, Sotos ... I'm delirious, alive, alive! Listening to the sound of being alive'(20), listen to it you old fools, listen to it(21)! On and on and on it goes, cunt after cunt after cunt, snatch after snatch after snatch ... a heroic rendition of the most vicious song ever conceived. 'The end of all music' (22). More 'if only's'. If, only it could have been the mythical and frustratingly unobtainable (Unrecordable?) 'Never-ending version' because then William, with Peter and Philip pinning us down floorwise, really could have shafted the lot of us all night long, never-endingly.

He knows what to do...

Afterword:

I left. Shagged and fagged and fashed. I'd love to have seen Kraang + Wertham but 1 had a train to catch, had to get home, had to write this reviewl. Had to get it out of my system. You don't really want to hear about the fight I almost got into with a cunt (Ha! Yet more cunts. A whole night of 'em!) half my age on the train, only to be spared the aggravation by yet another fight (ongoing) which spilled into my carriage. Hoping to survive to see Whitehouse again some day I used the ensuing mayhem to flee to cars further up-track, thus rounding off a fucking brilliant evening! So satisfiying in fact, that I didn't even bother to do sad and lonesome onanie.

And that's really saying something.

References:

For those who care. Do you care?

(1) Brainbombs - Lyric from the song Stupid and Weak on the Urge to Kill CD 1998 LOAD 022 Load Records

(2) Whitehouse - Worthless (Daddy sings). The unreleased and/or unrecorded classic

(3) Bob Dylan-Highway 61 revisited LP 1965 4609531 CBS and The Freewheelin' Boo Dylan CD l@75 Columbia CD3239

(4) Cheeses International, PO Box 19067, London N7 OZH, UK Tel:0794 666 0528

(5) Mira Calix - Oneonone LP/CD review. Try www.ccapitalia.net/tabularasa or send me something 'nice' and I'll send you a copy.

(6) Fourth Dimension Records & Mail Order, PO Box 63,Herne Bay, Kent CT6 6YU Fax:+44(0)1227 369855 Email: richo@johnson263.freeserve.co.uk

(7) The Gerogerigegege - Wreck of Rock'n'Roll Former self 7"FP 1995 A.I.P.R 06

(8) Whitehouse - Tit Pulp on the very rare Right to Kill LP 1983 WDC881033

(9) Quote from a flyer for the Production Film Show 1983. You want a copy? It's yours. At a price. I name it, you pay it.

(10) Whitehouse - Rock and Roll track from the LP Birthdeath Experience 1980 WDC881004 (Available on CD Susan Lawly SLCD006)

(11) Whitehouse - Told on the incredible Quality Time CD 1996 SLCD012 Susan Lawly

(12) Brainbombs - Slutmaster from the Urge to Kill CD (see 1 above)

(13) Whitehouse-Just Like a Cunt WB vocal version 3"CD single 1996 FX-3 Fanatics

(14) Lyric from David Tibet and Steven Stapleton's LP The Sadness of Things 1991 or 1992 UD037 United Diaries (Available on CD UD037CD)

(15) Robert Silverberg-Son of Man 1971.Granada Panther edition 1979 paperback. ISBN 0 586 048o7 3

(16) Lyrics from the SPK track A Heart that Breaks in no Time or Place. On the Auto-Da-F@ LP 1983 WULP 002 Walter Ulbricht Schallfolien (Available on CD Viute SPK 4CD)

(17) Tabula Rasa, Noviciado, Madrid, Spain. www.ccapitalia.net/tabularasa

(18) Whitehouse - A Cunt Like You. Devastating song from the Mummy and Daddy CD 1998 SLCD020 Susan Lawly

(19) GG Allin with Antiseen - Violence Now/Cock on the Loose 711 1993 JET-22 Jettison

(20) Lyric to the songs Just Like a Cunt and A Cunt Like You from, respectively, Quality Time CD (see 11) and Mummy and Daddy CD (see 18)

(21) Line from the very funny 1975 BBC TV comedy show Faulty Towers. Episode; Fire Drill

(22) Quote from the stunning Whitehouse poster for the LA61 Bern performance

And one last word, I always get it:

Explore yourself. Find yourself. You may hate what you uncover. I do hope so.

GeroGary Simmons, Gartina, Hermitage Walk, London E18 2BN, UK.

13th October 2000

WHITEHOUSE LIVE ACTION 86, KRAANG, WERTHAM

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

Whitehouse, the Masters of the Overviolence, return with Live Action 86 and their most recent London show since the Garage, back in 1996. Last year it appeared that Whitehouse had imploded in on themselves when Philip Best stormed out just prior to a Parisian show. But Bennett's admiration for the long-running noise club, Hinoeuma has resulted in him reviving his extreme music group featuring the classic line-up of William Bennett, Philip Best and Peter Sotos. The venue is a bizarre choice in itself being a North London Labour Club.

Given the colossal sound Whitehouse are associated with it's quite astonishing to see just how little equipment they use. It's split over two tables tonight: Best's Roland, Sotos' WASP and, uh, Bennett's microphone. They take to the stage to a torrent of verbal abuse before launching into the classic Whitehouse set-opener, Tit Pulp. It becomes obvious quite early on that Peter Sotos rarely touches his WASP, and if so only to alter pitch. He prowls the stage, inciting not so much violence but taunts and jeers. Occasionally he'll let loose with some spit onto the floor, other times it's a mouthful of beer spurted into the crowd with precision aiming directed at the chief offenders. Besides being a prime influence on William Bennett one may wonder what exactly is his role in a Whitehouse Live Action, aside from stalking the stage. However his dark demeanor, sexual proclivities and interests as expounded in 'pornographic' titles such as Tick, Index and Lazy, ensure a deserved place within the Whitehouse ranks.

Philip Best, meanwhile, is perhaps the chief antagonist but he's conversely the most good-humoured. With round spectacles and chubby fat he's more like a guilty schoolboy than an extreme music virtuoso. He lunges with his vocals as he opens the set with Tit Pulp. He's the Whitehouse noise supremo and mid set while Bennett and Sotos have sauntered off-stage he indulges in a noise-fight with the crowd

It's a classic game of chicken where the crowd taunt for more noise, and Best responds with more volume and greater extremity, the crowd ridicule and taunt more, Whitehouse respond and so it goes on. It appears good-natured, and the masochists in the crowd appear to relish it. It is, however, an unnecessary and ugly gap in what should have been a Whitehouse set. I, amongst others, wanted to experience the full Whitehouse onslaught - of scathing lyrics - not just brutal noise.

When William Bennett dj'ed earlier this year at the Hinoeuma club, he looked surprisingly young and stylish - tonight he's in his Whitehouse guise dressed in black jeans, long leather jacket, sporting glasses from which his greased hair overhangs. He looks sleazy, intimidating - perhaps just like a pimp. It also surprisingly rock 'n' roll especially when he thrusts his arm into the air, Las Vegas style. Bennett's the most frenzied - dribbling beer, grabbing his crotch, and furtively shaking his microphone in an act of masturbation screaming Thank Your Lucky Stars. The paced is slowed when William Bennett reads a short story which at times just sounds like a recipe, of course, there's enough incisive twists to elevate this from Delia Smith to domestic abuse via eating disorders. Things get frenzied again during a brutal rendition of A Cunt Like You where the microphone is passed between a screaming Best and a raging Bennett. This is when Whitehouse are at their most potent and intimidating.

Even if the threat of a Whitehouse show is now more implied than actual it's not a reason to doubt their power or even to undermine them. After 20 or so years, Whitehouse are still managing to develop; their sound has matured, their interests have become subtler but the overall effect has not been diminished. It's just in a venue like this - it's a noise club - where the crowd know what to expect and Whitehouse know what to deliver the element of surprise is removed. No one goes home disappointed, though. This is prime Whitehouse, not to be missed.

14^th April 2000

GENOCIDE ORGAN, DEATH PACT INTERNATIONAL, DEATH SQUAD,

SUSPICION BREEDS CONFIDENCE, QUELL

Live at Hinoeuma, London, UK

Extract from Penguin review

I have a terrible confession to make. Namely, that before this gig, due mainly to my heretical dislike of the vinyl format on which they release their music, I had never actually heard Genocide Organ. I was therefore both extremely excited and in near-total ignorance of what to expect as I left the office that evening. The event was organised by Hinoeuma, one of London’s two semi-regular noise clubs, whose venue is the back room of a dour working class comedy club in the suitably dismal urban surroundings of Finsbury Park. Being a Hinoeuma regular, I had volunteered my services as a native guide to any intrepid foreign industrialists attending the event, and, as it turned out, I found a Dutch comrade from my CMI adventure in Denmark had taken me up on the offer. After a little happy reminiscing over my holiday snaps while we waited to see if anyone else would turn up, we eventually headed down to the club.

Well before any of the bands came on the venue was already busy, with many old acquaintances cheerfully being renewed among those present who had travelled from all corners of Europe, and even the US, for this special evening. Having met up with my friends from London noise club RECTIVE and begun the enjoyable process of getting senselessly drunk, I soon found myself being introduced to all sorts of interesting people including Marco from Wertham, the TESCO gentlemen and, a little later on, Jason and co. from Malignant Records, from whom I was lucky enough to get the beautiful new Heid ‘Arktogaa’ CD. Meanwhile we were treated to delicious autopsy footage on the club’s main projector screen and the whole of the classic Brighter Death Now album ‘The Slaughterhouse’ thundering out of the perilously high speaker stacks.

Although there was no obvious way of telling in which order the bands would perform, I was lucky enough to secure the running order from Mike of Con-Dom, a perfect soft-spoken gentleman when not on stage or in the studio!

the band up would be Genocide Organ themselves, allowing the less dedicated attendees to leave before the London Underground closed for the night. With a live scrap metal percussionist and a sound technician backing their imposing, dignified vocalist, the band displayed an impressive and commanding stage presence. Sternly announcing themselves as ‘Genocide Organ, from Jackson Mississippi’, they launched into a furious set characterised by a highly disciplined and barely restrained martial fury.

Very slightly marred early on by a few technical problems as Hinoeuma’s equipment bravely strove to survive the punishing sound being forced through it, Genocide Organ treated us to possibly the most impressive performance I have ever been honoured to witness in the UK (I was lucky enough to be at the one London date on the Swans’ farewell tour, so that’s saying a lot!) While the wall of crushing heavy electronics bulldozed over us at a volume that constantly threatened to blow the PA, the brutal militaristic rhythms of the percussionist imposed a harsh sense of order on the noise, the backing film barraged us with grotesquely freakish images of racist violence, going not merely for easy targets like our slack-jawed friends in the deep South but also for more politically risky subjects such as far-right Zionism in Israel. Above all this, the gruesomely distorted vocals, repeated to the point where we couldn’t fail to catch every word, hammered home the harsh messages of hate. Only BDN have ever succeeded in simultaneously terrorising and chilling me to the same extent as Genocide Organ live. I wanted it to go on forever, and the many calls for an encore as the band left the stage clearly showed I was not alone, and Mike was busy later in the evening providing directions for the follow-up performance in Leeds the next day!

10^th March 2000

EXTREME MUSIC FROM WOMEN

Live at Hinoeuma, London, UK

This gig was the launch of a new comp. CD on Susan Lawly (Whitehouse's label) William Bennett was DJing. Incidentally the CD is great and very varied (all "extreme" but not all noise) & it's a beautifully presented too with big plush booklet.

The Red Rose Club is apparently connected with the Islington Labour Party - but we'll let that pass - a great venue with nice cheap (£1.50 a pint - pretty good for London!) bar at the front and big hall at the back where no doubt Tony Blair & cronies perform child-killing rituals with the Royal Family. (We didn't let it pass...).

William Bennett's DJing throughout the evening was kinda predictable - noise, a lot of which I recognised as being from his own releases. It was interesting to note he now has a blond tint to his immaculately sculptured hairstyle.

Also he must be over 40 but looks about 24 - some sorta Dorian Grey thing going on there.

CANDI NOOK was first act, accompanied by Miss Holly and by Paul Harrison action as a stage prop in gasmask & "CUNT" T-shirt. They did some kinda brief shouty disco song before wrestling each other and accidentally unplugging their mikes.

They both wore hideous "sexy" outfits. This was quite obviously S&Q-related, in fact it could have passed for a Smell & Quim show if Srdenovic had been present - a nice icebreaking opener and they did well at not outstaying their welcome - about 15 minutes in all.

Next up CAT HOPE did some droney guitar, but I was getting pretty drunk by then. I do remember that she wasn't particularly silly. I think the next act I saw was MARIA MORAN, who was possibly half naked and noisy but your guess is a s good as mine. I know KAREN THOMAS was turned back at Customs and couldn't make the gig (all the acts except Ms. Nook were AMerican or Australian).

The sound system spluttered out Sade singing "The Sweetest Taboo".

I started dancing, as you do, which meant I was in prime position at the front to witness DOLORES DEWBERRY. She came on wearing basque and stockings with a 10" strap-on black dildo - over whooshing noise and "misogynist" porn samples she did a bump & grind burlesque routine while wanking the dildo - a parody of male sexulaity? Who knows, but it amde for a great performance - a jarring mix of the arousing and the disconcerting - she mouthed both male and female parts from the porn dialogue too. Amazingly this was her first ever show, and her piece on the CD was her first ever attempt at music - what's more the Australian Arts Board apparently paid for her and Cat Hope to fly here, then to do the American promotional dates too! I wonder what whatever the Oz equivalent of the Daily Mail is would make of these facts.

Last came WENDY VAN DUSEN - aw man, not my cup of tea. She's some sorta "legendary" sub-Diamanda Galas Goth act and did miserable sounding dirges over booming live percussion. Obviously there were a lotta folk in black there and she did seem to go down well with 'em - they're welcome to her.

Alcoholic stupor had set in and canoodling, fighting and confusion reigned in the venue. Next thing I knew I was in a flat in Hackney with all these noise musicians and there was a boa constrictor sniffing my face with its tongue. When I woke up my body seemed to have been battered all over. TOP NIGHT OUT.

Simon Morris

10^th March 2000 | EXTREME MUSIC FROM WOMEN

Live at Hinoeuma, London, UK

Extreme Music From Women CD Launch Event March 8, 2000 London The event was meant to be a showcase of some of the talent that appeared on the fantastic new CD, Extreme Music From Women. I must say I was quite unimpressed with their live performances. Five artists performed one local, one from Australia and 3 from the US. DJ William Bennett provided the sounds between the acts. The mix was very nice consisting of a lot of Whitehouse, Buyers Market and even some EMFW. The only criticism is that he repeated a couple songs throughout the night.

First up was Candi Nook who, as a member of Smell & Quim, gave a caotic performance with help from other Smell & Quim members. It was basically "Smell & Quim Lite". The ladies acted out an assault of some sort on each other. Ending with them cutting off each others fake nipples that then oozed fake blood. Not much happened but the girls moving around smashing into each other and acting silly.

Performance art. No instruments were played.

Second up was Cat Hope who came from Australia to give us a taste of her modified Bass Guitar drones. Her guitar had some pedals and a keypad mounted to it and it was fed into a notebook computer which was processing the sounds. It was very rough going and sounded like it was meant to be a smooth soundscape of somekind. It just sounded like she was struggling to keep it together. It's hard to say if it went as intended or not.

Maria Moran aka Zipper Spy came up next with her DJ styling consisting of various CD-rs created and mixed by her. She made great use of panning and stereo separation. The sound was crisp and she really mixed it up with a great collage of interesting sounds. This was the highlight of the show.

Dolores Dewberry gave another performance art type display which was more like a strip club act. She grinded writhed and swayed to the tape of her own pre-recorded noise while stroking her lubricated, strapped-on didlo. While her 'technique' was very good and the performance was sexy it soon got old and may have lost many peoples attention. Again, no instruments were played.

Last for the evening was Wendy Van Dusen. As part of Neither/Neither World, Wendy, backed by two guys from her band, sang to the beat of the drums and noise. Very rock and roll. Hardly extreme. No women playing any instruments here either.

Another person who was on the CD that is worth mentioning is Gaya Donadio. While she didn't perform, Gaya set up the event with precision. The event was at a great venue, the sound was great, the turnout was great and everything flowed smoothly. Congratulations to Gaya for putting on a great event

Erik Hoffman

13^th February 2000

WHITEHOUSE

ASPIRATION TO INTEGRAL MONSTROSITY

Recently William Bennet's past exploits in the band Whitehouse whose interests included sex, madness and death (though ultimately the overriding theme being control, and the involvement of 'civilised' taboos and ethical frameworks in this), have become current. In part, the reason for this is the forthcoming Susan Lawly female comp. and the upcoming event at Hinoeuma to mark the occasion. The sound of Whitehouse was about cruelty which seemingly isn't problematic to the majority of their listeners, the trouble starts with their imagery both visual and vocal. In an effort to create a reaction, to convey honest undiluted interests and to open up the sadomasochistic relationship between audience and performer a provocative stance was taken. As W.B. has said when dealing with controversial material misinterpretation is to be expected. People are free to their own decisions and he isn't surprised that people choose to misinterpret him. This misinterpretation in a climate where the spanner trail, peter Sotos and Joe Coleman arrests provoked consternation from some liberals, conversely projects by Brett Easton Ellis, Bruce LaBruce, Camille Paglia and Stewart home are castigated by same, describe a genus in confusion. Does this bourgeoisie simply have an aversion to in-depth portrayals of perverse human behavior contained within a perverse contexture? Over analytical? probably, though even if this wasn't the aim of come org. they continued the prevocational assult that the punks, spitting and pogging, started and that was later to be embraced in their own way by the likes of Joy Division/New Order, T.G, S.P.K, NON,,,,. that anyone today would find the words shit, fuck, anus, cunt,,,, (in whatever combination) offensive or fail to come to grips with the concept of third person writing, or an author bringing to attention a subject of interest seems incredulous, but hopefully it's the reckless extravagance of wallowing in unclean/unsafe interests and the lack of good taste that is the prophylactic against weeping virulence.

On the issue of the emfw compilation: the concept of ghettoising music is a backwards one, the more extreme the ghettoisation the more ridiculous the idea. it points to a lack of self confidence and belief, and an unnecessary identifier. The best place for a noise act would be at a Boyzone or Erasure gig and a review of Whitehouse gigs shows their interest in doing just such cross-overs (playing with various heavy/death metal bands that include Slayer). I suspect Susan Lawly being aware of this are sending the whole practice up, and maybe if it was called the 'best noisy women album.... ever' it would be more obvious (not really an s.l. strategy though). If they set out for the knee jerk reaction, to stimulate the animal reflexes, and to embarrass political/philosophical chin-strokers then they have succeeded. In their efforts to hold up the banner of libertarianism they have succeeded. In creating the stigma/aura necessary for infamy they have succeeded, admirably: it is surprising that his/their antics are still misunderstood or worse, require by some, an assumed (though confused politically correct) right and panacea of pigeon-holing, ignoring the many previous statements and interviews*1, never mind commonsense. Ignorance or laziness possibly, but most likely an influx of new people to the 'scene' (and the more the merrier), has led to these same misinterpretations which in a genre that prides itself on being 'difficult' and 'explorative' is paradoxical. So no matter the style, ambiguity continues as the greatest 'sin' for our puritanical watchdogs and it seems that if nothing else W.B. and crew have shown us that the original (mary) Whitehouse will be perpetually replaced.

*1 "i can underline that i do not consider myself a misogynist despite being incorrectly quoted in unsound 5 to the reverse effect. Indeed I like most women and get on very well with most of them. The fact that my tastes sometimes include, to some, eccentric sexual refinements shouldn't have any bearing on the matter." '85 interview by Paul Lemos. "I’m convinced that in a fascist state Whitehouse would be one of the first to be put up against a wall and shot" '91 glasnost magazine.

Pall Sate: that_taht@yahoo.com

29^{th -} 30^th November 2001

STIGMA 2001

Two Days of Punishing Industrial Music in London

DEATH IN JUNE, THE DAY OF THE TRUMPET CALLL, VON THRONSTAL,

NOCTURNE, MZ412 vs. FOLKESTORM

Venue: London Electrowerkz

Stigma 2001 was held on Thursday 29th November and Friday 30th November 2001 on two different locations: Electrowerkz Goth/Industrial Club and Red Rose Comedy Club. The staff from Electrowerkz Goth/Industrial Club was also supporting Stigma 2001 in practical matters. The organizer of Stigam 2001 is Gaya Donadio from Hineoumea - The Malediction. Hineouma - The Malediction has for two years made underground concerts with industrial, dark ambient and also neo-folk bands, such as Deutch Nepal, Der Blutharch, Whitehouse, Andrew King and Ostara, and is today one of the most well establish clubs in Europe with events almost evry month. On the flyer and internet page for Stigma 2001 is the two record and distribution labels Cold Spring and Kokamf flanked with Hineouma as organizers, but on Hineuoma homepage isn't Cold Spring mentioned at all, and due to Gaya Donadio wasn't Cold Spring contributing with anything but getting the name on the flyer and Stigma 2001 homepage, apparently there was some difficulties between Hinoeuma and Cold Spring.

The other part taker in the organization was Kokampf, a rather small and extreme underground label promoting a few uncompromising old-school industrial music projects, besides distribution of various Cd's to a fair price. Andi Penguin, the man behind Kokampf was also Dj to Stigma 2001. On Thursday was Judas Kiss Dj too, and his magazine was on sale this night. Judas Kiss magazine is out now with no. 7, and it has mostly rather informative articles, reviews and interviews on some of the best musical artist, as well as features on special issues, he is currently preparing a new homepage, and also running a news group on the internet. And Chees International was, as on most other Hinoeuma events, also represented at Stigma 2001 with Cd and vinyl sales, besides some of the bands sold music, merchandise and even some erotic gear.

The first day of the festival has announced the bands The Day of The Trumpet Call, Von Thronstal, Nocturne and MZ 412 versus Folkstorm, and was held at the Electrowerkz Club. This place was a closed factory, power plant or something, and absolutely perfect for an event of this kind. They served a good cop of coffee at a fair price and had also some large tin-can beers that was rather popular. The staff, the people and the arcitectures establishes a true underground atmosphere, the area seemed outside general society, it felt like it was our place. The audience was a nice cocktail of outsider styles, some punks, some military or decadent fascist styles, some Stalkers and Goths, but generally mostly strong individually attitudes and styles. The Dj played old DIJ and other goodies, and shortly after the opening an anonymous person in military battle uniform, helmet and camouflage scarf in front of his face jumped on the rather dark scene, with an electrically amplified acustic guitar and started playing some of my favorite tunes through the years....

DEATH IN JUNE

Music:*****

Performance:*****

Persistance:*****

.......it was Douglas P. who unannounced appeared as a surplice act of the uppermost delicate nature.

I’ve been a fan of DIJ since I got NADA! some about fifteen years ago, and I would like to salute Douglas for his appearance as artist and audience on this evening, and that he hasn't dressed down when money talked, that he hasn't turned into a dwelling dinosor playing only at large theaters parted from his fans, but appears as a part of the underground in this most spectacular and surprising manner. Gabba Gabba Hey One Of Us, this marvelous set lasted some about fifteen minutes with a medley of Piggy songs as well as some older songs, the sound was quite good and the appearance was dreamy, he just stared playing and in the middle of the set he took of the camouflage in front of his face and said that this was some rather surprisingly experience for him to play that night as well as it probably was for others, and then he encouraged Joseph to continue his fight. And I won't hesitate to encourage Douglas P. to continue his fight as well. He is one of the most misunderstood artists of today, he is censored, banned, discriminated and misinterpreted on a level enviable to the Nazi regime champagnes against entartet kunst, and yet he insists and persists to perform his controversial art. Never Mind The Bollocks, Here Are The Death In June. Douglas P. gets an extra five ***** for his persistence.

THE DAYS OF THE TRUMPET CALL

Music:***

Performance:**

Intelligence:*****

I had much bigger expectations on this band than was fulfilled, their Cd "Purification" seems rather well composed with a clear idea, but they appeared on stage as they were just in a rehearsal room, with almost no visual human expression or contact with place or people, the stage show was reduced to dias of their symbol of the statue of archangel Michael and a picture with this statue in-between the burning world trade center. I must admit that it must be a hard task to perform right after thee most notorious performer in the fields of rape, besides TDOTTC were victims of being the first full member band to play and that the sound engineering wasn't too good in the first part of their set. When this is said I must stress that their musically performance was excellent, understood as playing

13th October 2000

WHITEHOUSE LIVE ACTION 93

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

"It was really great seeing Whitehouse live in London and Leeds. the shows were way beyond my expectations and I will never forget them"

"I congratulate you on a very enjoyable evening. I can quite honestly say I've never seen so much broken glass littering a stage after a gig and it's a miracle nobody was sliced to ribbons! No doubt you'll be amused to hear my own injury list includes bruised ribs, bruised lower back, large cigarette burn to left forearm, swelling to left side of head (thanks Peter), a sticky camcorder full of beer, and the obligatory two-day tinitus. Which was nice. Video came out surprisingly well and accurately conveys some of the chaos that took place at the front of the stage that night (plenty of fleeting shots of the floor, panicked faces in the audience, you gobbing beer everywhere, etc.), more so than last year's which had more nutters but didn't really come close in terms of audience participation / violence..."

"I managed to sneak past the ticket queue this time (sorry Gaya), so I guess I owe you some positive feedback. What a superb Friday night! The first turn was OK, despite the singer's ridiculous hair, a bit like TG's song 'Punished' warped all over the place - who knows what he was talking about. I quite fancied the Italian girl in the audience with the French revolutionary style hat. At first, I was bored with the wait for Whitehouse to come on and was worried they'd play a shorter set as a result of the delay, but when Peter Sotos lunged forward in his dirty old man's rainmac, I was well chuffed. The current 'set' is probably the strongest I've heard from all the Live Actions, each blast of noise melted into each other perfectly with no let up, and 'Princess Disease' and 'Rock and Roll' stood out as particular high points. Had a good laugh as well when Phil Best got dragged off stage twice during 'ACLU', with his paternal mentor William actually looking concerned for his welfare! Loads of the predictable bottle throwing etc but it was obvious that Whitehouse were going to win the Seven Sisters Shootout. Bollocks to the whingers, LA93 was pure, unadulterated, sleazy dalek electro filth, a great night out for all the family and definitely something I'll be re-listening to in the bunker when Bin Laden's crop-dusting planes start spurting anthrax across the UK. It's a shame Sotos got injured in Leeds, if people think he's 'aggressive' they should try going down a suburban nightclub hellhole like Ritzy, Kudos or whatever, where you can happily be maimed, knifed, bottled and gouged by as many orange-shirted, sports casual scumbags as you so desire."

"A few comments about LA93 on Friday. 1. Why was Sotos patrolling the stage doing nothing? 2. Why did Bennett literally contribute fuck all, all night? 3. Well done Best, you ran the show single-handed.

The show was an awesome display of power & noise, but come on Peter & William, put some fucking effort in."

"I think Peter Sotos patrolling the stage and William Bennett doing nothing is good. So up yours. I hate music virtuosos."

"LA93, the third time I have seen Whitehouse and the best. I have not had so much fun at a gig for years. It was easy to connect with the emotion coming from the band. I was smiling all through the set. "

"Oh well so this was whitehouse - it was the first time i saw them today, it was meant to start at about 9ish but didn't - what did you really expect??

When i got in the first act was already on - a bloke standing at the microphone shouting something that after having gone through lots of electronic effects reminded me slightly of spk (one track but can't remember which one) and another bloke at the hardware creating some pulsating noise this went on for some time and the only lasting impression it left me with was an earache...

After they left the stage there was a little musical intermezzo (or something similar) before the next band came on stage enter: the gorilla the little bold man and the handsome bloke with the sunglasses the gorilla was running around on stage for most of the time and his main musical contribution - apart from turning a few knobs at times - was to spill beer over the audience spit at them and do all sorts of obscene gestures the little bold one was either turning knobs or singing - mainly along the lines of fuck you - you are stupid - wankers - and more fuckyou's now prince charming was either turning knobs or - if he managed to get the microphone of the little bold one - sing oh well something like that the sound started of with what sounded like one of this analog synthesisers and reminded me pretty much of the sounds i created using a program called rubberduck (tb303 emulator) then turned into noisier soundscapes & squeaky wave modulations after that was the gorilla and prince charming left the stage and the little one started doing some stuff this seemed more based on samples and had much more structure to it - appealing a bit more to my taste after a while the other two came back and started to make more noise - a few bottles and glasses were thrown but otherwise not much interesting happened by the way this was whitehouse - prince charming is william bennett the gorilla was peter sotos and the little bold one was philip best after this i had to leave - i hadn't had a good days and the sound was drilling too far into my brain and i probably would have ended up writing this mail while dangling from a lamppost ...

well i guess i might just be getting slightly old ...."

" I think this is one of the best WHITEHOUSE shows I've seen, and definitely one of the most intense concerning glass throwing, etc."

28th September 2001

"London Final"

CON-DOM, ANENZEPHALIA & WHITEHOUSE

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

By Marco Wertham

Reaching HINOEUMA in London is always an expensive adventure, in money, time and energy.

Here they are like every other time: white trash swallowing fish and chips, flocks of half castes challenging each other in a struggle of annoying ring tones with sardonic laughter which would offend any other biped's intelligence, half drunk yobs in designer t-shirts, fat black women with crying kids, stupid Essex girls who would wear sandals and mini skirts in the Siberian winter just to show their perfectly shaven legs mangled by obscene cellulite and a soundtrack of squeaky voices amplified by the echo coming from the very inside of their almost empty cerebral cavity...

Every time it is the same, so ritually perfect, with all its smell of grease, sweat and beer.

I wonder if any of these scumbags get paid by somebody to recreate this pantomime just for me whenever I leave Suffolk for the Capital of the decayed empire... Thank you very much for the thought... Never realised I was so special…

Look at them, this might be the next step of evolution. They are not even funny. Being tacky is the new norm, the village fool became the mayor and the noise of this train seems to be the only familiar element left in a rainbow that goes from the straw yellow of any of these cunts' hair, to the shitty mild brown of the half apes jerking in excitement for the singing digital bananas. I wish Malcom X could see them and teach them a lesson. Is Blair really scared of Farrakhan? God bless the Nation of Islam, although they know how to dress properly and stay silent, with their silly hats, but sporting some dignity while they march in line.

What does a yob dream about? What's his goal in life beside football and getting as alcoholic as dad, grandpa and everyone before him?

Are these 16 year old plumber's daughters really planning to get a boob job? Is it that important to them to risk long life asymmetry to feel at ease with their body?

And what will those bloody Yardies do with their lives?

Colour is painted differently on each of these people's faces, but the same dim expression is badly hidden behind a smile showing badly cured teeth... And they might be just fifteen.

I fucking hate you East Anglia... God punish England, sink the queen wrapped in a union Jack and get ready to build a massive parking place for Mittel Europa.

England, your latest generations are obnoxious, so cheap, tacky, greasy...

Look at them, teenage godivas, wearing these pink tight shirts, their micro boobs squeezed and ready to explode straight in your face at the first cough, balanced on fat asses as big as those of a cotton field black mama.

Strip them off their top and they would be left with nothing but two pinky pierced nipples, everything as flat as this desk... The picture is completed by floppy tummies hanging from just above the belt...

Fuck , look at yourself, you are 17 and you look like a Zeppelin filled with fat, grease and cheap parfume bought at SAYNSBURY's. A baked potato on two legs.

I hate your white trainers, your screechy voice, the way you wave you hair when you look at bloke. They are not going to notice you now, but yeah, I know somebody is gona shag you anyway. Booze will be your best mate tonight and will add what your charm misses.

I wonder if Jordan was like this as well before pumping silicon in every part of her body...

After about 2 hours holding my breath, I'm on Seven Sister's road, walking in a jungle of old Greek immigrants handling their komboloi outside of totally out of place "kafeinos". I feel more at home and not just because I loved Crete during my only proper holiday of the last 10 years.

A crack whore with make up and disgraceful slippers stands outside of a social centre and looks as if coming out from a venereal swimming pool, surrounded by tramps and this bloke with a cowboy hat wearing a "QUEER AS FUCK" t-shirt.

The Red Rose is ahead of me and I run immediately into the HINOEUMA door only to discover that Gaya and friends haven't arrived yet.

Luckily, an extremely tired Mike Dando (Con-Dom) is ready to offer me a drink...

I try to not stress him immediately with my over-enthusiasm, although it is difficult to keep my warm temper running after one year of semi-isolation in flat Suffolk countryside without meeting people of "my ranks"…

Few words and our attention goes to the TWIN TOWERS attack, which had happened not too long before. There was no ANTHRAX scare and no war yet and it seemed to be a common hope that the Yanks would understand once and for all what it feels like to get bombed while you are quietly sitting on the toilet reading a tabloid...

Gaya and the Germans arrive, then WHITEHOUSE, and some more familiar faces amongst them Andy Penguin in a fake Nazi uniform, a left over from some dodgy British war movie which will capture the attention of the more pc oriented people of the evening.

The sound check starts and there seem to be many problems (a speaker melted) so I go out of the venue and chat with friends at the RED ROSE where people in camouflage are mixed with old alcoholics, ex cons with cheap ink tattoos on their hands, whores and Goths.

After quite a long wait noise starts to come from the venue and I put myself in the queue while ANENZEPHALIA started the dances.

While patiently waiting for my turn to get in (since I didn't realise I was on the guest list, thanks Gaya) I get approached by a horrible drunk blonde subhuman running after everybody in search of a desperate snog.

She fucking stinks of wee and alcohol, looks wasted. Tall, quite slim besides a horribly swollen tummy, showing age with a diet of booze...

She might have looked attractive before what I imagine to be a slow decay, her hair is still nice, well groomed, unlike her fallen teeth… I cannot avoid thinking about my new American friends Jane, Joan and Guy… Every time their mouths open, a flash of light blinds me… One of the very few things I envy Yanks for is their glowing teeth, but we are in Albion and these indecent animals seem to be the result of years of drugs and possibly a violent domestic history. I imagine her dressed like a middle class woman, possibly married to a butcher who comes home pissed off and beats the crap out of her, forcing her to wear sunglasses for endless days. Then he suddenly dies, possibly a car crash, and she discovers the joy of alchol, and sinks sinks sinks, drinking her husband's inheritance away to end up in the street… How long did it take for her to turn like this? Or has she always been like this?

I don't know and I don't want to, I just wish she would stick her fucking hands somewhere other than my shoulder and disappear with one glare.

The blonde venereal stick is dressed like a teen age slapper, like thousands you see pushing each other at the local Top Shop in search of some ridiculous dress to wear for their hunt for a prematurely interrupted Saturday evening shag.

My doubt on her sexuality lasted for days til somebody wrote that she was going around proudly showing everybody her newly shaved pussy...

Guy from NY catches me just in time to get back into the venue and enjoy at least 60% of ANENZEPHALIA show.

For all those who don't know, Anenzephalia is one of the best German power electronic projects. They add to the familiar German trademark loops a series of high pitched feedbacks, and instead of avowing themselves to an aggressive performance they tend to keep sounds and image more atmospheric and intense, although the sound pierces ear drums.

Michael stands still on stage screaming while Klaus (Genocide Organ/Tesco) does his work at the sound desk.

I wish there would be more projects like this and less "wanna be GO without the equipment and the feelings".

As in previous actions we have a video composition with a stable frame (some kind of old TV monitor)where images flow confused, giving a sense of dynamic movement in contrast with Michael's statuary pose.

They are great, I haven't seen them perform live for a long time, and also this time I was fully satisfied by their performance. The problem was that people were sitting two meters from the front of the stage- I've seen much more enthusiasm in my comrades when I was a boy scout singing prayers around the fire after two days of endless rain just after the Cernobyl disaster (so if I get blood cancer you know when I got it).

I start spotting more familiar faces that I haven't seen for ages and a couple of celebs like Richard Kern's model Lucy McKenzie and Richard James (APHEX TWIN). A chat with old and new faces and a minute of fresh air and here we go with a new WHITEHOUSE action.

As soon as the music is supplied by Jane of NOISEINDEX (http://www.noiseindex.com), the crowd seems to come back to life and push under the stage. I project myself to the very front. Jane was not Ms. TESCO USA yet but definitely got the attention of different people in the crowd murmuring about her identity…

Somebody is already yelling "CUNT" and CUNT and WANKER are going to be the most (ab)used words in the venue for the next 45 minutes, like a verbal ping pong match between the trio and the public; but it won't be just swearwords flying...

Sotos walks in and more insults come. The first glass gets on stage even before the "music" has started.

Best is next and takes the microphone yelling insults.

Bennet follows and put himself at the right of the stage handling the sound bank before taking control on the microphone and leading the crowd in what will be more than just another extreme electronics show...

I can't remember the order of any tracks, I could attempt to say they opened with "CRUISE (Force the truth)", "Princess Disease", "Thank Your Lucky Stars" which is what power electronics should be. The wall of sound is impenetrable but absolutely clear. I can recognise every single wave...

The new tracks are built mostly with sounds miles away from today's trendy loops.

Cruise's backing track sounds like a pitch shifted irregular cardiac pulse with apparently round surfaces which would lead you to believe you could touch them, but then they slide out of your hands melting around your neck, choking you, to then leave the grip when the next track starts and forces you to sit on a different punishment device, something that looks like a brand new steel anvil where an invisible hammer crushes your toes.

Sotos walks up and down yelling "cunt", "wankers", inviting the crowd to take the stage for physical confrontations. It felt like being at those "free ring" box matches of 100 years ago where any daring drunk could get on stage and attempt to beat the champion to the end the night at the hospital.

For the first 15 minutes the show is very intense, but nothing different from what I've already experienced in the past.

We have Bennet screaming his guts out in his hysterical voice, Best stealing the microphone here and there, Sotos provoking and people pushing under the stage like at a Hardcore gig under the large amount of peeping tom's cameras capturing the event. There should be around about 10 different versions of videos of this show.

Then things start to degenerate... Best is taken down from the stage and Sotos carries him back with some difficulty, then slaps very hard a fan who laughs at first and then doesn't seem to be very impressed and replies by throwing beer.

If the alcoholic golden shower is impressive, the hailstorm of glasses is unbeliavable...

Fuck... WHITEHOUSE is all about domination, and the slaves seem to revolt in this moment although most of them have insane smiles of excitement on their faces.

Not everybody since a pair of chicks gets extremely eager to strike Sotos and Bennet after their make up melted under an unwanted beer shower. One of them smacks her boyfriend on his nose, causing him to bleed, because he didn't defend her…

Glass bullets are flying like in a trench war, but our heroes are bullet proof and answer the fire with more beer and insults.

I hate beer, it smells of wee… normally just being near a pint would make me puke and I still can't believe I was totally bathing in yellow liquid for most of the evening. I just attempt to do a minimum of human shielding to Joan who was attempting to take some pics while all hell breaks loose in the hall...

A woman gets on stage with a present, and if I have seen right, Peter snogs her and then kicks her off stage yelling something like "fuck off, cunt!"...

"Cunt" is all the world wants and "cunt" is what the world gets.

They could set up a competition with prizes to count how many times the "C" world has been spoken, shouted, yelled, and cried out in less than an hour...

Slaves crawl at their master's feet and his whip of distortion falls on their back cracking in the hot Hinoeuma hall.

The fact their willingness to be submitted doesn't make the master love them... Or at least they don't show it at all...

"Do you believe in rock'n'roll?!" Although I never did, I find myself answering affirmative with all the voice I have left raising both my fists to the sky. And so do all the bodies pushing in a orgy of sweat, beer and noise.

Best grins his smile and tries to grab the microphone from Bennet who jumps, screams, acting buggery on both his companions (yeah I know even those pussies of Ramstein do the same) but the highlight comes while in the global convulsion of hypertonic wall of noises he starts mimicking Malcom McDowell's Thumb dance in Tinto Brass' unrecognised masterpiece Caligula. Everything is so bizarre, grotesque and out of place... But perfect… Surreal… I still can't believe it is the same polite person with whom I had shaken hands few hours before.

William walks off stage, Sotos goes on struggling with the public, acting as a target like a giant bear in a funfair, who, instead of changing direction answers with more beer launching when hit by a bullet.

Some chick with her make up melted and her hair reduced, as my father would say "like the ass of a sheep", gets evidently offended and counterattacks while Sotos walk off stage leaving Philip Best alone.

This time his solo is based on a treatment of a backing track in the way of "Private" or "Public", or better, Sotos' acclaimed "Buyer's Market" CD.

So you know what you get, a glorification of abuse through the voice of the involontary actors of the definitive sublimation of pornography.

And it's legal... Yeah. Just put on Channel 4 or BBC2 after 9:00, wait and see.

This is not "The Brass Eye", this is not a fucking parody, and it's here, forced straight into your ear, with no journalist acting as a reassuring mediator interrupting the sauciest parts with his comments and leaving morbid questions open... It comes from the neighbour, it's something you experienced yourself and still hurts although you don't want to remember…

A pastiche of unpoetic grief which probably all those who like to read between the lines might interpret as WHITEHOUSE warning that NOBODY is safe in the game of life... But these pretentious wankers are wrong fools attempting to feel more comfortable in listening to something that to me sounds like taking the victim, whoever he/she is, whatever his/her age is, out of the grave to reenact her passion in an infinite loop to uncover details missed the previous time...

Philip smiles and plays with an over enthusiastic public.

Somebody moves a microphone toward the monitors creating further feedback.

Bennet and Sotos come back for a magnificent version of "Just Like A Cunt", fuck... I find myself with a smile that I don't remember having at a gig since I went in very good company to LENINGRAD COWBOYS in 1999.

The aftermath of their performance is dreadful... Glasses everywhere, beer on the floor, Dando get on stage looking very concerned for his gear the innocent victim of unholy rain...

His mixer is covered in alcohol and fragments of glass are stuck between the knobs.

He's not the only one to look a little bit pissed off, the staff of the RED ROSE is not very impressed by the loss of a tenth of their glasses and the time they will have to waste cleaning the floor....

But here he comes, few minutes and it is as if nothing happened, volume rises once again CON-DOM start his wreckage, with his body half painted in white, half in black as the two main colours of his protagonists of his latest concept "The Colour of A Man's Skin".

It's late, somebody starts to leave, but the tension is high, though nothing is happening.

A big bloke stands just ahead of the video beamer so we'll have his hair on the screen instead of the scenes of the thought provoking video for more than half of the show....

People stand still absorbed by Mike's intense performance. This man is as little as me, but once on stage radiates strength, tension, pain... His body language doesn't betray for one second, making you believe he's actually living what he's talking about... This is not theatre... This is not acting...

Be it the March of Farrakan's Nation of Islam, or the attacks of COMBAT 18, the Turner Diaries cover followed, names and surnames of the main protagonist of anglo saxon racial tensions are used here as actors of something that only the blind could see as propaganda.

I didn't listen to the record yet, so the only track I recognised is "Nation of Islam" (which played one month after the Twin Towers happenings definitely punched somebody in the stomach),. There's a slightly less sexual approach than of previous performances I've seen, although a scrap featuring a white woman getting sandwiched by two massive black guys (out take of Joe Damato's "Porno Holocaust") seems to symbolize one of the many subjects used in the "race war"... From one side the occidental fear of the savage capturing white beauties, on the other the "fuck da white bitch" ghetto culture.

No one seems to come out as a winner in this game, language becomes very similar and the "blue eye devil" and the "nigga'" are doomed to hunt each other in an endless vortex of hatred which Dando manipulates confirming himself as my fave front man ever and somebody who uses concepts not as simple embellishment and decorations for his noise symphonies.

Unfortunately I start getting extremely tired, my pensioner metabolism strikes and everything starts turning around, but not enough to spoil an evening which brought together three different kind of power electronics with various sounds, styles, approaches and concepts, each perfect for what they were attempting to express...

The end of the evening is spent with further blabbling before crashing at Gaya's place with Dando collapsing in one minute on his bed, everybody having fun and so on and having one/two hours of sleep before leaving for Victoria Station.

Everybody is extremely tired, I'm not too much since I haven't slept so my neurons were still awake from the previous night.

I part with Dando, the Germans and Jane while they wait for their coach to Leeds. I nearly run to find myself at King's Cross waiting to have a chat with Sotos...

After 1 hour in the station with all my stuff I realise I arrived two hours early.

So I collapse on a bench outside WH SMITH attempting to read something with serious difficulty understanding anything...

I try to digest something not too junky, but here it comes again... The stench of London.... Sweat, grease, fish and chips... Bloody hell it's 9:30 and these people are already swallowing shit from wrapped tabloid paper...

I'm surrounded.

A pathetic, middle-aged woman wears a T-shirt cursing Arsenal's football coach, some survivors of the gigs, white trash, yardies... different names, different bodies, same dumb faces...

At 9:45 Peter arrives, looks like his hand is hurting a little bit, we go in one of these fast food places and have a chat and then we meet some of his mates, a German couple and Xavier of TIMELESS magazine...

A nice morning with a good laugh and then, after Peter leaves us, I stay around with Xavier coming out with the funniest things...

My adventure is reaching its end, half dead, a crawl to Liverpool Street station and everything looks nicer, yobs smile all happy, ringtones plays Bregovic melodies, single mothers carry prams full of flowers.... everything in slow motion... I must already be sleeping...

Reaching Hadleigh in a sleepwalker state the following day to collapse in bed wishing I would have gone to Leeds.

ON Sunday I got to speak with Dap of The Grey Wolves who was expecting the Germans to reach his place... He told me that it was even wilder; Dave from Smell and Quim seems to have done a ballet (btw once and for all, it was not me to shave his eyebrows during the Origami/Marhaugh/Wertham tour and paint his head... ), a sieg heiling guy got punched, WH ended up with Sotos beating up people even wilder and being brought to hospital after cutting one of his hands during the brawl... Wish I was there...

"Do you believe in rock and roll???" I start to think so.

28th September 2001

WHITEHOUSE LIVE ACTION 83

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

Halfway through the sound check and I can smell burning. So can Peter. We decide it's probably the red gel on one of the spotlights melting. Nobody seems worried. William and Philip are preoccupied wrestling with Philip's amp. The technician is busy plugging things in. Meanwhile some asshole from the support band has just changed into a nazi uniform. He didn't even have the balls to wear it in the street. The only thing more stupid than a nazi? A gutless fake nazi.

The air stinks of burning. I glance over at the PA and smoke is pouring from the pre-amp. I shout out a warning and somebody at the far end of the hall kills the power. It's only the sound check and the PA appears to be fried. Gaya (the promoter) calls the PA company who guarantee to come and repair it. The doors open in an hour and a half.

We sit around on the stage sipping beer and chatting. Nothing else to do. Whitehouse write their set list. Philip worries about remembering the lyrics. Stories are told, everybody is tense but trying to relax. The fake nazi comes and stands on stage, but doesn't join the conversation. He just stands there, straight, arms folded behind his back, looking smug. not only is he wearing a dumb uniform but he has god-awful hippy-dippy long hair. This really offends Peter and Philip.

With half an hour till the doors open the PA company arrive and make hasty repairs, although some of the speakers are definitely not working, we compensate in the mix and volume. Thank the predator gods, it's still going to be loud. Whitehouse finally get to complete their sound check. I vanish to the bar and buy a round. The group split to the off-licence.

Fifteen minutes before they're due on stage and we're in the dressing room. Drinking beer, and discussing potential problems, my role is, according to William, to check that the mix is okay, and, according to Peter, to help out should any audience / group violence get out of hand. I'm fairly convinced Peter's joking, at least, I hope he is.

Just before they're due on stage I place beer bottles and an opener on stage. As I'm doing this I realise quite how nuts some of the audience appear to be, screaming and howling abuse, waving fists, splashing beer at me. Peter is first on stage and even above the roar of the PA I can hear some people shouting "Cunt!" at him. By the time Philip has joined him some members of the audience are hysterical. Baying for mayhem.

The show starts well, but within minutes the first glasses fly through the air. it seems as if they're not actually aimed at the group, but the amount of glass on the stage is phenomenal. The crowd are screaming, William and Peter douse them in beer. Peter screams abuse back into their fleshy pink upturned faces. At least a couple of people at the front appear to be genuinely trying to start something, and one shaven headed individual actually seems willing to take Peter on in a fight. Peter slaps somebody so hard that his hand hurts afterwards.

By the time William starts shrieking "Do you believe in rock and roll?" it becomes clear that some of the audience do, enjoying the spectacle of violence - their own rather than Whitehouse's - above the vicious sounds emanating from the PA.

Everything seems to be going according to plan, until Philip is grabbed and tugged into the audience. I'm on my feet and all I can think is "oh shit, now I've gotta dive in a pull him out." But Peter and William don't appear concerned, it becomes almost immediately apparent that the whole thing is overzealous excitement rather than an attempt to beat Philip senseless. Long seconds later he's back on stage, and Peter is patrolling the front pouring beer into upturned faces, gobbing lumpen phlegm into open mouths. The first few rows of the audience actually appear to love this - they're pleasures are ultimately masochistic. They want to be threatened, slapped and caressed by Peter, they like being spat on.

Somebody throws a glass high above the band, smashing it into the ceiling, sending down a silver rain of broken glass. William and Philip are just screaming. Peter clapping monstrously, like some demented beast. demanding the audience applaud, the PA is howling and all I can hear is "cunt" chanted mantra like by the first few rows of the audience, accompanying the lyrics of A Cunt Like You.

When it ends in a whine of feedback the air is electric, then everything is silent, like an airplane plummeting from 30,000 feet as it lands, the pressure in my ears changes, pops, and I can hear the applause.

Ten minutes later I'm in the dressing room. Discouraging unwanted visitors and welcoming friends. Beers all around. Everybody smiling. You asked for it. You got it.

Jack Sargeant

28^th September 2001

WHITEHOUSE LIVE ACTION 93

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

Sex and violence: that's (mostly) what Whitehouse are all about and, tonight, the Red Rose Club reeks of them. Peter Sotos keeps heckling the crowd, an imposing figure inviting us to come and have a go if we think we're hard enough. Nobody does. He slaps a guy at the front a few times in the face, but still nothing happens. He douses the audience in beer. People laugh. A woman climbs on stage and seeks Sotos' attention.

He pushes her violently back where she came from. I wonder if she got hurt, most people cheer. Philip Best, smiling throughout the show, bless him, looks like a jovial beer-bellied Oz Clarke, a bit out of place in this sex and violence orgy. He sometimes raises his arms to the sky and screams as loud as he can. He's funny. William Bennett keeps dribbling beer. Oh, he also does his trademark high-pitched squeal. We expect him to.

Watching three grown mature men behaving like adolescents struggling with a hormone imbalance is a bit awkward. I would even call it pathetic if I was not convinced it is all calculated and they know exactly what they're doing; they are giving us the opportunity to participate in the most extreme violent fucked-up sexual piece of entertainment available to the general public in these Health-and-Safety obsessed let's-cover-our-asses-in-case-we-get-sued naughtiest short of going to a fetish club like the Torture Garden which, incidentally, I do regularly. And the crowd does participate. This is in fact where most of the sex and violence comes from. A tall blonde is showing off her shaved pussy (or should I say cunt) and rubbing herself against any male she comes across. Lucy McKenzie is here, a model who appeared quite prominently in (and wrote the foreword to) Richard Kern's beautiful photography book Model Release. In one memorable picture, lying on a bathroom floor, legs wide open, she pisses directly at the camera. I did intend to approach her for a chat but I ended up looking after an attractive girl who came all the way from Karlruhe in Germany to see Whitehouse play live. This much dedication demands and deserves my attention. While I'm star spotting, I might as well mention Richard James, the Aphex Twin, watching proceedings from a safe spot right at the back next to the bar. As for the violence, Philip Best gets pulled down from the stage several times, and numerous beer glasses get thrown and smashed on stage. It is incredible nobody gets hurt.

I heard some people who had seen Whitehouse since the eighties say the performance tonight is unfortunately polished. Rather than being unfortunate, it confirms my opinion that the show is extremely well

controlled entertainment of the highest order, albeit a fabulously over-the-edge confrontational type of entertainment, reminiscent of Antonin Artaud's Theatre of Cruelty. And who could be disappointed with that.

J-P Kapps, 2001

jp.kapps@orange.com

DEATH IN JUNE

2002

Venue: Slimelight, London

Tonight marked the return of Death In June and NON to London and the first since Death In June's much publicised schism with their former distribution partners World Serpent.

The show itself was a major scoop for London's Hinoeuma noise club taking place at its alternate venue, the Slimelight. The Slimelight's low ceiling seemed quite appropriate lending the evenings proceedings a sort of bunker mentality. Skinheads, Torture Garden fetishists and a mixture of London's alternative set had turned out to see, according to the Guardian's listings anyway, Douglas P's revered and eclectic industrial band.

The night began with a rare screening of Richard Wolstencroft's Pearls Before Swine. This ultra-low-budget Australian film stars Boyd Rice as Daniel Wingrove, assassin and author of the psychosexual tome Pure. It's Boyd's first major acting role after his previous endeavours in Allison Anders' Grace of my Heart became destined for the cutting room floor. Unfortunately bad planning resulted in the film being screened at the back of the stage obscured by the band's equipment. Why they didn't use the Slimelight's in-house monitors remains unknown. Despite these misgiving the film looks quite amusing. Boyd's spanking scenes certainly raised a smirk and the dialogue featuring Boyd discussing the merits of the BBC's series Doctor Who over the America's Star Trek was certainly off the wall! Douglas P. takes a small cameo as Martin Gough, a bookseller of erotic tastes.

The sound of thunderous timpani drumming heralded the arrival of Boyd Rice. "Do You Want Total War?" he exclaimed, once again. Dressed head to toe in leather sporting Wolfsangle symbols and a Cross of Lorraine pendant around his neck Boyd certainly has visual presence. The live sound of NON is remarkable in its simplicity. A small portable effects box allows Boyd intonations to echo and reverberate throughout the room. The piercing shriek of a whistle jettisons its way across the room. John Murphy's powerhouse percussion lends the music a martial feel. It's a powerful and effective short set. 'World Collide' and 'Everlasting Fire' follow in succession, as Boyd reads from his Book of Words.

Boyd's such a multi-faceted individual that one only wishes that he'd let London audiences witness other aspects of his character. Let's hear him spin some old tunes, treat us to a Spell performance. It's not much to expect from one who shares the same bloodline as Christ.

Rare promotional videos of Death In June, and several airing of a worryingly catchy Death In June remix of Der Blutharsch preceded the arrival of Death In June. The sound of pig squeals emanated from the speakers as John Murphy took to the stage, masked and hooded. Douglas P. soon followed waving a flag emblazoned with a Totenkopf, the Death's Head motif. In his camouflage smock and mask it was evident Douglas was in no mood to suffer fools. Tonight he meant business. 'Till The Living The Flesh Is Burned' was quickly followed by 'C'est Un Rêve' and 'Death Is a Drummer'. The powerful atmospheric tracks, augmented by handbells and percussion provided ideal cover for Douglas's refined intonations.

Now wearing an SS snipers mask Douglas switched to guitar and launched into an excellent set culling tracks from all major Death In June releases. This really was a 'Best Of' set: 'She Said Destroy', 'Behind the Rose (Fields of Rape)', 'Runes and Men', and 'Kameradschaft'.

Tonight as a duo John Murphy's percussion excellently supported Douglas's simple melodic guitar lines. Cymbals crashed (and shattered!), above the thunderclap of timpani drums. With such sparse orchestration the sound could easily be weak and timid but Death In June live remain an invigorating and powerful proposition.

Throughout the night there were sly references to Osama Bin Laden and the Taliban terror outfits. Only a fool could have missed the veiled references within 'She Said Destroy (In Black New York)' alongside the switching of names in 'C'est Un Rêve' Even 'Death of the West' slipped in references. Perhaps Douglas has found the terror attacks in the USA have given Death In June fresh relevance. Throughout his career Douglas has made reference to Hitler and the SA and how they shaped the world we are living in. It's possible that he now views Bin Laden and the Al Quaeda network in the same way.

At certain points in the evening Death In June were joined by Boyd Rice. At one point Douglas even seeped into a perfect Aussie accent. Strewth! Boyd's distinctive spoken vocal graced a number of the simple melodies from All Pigs Must Die. It was clear that Douglas (and Boyd) still feel aggrieved with World Serpent. It's a business issue, and one they should settle in private.

Other tracks aired on the evening include 'Leopard Flowers,' 'Hollows of Devotion' and 'Rose Clouds of Holocaust'. This was a near-flawless performance split evenly between pathos and passion. An out-of-tune guitar marred the opening bars of 'Heaven Street'. Once aborted it allowed John Murphy a few moments to improvise on the drum kit. Douglas imparted some cryptic comments to the effect that it started in London 21 years ago and it's only right it should end as it started. This was further compounded by a "Goodnight, goodbye and probably good riddance."

Of course, the crowd thought otherwise. Boyd Rice retook the stage with his friends and for a loose rendition of 'People'. Those already departing the building swiftly about turned as the misanthropic trio - Pearce, Rice and Murphy - delivered one of the finer points from the seminal Music, Martinis and Misanthropy. It was heartwarming to hear Boyd Rice recite those sentiments and it became quite apparent that we're still in need of some brutal gardeners.

9^th November 2002

WHITEHOUSE, LA96

Hinoeuma @ Electrowerks, London

From: Chris Low chrislow@thestereoeffect.com

Review on Stereo Effect - www.thestereoeffect.com | www.susanlawly.com

Twenty-two years on from the first unleashing of Whitehouse, The Monster is more ferocious than ever. Whitehouse are so underground many will never have heard of them, let alone heard them, yet long-time collaborator, Steve Albini, Sonic Youth and Aphex Twin cite them as one of the most influential forces in the history of music. Their earliest LPs command sums approaching the four-figure mark, while performances have been banned or ended in riots. They defy the term “music” in every conventional understanding, it’s an unremitting aural assault, characterised by impenetrable layers of over-driven dentists' drill synths and bowel-churning subsonic bass frequencies penetrated by frenzied feed-backing vocals. They scythe through the auditory onslaught like an eternity of screaming souls clawing their way up from the pits of hell. If the pits of hell were lined with blackboards.

No “tunes”. No “melodies” - at least in the conventional understanding of “tunes” and “melodies” - their sound is far from structureless; descended more from the “musique concrete” lineage of Karl Heinz Stockhausen and contemporary avant-garde classicists than the noise of Japan’s Merzbow or their countless industrial imitators. Just sheer confrontation - pushing aesthetic and endurance levels of the listener to the absolute maximum.

Despite their sound and image, Whitehouse live is a spectacle of pure entertainment. For a band whose professed raison d'etre is as much about destroying rock’n’roll as it is about pushing the parameters of art terrorism within the aural arena, it is an undeniable, if uncomfortable fact that they piss huge, gushing, steaming jets over virtually any of the “rawwwwkk-annnd-rrrooowwwl” bands on the planet. There always comes a point during their shows when, like a Rorschach test, the wall of sound becomes a rhythmic, beautiful, primordial, sexual feeling. What can ever be more rock’n’roll than that?

Now only a duo, William Bennet and Phil Best, following the recent departure of infamous transgressive porn author and on stage provocateur, Peter Sotos, the intensity of the show never abates for a minute. Bennet prowls the stage with an effortless cool most stadium stars could only dream of - a De Sadian Martin Fry with Tourettes Syndrome, gesticulating as he screams his vitriolic exhortations from the stage. Sometimes simply dropping the mic to shout at the crowd like a Nietzschian figure shouting at God and Nature. 1982's "Tit Pulp" smashes through one sonic wall to collide with this year's “Wriggle like a fucking eel” followed by the Electronic Music Awards nominated "Cruise (Force the Truth)". New material from the Bird Seed LP segues relentlessly into blistering versions of “Princess Disease” and the eardrum-cauterising white-noise-fest, “Movement 2000”, leaving the crowd bellowing for more pain like the plebeian hordes of the Roman Coliseums.

Not many bands these days can be termed revolutionary in what they do. Whitehouse are one of the few exceptions. They wouldn't want to be and nor could they be for everyone, but for that reason alone they deserve your attention. You might not like their music, or even regard it as music - but what you can be sure of is you'll never have heard anything like it, and you'll never think of 'music' in the same way again. Or are you scared? Go on. I dare you.

Set list:

Tit Pulp (new version)

Cruise (Force the Truth)

Philosophy

Bird Seed

A Cunt Like You

Princess Disease

Movement 2000

11^th October 2002

From N.105 Terrorizer

WILLIAM BENNETT

Guest DJ: MK9, SCOTT ARFORD, DEVOTION, RANDY H.Y.YAU

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

The back-arched chiffon dummy on a chair in the middle of the room epitomises it all. With the arms held up over its face in fear of some impending doom, like the ashen remains of the inhabitants of Pompeii. This is how you should feel by the end of this show. Being met upon my entrance into this Finsbury pub with the most unbearably harsh dissonance of white noise doesn't help either, It's no surprise to know then that William Bennett, founder of legendary extreme electronic act Whitehouse, is guest DJ-ing for the evening. My usual awkwardness leads me to unwittingly sit next to a blasting speaker without realising it. Well, here's first-hand experience for you! Complemented by video projection footage of some Stanford Experiment type Japanese snuff/S&M feature, Bennett's noise set is a near-fitting soundtrack to the world of weirdness unfolding before my eyes. Not as a proper score, more like the rumbling industrial grind of 'Eraserhead'. Disturbing up to the outward bounds of the surreal, it makes 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest' look like 'Snow White'. Next up is sonic architect Scott Arford, his instrument of torture a television set connected to a set of sensors to capture the audiovisual static energy. Psychic TV, you might say. 'Videodrome' more like, as subversive as it is appealing to the human psyche. At times the viewer is able to discern landscapes in this display of latitudinal raining, hermetically sealed icepacks: a sunset-glazed Caribbean turquoise stretch of dead calm water, or a shower of light rays under an Arctic aurora borealis. Feed your imagination. Let it roam. "Fair is foul, and foul is fair: hover through the fog and filthy air." Baleful crimson lights, a strong scent of incense, candlelights. Three Gorgon-type creatures step onstage as the Witching hour is nigh. This is Annie Stubbs's Devotion, she of SPK and Lustmord fame. A gothier version of Ataraxia and Sopor Aeternus, those three witches of Macbeth add an edgy suspense to the ambience.

Richie Ruchpaul

4^th May 2002

 DEATH IN JUNE + NON

Big Down Under

Holy Ubermenschen, Batman, it's a signal from Commissioner Gordon. Boyd Rice and Death In June are at large in the Metropolis!' 'I know, Boy Wonder, to Bat Cave and quick, for we haven't a moment to spare. Our beloved capital is under threat from two of the most fiendish criminal minds known to mankind.' 'Great Brownshirts, Batman, can we honestly hope to vanquish such villainy?' 'No Robin, we can't. Let us just pray that they do not take us alive.' As the fates conspire and the vulture's circle overhead, the chances of Death in June performing live in the United Kingdom, were becoming increasingly slim. With the exception of a 'blink or you miss it' guest spot at the Von Thronstahl 'installation', it has been very nearly three long years since Douglas P last graced an English stage. It was therefore only right and proper, that upon the day of the FA Cup final, I should throw my first sick day of the year to venture down to that perfumed garden, the Slimelight, for a double header par excellence; NON and DIJ, no holds barred, two falls, two submissions or a knockout to decide the winner. Since my previous visit, to witness Albin Julius and the Der Blutarsch experience, it seems little has changed at Camden's premier live music venue, except that there are less light bulbs working this time. Note to self; for any future visits, remember to take a shit before entering the club and don't wear nice shoes. There has been much ado recently, murmurings, tittle-tattle, and tiny ripples of discontent, within Industrial circles, in fanzines, on chatrooms, word of mouth that Douglas has, just perhaps, lost his edge a little. 'He is relying too much on other artists', 'he doesn't draw the crowds like he used too', 'he is too tied up with his court case', 'he's just not the same as he was with Tibet/Norris/McDowell/Wakeford (delete as necessary)'. Don't deny it; I know you are out there. I can only presume then, that there must be another Death In June doing the rounds somewhere, a pale shadow of this, the original and best, because tonight Slimelight was packed to the gunwhales, and rightly so, to witness one of the best live performances I have seen in a long, long time. It is to my eternal regret that I missed the Clash's farewell tour, I walked out of PiL at Sheffield City Hall, just before Lydon launched into 'Pretty Vacant', couldn't get a lift to catch the first Jesus and Mary Chain gig outside Scotland.

However, tonight was to be consolation enough, for what, if rumour be true, was the last act in the live careers, of one Europe's most enigmatic bands. As if this wasn't enough, further bounties would be bestowed upon her privates we, with the first public showing of 'Pearls Before Swine', Boyd Rice's heart warming, big screen, all action adventure epic.

Now, I am sure that in the comfort of my own home, surrounded by my nearest and dearest, fully able to concentrate on the nuances and interplay of dialogue, that this would be ideal family viewing. Unfortunately, I will never know, as thanks to a sound system, which was less Sony Wega and more Helen Keller, most of the spoken word was left behind in a blur of fug and static. What I can tell you though, is that this is a film with a healthy surfeit of automatic weapons, Learjets, Hitlerian bondage romps, Porsches, casual violence and graphic depictions of sickening, calculated sadism. Add to this already potent mix, Douglas P's acting debut as a gentleman pornographer, with the most rarefied of tastes, then you can probably guess that Boyd wasn't too worried about typecasting. In the meantime though, we must hold our breaths for a DVD release.

Even so it more than whets appetites. As the final frames flicker to a standstill, the lights dim, a hush descends, broken only a scarce restrained cheer coming low from the throats of the faithful, the Devil's Own, as Boyd Rice takes centre stage. This season, Denver's favourite son will be wearing a two-piece leather ensemble, with SS accents to the lapels and contrasting medallion motif, offset with a Merino turtleneck, available only from the House of Heydrich. Ever the showman, Mr Misanthropy strides into the spotlight, milking the applause, acknowledging the mob with not so much as a sneer. Scalp newly cropped, he looks every inch the man your mother warned you about, coming on like an off duty U-boat captain, with a '6 months at sea' hard on he just can't shake off. Ably backed by John Murphy and later by a plain-clothes Douglas, the monitors are cranked upto 11 as a NONslaught comes to town. Total War, ever prophetic as the shenanigans North of the Khyber drag on, is followed by a medley drawn from the Wolf Pact experiment. Guitars squeal, throb, feedback writhes as the drums beat louder.

The pulse quickens, as Boyd reads from his prepared texts, hymns of hate, hackles rising. Get thee behind me Satan and we can do it Doggy style. He's no pop star, he's a tool of Lucifer, and he would have got it away with it as well if it wasn't for you meddling kids. Coughing, spitting, grunting into his mike, looping discord upon noise upon odium, he is at his happiest seeing them squirm, no mercy, no remorse, until the cauldron begins to bubble over. If he really wanted too, you know you'd start a race war for him tonight.. But then enough, no more, my children I must away. A click of the heels, salute and mocking grin, he wheels stage left, 'thank you London and good night', back to his dark designs and darker desires. Lets just say you could feel it in your water, for you knew tonight was not going to be without significance. The stars align; the black gods smile as perhaps one of Britain's most consistently wronged and misunderstood musicians prepares to square the circle, once and for all. For tonight, as in other recent performances, Death In June is Douglas P aided solely by drummer John Murphy, and later, Boyd Rice, perhaps one of the most daring of minds to share Douglas's uniquely bleak world view. Both he and Murphy share the common uniform of DIJ, clad as they are in smocks and over trousers of SS men, from a war, which ended nearly sixty years ago. It is a style that is aped, to a greater or lesser degree, by many amongst the audience. Some strut about in a 'Band of Brothers' surplus approximation of the Black Corps, but with Douglas it goes beyond simply a matter of dressing up. As Michael Caine says in 'Get Carter', 'for me, it's a living'. The clothes, tattered and hand me down are not mere souvenirs or a means to shock; these are totems, stripped from the fallen, like Indians taking scalps, the smocks and helmets are a last link to those terrible, wonderful times. I am sure that in his mind, they matter because of the potency held within; they have become imbued with a power, through both deed and association that ceases to diminish over time. I seriously doubt if he could perform without them, they are so integral to the inner mysteries of Death In June. Likewise, Douglas's continual refusal to appear on stage unless masked. To see him stalk the floor, parading the Death's Head flag as the timpani rattles is still an arresting sight. There is a touch of Struppelwelter about him, the Dr. Who villain, memories of Cybermen and Sontarans glowering mutely, cowering behind the settee on a Saturday teatime. Stuart Sutcliffe, the handsomest of Beatles, was so terrified of playing live that on stage in the Star Club, he would always turn his back on the audience rather than acknowledge their presence.

Douglas is constantly shielded from our gaze, either masked, or later, donning the burkha-like sniper's veil. Whether it is to conquer the fear of stage fright or, by putting Douglas P aside as the mask goes on, to turn Death in June into flesh from mind set and philosophy is a matter of supposition. Suffice it to say, this act of disguise is simply another cornerstone upon which his cathedral of tears stands. The rite of DIJ begins in a time-honoured fashion, with both Douglas and Murphy rapping out a tattoo on the snares and kettledrums that bound the stage. To the strains of 'Til the Living Flesh is Burned' and 'Ku Ku Ku', Douglas casts left and right, his face frozen, set rigid in papier-mâché, held in an expression of abject terror. Increasingly agitated, he is a rabbit trapped in headlights as the pace begins to step up, temples pounding, mouth dry. Traditionally, judging by past performances, bootlegs and concert footage, Death In June live should be a stately, processional act, elegiac and restrained. There is little or no interplay between singer and audience, even less between the members of the band, aloof and apart, deliberately so it would seem. Tonight will be a departure from the norm, on a massive scale. I have rarely seen Douglas just so on edge within a live venue. Guitar in hand, and the mask replaced by helmet and veil, the ensemble is complete. It would be pointless to try and list every song heard tonight, because we were to enjoy something of an embarrassment of riches, with DIJ reprising virtually every major work in their back catalogue, from the past twenty years. Whatismore, to reduce a night like tonight to simply a case of putting ticks next to boxes would be as pointless as it would be insulting. With each song stripped to it's core, bereft of backing vocalists and electronics and samples, just Douglas on amplified acoustic guitar and Murphy on percussion, they are blessed with an intensity, above and beyond that you can feel in the studio recordings. Rose Clouds, Little Black Angel, Fields of Rape, Luther's Army, Giddy, Giddy Carousel, Death of the West, just name it and you would have heard them tonight, alongside the 1999 NEROZ releases, from his collaboration with Albin, Kameradschaft and great swathes torn from All Pigs Must Die, therapy and curse set to music. Eager voices rise amongst the crowd, old punks, old Goths, straight from work, the same loyal souls who heard Pearce, Wakeford, Tibet, Legeas et al at the Fridge a lifetime ago, who know every lyric to every song. The atmosphere is that good, it crackles. For once, it looks like Doug can almost relax; he laughs and jokes with the audience, eggs Boyd back on stage to join him in a reprise from Music, Martinis, all the time dragging on his newly adopted Les Patterson, Vegemite and 'strewth Sheila accent. Amongst the whinging Poms, one impressionable young Quex at the back has piped up with a chorus of Deutschland Uber Alles, as Doug repairs yet another guitar string (if he had broken any more metal tonight, you would have thought this was Test Department playing). Laudable though these sentiments might have been to some in the stalls, it is still about as apt as hearing Fuck the Pope and the IRA. Doug, behind the veil, shoots what is clearly a withering look and replies archly, 'Just keep singing and I am sure I'll find a tune for it'. Indeed, we are fortunate to have caught him in a distinctly playful mood. Ou est Klaus Barbie? Ou est Bin Laden aussi? He inquires, with a barely suppressed smirk. With that, it is time for the encores and not one, but two curtain calls. 'It shall end as it began, twenty one years ago' he chimes, a self fulfilling prophecy, as he throws himself full circle, back onto Heaven Street, where the soil will always be soft and the air never sweeter. For those that cling to the bitter end, we are rewarded with Douglas and Boyd once again, still tired of the slow people, still tired of the people in front of them, holding them back, still tired of the liars, the insects, the empty, hollow souls who will drag us all down to the Lowest Common Denominator given the chance. I doubt if we ever will see another Diocletian again, or Pol Pot or Gustav Adolphus, much less the Circus Maximus. The world has grown too dull, too petty for such men of vision to ever live out their dreams again. I don't think either, that many of us will ever enjoy a night like night again. Farewell, London and goodbye cruel world, for this is the final full stop in the story of DIJ. Douglas will be celebrating his own Silver Jubilee this year, twenty five years of singing, recording, writing, touring, placating critics, underpaid and pissed off, packing monitors into the back of Transit vans and he has about had enough. It was never easy in the first place, back in the angry days of Crisis, but now it has reached a stage where it has got beyond a joke. Constantly being forced to explain his actions, harassed and harangued, always under scrutiny, the quiet life now seems so much more appealing, especially after what the last few years have seen thrown at him. Please do not think there is a lack of moral fibre here; far from it. As someone who can cast his mind back to the mid 1970's all too easily, how soon we forget back then, that any man who washed more than twice was week or perhaps wore after-shave could usually consider himself 'suspect', and be lucky to escape with no more than a good kicking. To announce to the world at large, in those dark days, that you were a homosexual, was akin to signing your own death warrant, yet Douglas has never really been fazed by any of the rancour that came his way. He always shrugged off any ill feeling he may generated, refusing to apologise, refusing to explain. Why should he? He has always known that what he has done, written or sung carries a far greater weight than anybody could fathom. He knows his own mind, he knows what Death In June stands for and if there are those who wish to see something else, then they have already lost, missing the grander scheme while they stare at the fine print. So that was that. As the song goes, 'Each man kills the thing he loves' and while DIJ will still continue to emanate somewhere, from studios in Oz or Los Angeles or Mother Europe, for the time being at least, the curtain has come down for good.

Judas Kiss

8^th March 2002

DER BLUTHARSCH, OF THE WAND AND THE MOON, FORESTA DI FERRO

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

It was a welcome return to London for Der Blutharsch who were touring Europe to promote their latest CD, When All Else Fails! Unlike their previous London show at the Slimelight thankfully this one was free from those ever-present bomb threats that seem to follow Albin's troops around.

Of The Wand and the Moon opened the evening. Guided by Kim Larsen, Of The Wand and the Moon have garnered much attention for their brand of apocalyptic folk. Inspired by the original triumvirate of World Serpent folk outfits Of The Wand and the Moon draw much inspiration from Current 93, Sol Invictus and Death In June. Their entire set evokes prime Death In June circa Rose Clouds of Holocaust. All the hallmarks of that release are here: elegiac keyboards, timpani drumming and various percussive devices. It is, however, the acoustic guitar twinned by occasional electric guitar strums that provides the defining characteristics. Larsen's dulcet tones almost echo Douglas P.'s in delivery when he sings of emptiness, or pronounces "all Gods are dead."

Matt Howden, the composer, solo artist, producer and violinist for Sol Invictus, joins Of The Wand and the Moon for several songs. Matt's previously collaborated on 'I Crave For You', a limited seven-inch single. His sweeping and soaring violin strings add a fresh dimension to Of The Wand And The Moon's melodic apocalyptic folk. It's a much-needed sense of vitality to an almost static performance and in doing so he leads the music in a more frenetic direction immediately quashing the obvious Death In June comparisons.

Of The Wand and the Moon were borne out of the Scandinavian doom metal project Saturnus and while this offshoot project is following a well trodden path Larsen plays it so well that he'll definitely find room to prosper.

A selection of marching music, and clouds of smoke set the mood for Der Blutharsch. By the time they take the stage it's fair to say the venue appeared to be like a warzone, with dry ice hindering vision.

Resplendent in her finest fascist chic Marthyana, Der Blutharsch's pretty but stern looking female co-vocalist, reads from a prepared scroll declaring God is Punishing Us, backed by Der Blutharsch's chief protagonist Albin Julius and David (from Novo Homo) on furious timpani accompaniment. Flanked by two torches that would continue to burn for the duration of the set it was a powerful and provocative opening.

Classical sampling strained from the speakers as Albin decked out in leather boots, peaked cap and sporting a newly grown goatee looking rather like an overweight Anton LaVey took the role of confident front man. 'I Have No Fear' he would declare, or raged about the 'Pleasures Received in Pain'.

Reminders of Albin's time in the Moon Lay Hidden Behind A Cloud become confined to the past as Albin now appears more comfortable utilising classical sampling, and martial music from the war years, accompanied by live percussion and live vocals. His collaborative efforts with Death In June and NON both live and in the studio has proved a fertile ground for Albin Julius as Der Blutharsch deliver a commanding performance. It becomes evident that he is a master tactician who knows the effectiveness of drama and excitement, - and the power of highly collectable limited editions. Witness the chaos created when postcards are thrown into the front rows as crowd members scramble to snap up yet another Der Blutharsch collectable.

The other evident thing is Albin Julius's grasp of aesthetics; he's taken sweeping orchestrations and military marches and imbued them with spirit and vitality that's able to stir the hearts of today's Iron Youth. I'm reminded of interviews where Albin has professed his admiration for Robbie Williams. So to the uninitiated the fascist overtones may appear to be in bad taste but first and foremost a Der Blutharsch live show is about entertainment.

The crowd shout and stomp their feet on the wooden floor for more. There is no encore. There's nothing more to be said. Tonight is another victory and a strong step onwards for Albin's contemporary Vienesse Aktionists.

By the time Foresta Di Ferro are due on stage most of the assembled throng are already making their way home across London, which is a great pity. Those with the foresight to hang around were treated to Foresta Di Ferro, a new musical project featuring the varied talents of Marco Deplano, Richard Leviathan and John Murphy. Interestingly they're all musical immigrants leading itinerant lives in their adopted home of London.

Between them they share some interesting credentials: Marco Deplano performs in noise act Death Pact International and solo as Wertham; Richard Leviathan is one-half of esteemed dark folk outfit Ostara while John Murphy's illustrious career has included spells as percussionist for the Associates, Current 93, SPK, Knifeladder and more recently he's been closely involved with Douglas P.'s Death In June and their multifarious spin-offs.

They took to the stage with chiming bells before unleashing a musical and visual treat drawing upon the paradox between religion and violence. Marco Deplano, the chief protagonist provides the muscular force, flirting between electronics and aggressive vocalisations, while Leviathan, whose Ostara projects excels in delivering poetic and mystical writings, takes a more measured and studied approach. With perfect diction Leviathan recites writings, while Murphy in his nonchalant style provides his customary percussion. Foresta Di Ferro appear inspired by history, by its violence and its religion.

One track tells of Mishima's principle of harmony of pen and sword, which blends art with action. The Japanese warrior-author achieved this harmony of courage and conviction when he committed ritual suicide in 1970.

Other tracks appear concerned with the troubles between Israel and Palestine, and specifically the carnage created by fanatical murderer/martyr suicide bombers. Excerpts of 'Kingdom Gone', the title track from the new Ostara album, appear to surface during other tracks throughout evening. The Ostara connection is taken further when in a brief interlude Leviathan provide an illuminating acoustic version of Operation Valkrie. It makes perfect sense when one considers Marco Deplano's contribution to Secret Homeland. Foresta Di Ferro's set appears improvised but it's an intriguing mix of sound and visuals, of music and prose, and of strength and beauty. Foresta Di Ferro have an assured future ahead of them as their sound takes elements of electronics, percussion and dark folk pop. Foresta Di Ferro are taking their first tentative steps but you can be sure that whatever steps they take they will be solid and certainly not faltering.

Key Resources:

Der Blutharsch www.derblutharsch.com

Foresta Di Ferro www.omega-org.co.uk/dpi/

Knifeladder www.knifeladder.com

Matt Howden www.matthowden.com

Ostara www.ostara.net

Of The Wand and the Moon www.mobilixnet.dk/~mob60186/

8^th March 2002

From Runes and Man

DER BLUTHARSCH, FORESTA DI FERRO

It's hard to imagine so many bands performing live the same night on the same stage.

It could be possible in Germany, but not in London, especially in this period.

Our congratulation to the organization, HAGSHADOW and HINOEUMA MALEDICTION!

Der Blutharsch it's a well known guest in the City. He played live many times.

The performance it's quite the same, they come on the stage with the torches and the play the track list they played in all their last concerts. Only a track where performed in an unusual way. Albin as percussionist and David as vocalist (very powerful).

A beautiful surprise!

After their performance, in the backstage, they can finally enjoy the bottle of Montepulciano, a special present from Runes and Men. SALUTE!

Foresta di Ferro played next. The formation was: Marco Deplano, Richard Leviathan (Ostara) and John Murphy (SPK, DI6, C93…).

Deplano come on the stage with an hand-bell, while John Murphy was making some background noise. Some images of "kamikazes" were shown behind them. Deplano's voice duets together with John Murpy's voice in a recital who combines delirium, passion, rage, hate. A combo which explodes in a loop that reminds Current 93 style in album like Nature Unveiled or Dogs Blood Rising. This is a project which is going to make a lot of noise, and someone has already noticed them…

Richard Leviathan also played an Ostara track, Operation Valkirye.

The end it's for Shining Vril (John Murphy solo project), old style industrial/power electronics, who shakes all the audience. It's delirium…

02^nd February 2002

MORDER MACHINE, TODAY I’M DEAD, HYDRA

From: Ian Sturrock shubniggurath@goatweb.com

Subject: Partial Hinoeuma review

Newsgroups: uk.people.gothic, rec.music.industrial

View: (This is the only article in this thread) | Original Format

Unfortunately I missed the first and last bands, being restricted by work (got out of the office at 21:30), the Northern Line ("No trains are currently running north from Clapham Common, but we are expecting trains to run again at some unspecified point in the future"), and the last tube back. However: Morder Machine were a bit weaker than I'd expected. I couldn't help but think that this was basically a goth band, minus one bloke and a drum machine (leaving one bloke and a DAT machine), with silly sunglasses, vaguely Bauhaus-style noises of indeterminate but non-musical origin, and passable but incomprehensible vocals. Assorted images that I might have found spooky twenty years ago were projected onto the backdrop.

All very avant-garde, perhaps, but not very extreme. Or, to me, very interesting. However, the local sexxxy deth chyxxx were being highly complimentary about him "He looks like he has stamina! I could put that stamina to good use," "He looks like Andrew Eldritch, and like he might be impotent; they're so much more fun when they're impotent," etc. So he obviously appealed to some. And, to be fair, his cartoon-like writhing and angsty theatrics do perhaps come from the heart; he might well be the King of Pain (thank you Rollins), rather than just putting it all on for effect, but if so I would have to find that even more silly.

Either camp it up - and camp it up better - or have the courage of your convictions, in which case remember to cut down, not across. Perhaps my essentially optimistic nature is just not suited to providing reviews of

"obscure deadly actions" like tonight.

Today I'm Dead were the second and last act I saw, and seemed more civilized, more musically talented, and at the same time more extreme. The vaguely TOPY-style one bloke (and his DAT machine) had a sparse elegance far more evocative of "death" (which I presume was the point) than the previous chap's PVCs/Aviators/ShortBlackBob look. The sounds produced were far more multi-layered than the previous act's; perhaps I've been spoiled by dance music, but I need a level of complexity to music that Today I'm Dead had, and Morder Machine didn't. Again, the music was largely found sounds or electronica rather than traditional instruments, but I suspect Today I'm Dead went looking in better places for their found sounds and had more excited electrons than Morder Machine. The projected images, while not staggeringly provocative, were at least a little more original and strange than MM's too.

I was sorry to miss Hydra. I've not seen them since '98, and I'm pretty sure they're very different, and probably much improved, since then. Not that they needed improvement - great combination of anarcho-punk and industrial. Someone else will have to provide a review of their performance on Friday, though, because I fled for the last tube Brixtonwards. So - I got the first half review on the net, Andi. You can buy me half a pint.  —

"A cucumber should be well sliced, and dressed with pepper and vinegar, and then

thrown out, as good for nothing." Samuel Johnson

22^nd November 2003

DEATH IN JUNE

Venue: HMS President

HMS President, an ex-naval vessel that sailed during World War I and now moored on the River Thames was undoubtedly an unusual location for Death In June's return to London following Douglas' vague insinuation that they would never play in the capital again. Fortunately this was not the case, and the audience who had gathered from all points of the globe were treated to a very special evening indeed. I guess, this could be truly be referred to as DIJ unplugged. Tonight featured John Murphy on a variety of percussive devices from chimes and rattles to shakers while Douglas reminisced and divulged the history and genesis of various tracks from the vast canon of Death In June.

If it wasn't such a god awful miserable evening in terms of weather I wonder what the tourists would have made of the vast number of Death In June fanatics parading down embankment in para-military gear.

A number of excellent sounding acoustic based tracks from Alarm Agent, the forthcoming release from Douglas P. and Boyd Rice opened the evening. Ian Read of Fire & Ice then took to the stage to proclaim a curse. His strong solemn voice delivered 'Benediction', previously recorded on Current 93's seminal Swastikas For Noddy. Following his introduction John Murphy in hooded snow camouflage and Douglas resplendent in army smock and sniper's veil took to the stage and launched into 'Ku Ku Ku Baby'.

The evening was a complete survey of the Death In June oeuvre, and it clearly demonstrated that the fanaticism Death In June evoke is deserved. Douglas P. did knowingly concede that most of the audience was probably not from the UK. It seems, as December's issue of The Wire testifies, that Death In June remain out-of-step with most tastes in the UK. There is no middle ground. Total commitment or total hatred. Besides, I'm sure Douglas P. wouldn't have it any other way.

The stage was bedecked with a large silver Totenkopf 6 (following an unfortunate detainment in Sweden) and two whip hands, while a table was strewn with more Totenkopfs. From his stool Douglas P. would effortlessly send out another missive - I can't quite recall all the tracks. Douglas requested that the audience accompany his delivery of 'Till The Living Flesh Is Burned' by stomping the beat on the wooden deck of the boat.

Those at the front could clearly witness the muscular frame of Patrick Leagas, a founding member of Death In June bashing the rhythm on the stage floor. Patrick, who now fronts both Six Comm and Mother Destruction, would make a proper appearance later on in the evening. At times Douglas appeared nervous: a fluffed chord sequence for 'Come Before Christ and Murder Love' - "the first song I wrote" - forgotten chords for 'Hullo Angel' and the occasional lyrical improvisation but with little in the way of lighting or in fact distance between audience and performers it was unsurprising that Douglas P. was nervous. A couple of over zealous fans near the front were even freaking Douglas out, as their voices almost became audible above the group. Even the vegetarian buffet didn't appear too out of place. Nice idea, other venues may care to pick upon.

Patrick Leagas who was called-up with 2 days notice, appeared nervous but delivered an impassioned introduction to 'The Calling' indicating that it related to a close friend, an Afghan refugee, who had returned to die in battle. I may have picked this up incorrectly but I'm sure Patrick indicated that he too had fought in Afghanistan. It was a beautiful eulogy and in many ways helped explain in part the motives behind Death In June. This was the first airing of 'The Calling' in 20 years, and it was tremendous to witness, and Patrick didn't even need the hastily scribbled lyric sheet. Other special moments this evening included a Douglas lead version of 'To Drown A Rose' acoustic versions of 'Smashed To Bits (In the Peace of the Night)' and 'Kameradschaft' also sounded great free from Albin's military orchestrations. Now, wouldn't a mini-release of acoustic based versions of Operation Hummingbird and Operation Control tracks make a fine minor release?

It was particularly illuminating to hear Douglas speak so candidly about the lyrics to his songs, and though he was scathing about World Serpent and their directors - there was a schism that lead to legal action and an out-of-court settlement in favour of Douglas P. -, he spoke with a fondness for his former songwriting partner and friend, David Tibet. Douglas explained how 'She Said Destroy' was the first song he ever wrote developed from reams of words Tibet had provided. How 'Rocking Horse Night' was based on a childhood nightmare Tibet experienced in Asia, how 'Rose Clouds of Holocaust' was Douglas's articulation of Tibet's Auschwitz by the sea quip, in reference to the geothermal healing waters of Iceland's blue lagoon. I must amidst that I was quite amused to discover that both 'We Honour the Silence' ("He stood like Jesus" - indeed) and 'Hollows of Devotion' were based on sexual experiences.

A number of my favorite tracks were taken from The Wall of Sacrifice including 'Giddy Giddy Carousel' and 'Fall Apart'. Douglas even revealed how Alan Trench had suggested to Douglas that he may wish to do something with He's Able an album from Jim Jones ill-fated People's Temple Choir that World Serpent were looking to reissue. Dismissing it as one of the worst records ever Douglas's adapted a number of tracks into 'He's Disabled' and 'Little Black Angel'. Incidentally this was eventually reissued by Grey Matter, so I ask is there a World Serpent connection? The banishment and exorcism continued unabated as 'Tick Tock', 'Flies Has His House' and others all appeared linking in their own way Charles Manson, George Harrison and the piggy metaphor. 'The Golding Wedding of Sorrow' and 'But, What Ends When The Symbols Shatter?' sounded as stunning and vital as when first heard. 'Symbols of the Sun' was simply sublime.

The strength and beauty of these songs were revealed through simple melodies, combined with intricate percussion into the finest dark folk, some of which are over two decades old. The fanaticism they ignite is testament to the power of Death In June, and the talent of Douglas P. A total lack of guitar strings meant that the second half, again introduced by Ian Read, was kept slightly short, but encores were demanded and after a futile attempt at a guitar based version of 'Heaven Street' Douglas resigned himself to a bizarre acapella version, accompanied by the audience for the instrumental parts.

The evening was a true one-off, representing a stripping down, a sense of nakedness, an unmasking, if you will. Douglas P. came across as a genuinely nice bloke with an enviable collection of songs under his runic inscribed belt. Oh, you could moan the absence of Boyd Rice or the lack of kettle drums or whatever but in the final analysis this was a beautiful evening of wine and fine men.

Key Resources:

COMPULSION: www.compulsiononline.com

Death in June www.deathinjune.net

Tesco Distribution www.tesco-germany.com or www.tesco-distro.com

20^th November 2003

HARBINGER SOUNDCLASH featuring SCHIMPFLUCH GRUPPE, THE NEW BLOCKADERS, MERZBOW

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

A colossal noise night of noise heavyweights including industrial stalwarts, proponents of Japanonoise, and lesser names form the post-industrial.

It must have been an early start but when I arrived I was confronted with the remainders of set incorporating soul classics, as a projection of Church of Satan founder Anton LaVey stared from the video screen.

And now apologies for this as like others I've got problems identifying a number of these acts so bear with me here. The first I act I caught in their entirety featured a lone figure, and a bank of equipment and hand pedals. It was progressive noise, at times almost metal in its delivery it allows an assorted burst of noise and the occasional burst of rhythm. The entire performance is physical - at least when compared to the other solitary noise performances - due to the pummeling of the noise-guitar device, and the extensive range of equipment.

The Zurich based collective Schimpfluch Gruppe are seated on stage. They provide a more art-based performance with a visceral, physical sound constructed from microphones on wooden chairs. It's a slow build up as each of the black clad trio scrape and drag the chairs back across the wooden floor, or forcefully rock the chair creating textures that are effected through various pedals. It's fairly controlled (though I suspect the electrical blackout wasn't planned) and gets progressively more physical. Members of the trio start jumping from chairs, falling to the floor, sawing and scraping at the wood. It's engaging to watch, it makes me think of something Pan Sonic or Matmos might do. In the end I'll opt for a Wire description - Chairs Missing - not this time, I'm afraid.

Masami Akita has a such a vast catalogue of material it's perhaps difficult to formulate expectations. With his straight long black hair, and black clothing he sits between two Apple Macs controlled and almost unexpressive. This is Merzbow in his digital phase. An all encompassing wall of sound is generated. On first listen it is easily to be put off by the volume but once you lock into the sound you can distinguish subtle changes in pitch and tone but not enough to divert your attention from the calming waves of sound washing over. A strobe flickers for the duration of the set. The entire audience, at least from where I was near the front, appears transfixed. It's a calming effect, almost cleansing. A zen-like effect amidst the industrialized chaos elsewhere on the bill.

Tonight marks the end of the road for industrial stalwarts The New Blockaders. The New Blockaders have a long history in UK industrial and noise circles having worked with Organum, and Andrew Chalk. They've also had a strong impact on the Japanoise scene - Masami Akita has long been a fan, favouring the unique sounds The New Blockaders present. A collaboration with Merzbow is in the offing too. Their inclusion in noise history is assured.

Tonight they're represented by Richard Rupenus, and a mysterious figure seated at a table who for the duration of the set drinks red wine from a glass through a balaclava, while Rupenus sits in the corner unleashing harsh industrial noise or anti-music as they'd term it. It's just arty enough to set them apart from the usual bracketing with Whitehouse and Broken Flag outfits. It's a strong set, and a strong final statement. They also managed to blow the electricity, so all in all for their final act The New Blockaders went with a bang and not a whimper.

As I leave Joke Lanz one of the members of Schimpfluch Gruppe appears as Sudden Infant, with vicious noise assaults emanating from a plastic baby doll. It's brutal and abrasive and the remaining audience appears to love it.

17^th May 2003

From:  DAGAZ MUSIC

STALINGRAD, THO-SO-AA, NAEVUS, KIRLIAN CAMERA

Venue:  Slimelight, London

Once again I traveled to London for another event organised by Hinoeuma, that this time took place in the very well known London discotheque Slimelight. Four projects suggesting one long and particularly interest evening. Naevus, who have been occupying my CD player for some time, Angelo Bergamini and Elena Fossi, for the first time in London, with Kirlian Camera and Stalingrad, and Lutz Rach with his project Tho-so-aa.

The night started with Stalingrad, with only half hall, some time after the announced hour. With a relatively short performance they started their concert with ‘Neither Honour Nor Glory’ that, like in the CD, is an excellent introduction to the Stalingrad work. During approximately half-hour they filled the house with orchestral and melancholic melodies where the outstanding voice of Elena reached almost unmatchable proportions. Pity and shame for those who arrived too late for one of the best Hinoeuma nights.

The second project of the night was Tho-so-aa. Lutz Rach creates a dark ambient full of very interesting dark industrial notes. Although his presentation took almost one hour, Lutz did not become tiring or monotonous and was able to captive the public that slowly filled the hall. In this concert Lutz presented a sequence of original tracks that will make up his next CD ‘minus’. Definitely a project to follow and ‘minus’ a CD to buy.

Definitely, Naevus were one of the attractions of this night. After having spent the last month listening carefully to their editions, the expectations for this concert were big and they were overcome without difficulty. In spite of some problems with the sound system in the beginning of their presentation, Lloyd didn’t loose his temper and kept his good disposition to go ahead with one of the better gigs I ever had the opportunity to attend. The semi-accoustic beginning of guitar and bass was a sublime introduction for a review of theirs latest editions. With sonorities showing influences of now called new-folk, Naevus presented a very cohesive sound that betrays a lot of work and expertise. The only negative note for this performance goes to the fact that they didn’t play ‘How dogs die’ … (private joke … sorry!)

To close this evening played Kirlian Camera. With a very long discography and with more than twenty year of history the KC gigs are always an incognita. When playing live, Kirlian Camera choose songs with pop melodies always in a very tense electronic, synthesizers and drum machines magnificently programmed. Angelo’s voice, strong and raw, mixes with Elena’s, clean and sometimes lyric, in a sublime and unique way. Definitely it was a concert that pleased me a lot and made me start looking, greedily, for their editions (not always easy to find!)

Rui Carvalheira

2nd May 2003

WHITEHOUSE, BRUCE GILBERT, RUSSEL HASWELL

Venue: Conway Hall

Legendary controversial noise act Whitehouse recently released what was their seventeenth studio record, "Bird Seed", and to celebrate there was a special weekend of more than enough Whitehouse than your average power electronics fan could shake a stick at.

The first night happened at the Conway Hall in Holborn. Whitehouse were to play their new record in its entirety, plus some improvisation and extra bits. But before that we had Bruce Gilbert from Wire performing a VERY brief set of his electronic material. In fact his set was so brief, that I didn't really have the chance to take any of it in and was more content with continuing the conversations I was having with my friends. It seemed like people were only really interested in the main attraction, and to be fair, who could blame them.

After Bruce Gilbert, Russell Haswell gave a great DJ set, mixing in subtle electronics, with trance like techno and thrash! Always a pleasure to hear him DJ, although I still think I preferred his set from Slimelight last November.

Whitehouse hit the stage to the familiar drill like explosion that is "Why You Never Became A Dancer" from "Bird Seed". William Bennett in a simple, but smart, white shirt and black trousers combo and Phillip Best who had donned some utterly ridiculous sunglasses for the occasion, both looking deep into their little machines. The crowd looked ecstatic - leaping around in ecstasy to the furious rampant noise emitting from the P.A, shaking their fists and screaming. Baying for some fucking action.

The last time I saw Whitehouse play, I was disappointed. It was the first show since the departure of the notorious Peter Sotos, and it seemed like he had taken away something and left Whitehouse as some kind of comedy act. This time was a lot stronger. The comedy element still remains, but it's a joy to watch. Bennett and Best rile each other up, demand applause from the audience and genuinely look like they're having a bloody good time! Phillip picks up the microphone for the first time. We all know what's coming. The familiar siren-esque opening of "Wriggle Like A Fucking Eel" fills the venue, and we get that unmistakable cry. Can you do the chlorine gargoyle?

The set is relentless, there are no breaks. One hour of solid noise. The set dips for a short while during the improvisation part, but then we are rewarded with "Cut Hands Has the Solution". I know about shitbags and shame, I really do. One sparse beat of a tom drum in a 4/4 pattern is all it takes; leave it to William and Phillip to do the rest.

As the set draws to a close, Bennett launches into "Princess Disease" which was an unexpected treat. This then leads into the vocal version of "Why You Never Became A Dancer", an utterly superb finale. Bennett demanding applause for Phillip, while he looks on with a smug grin like a fat schoolboy intent on misbehaving. "Movement 2000" then ends everything, with Bennett and Best at the front of the stage. Arms aloft. Crowd screaming. The most dysfunctional rock stars ever seen on a stage. Not your usual Friday night for sure, but sometimes all you need is a good solid ear fucking. Cheers boys.

Luke Younger

11^th April 2003

SOLANS-SOLANS, WHILE ANGELS WATCH, ALLERSEELEN, SEVENTH HARMONIC

Venue: The Red Rose, Seven Sisters Road, London

Taken from Dagaz web page, Thank You!

The good thing about these Hinoeuma events is that even if you don’t like all of the music, there’s always something interesting or unexpected on. Tonight, one of the most unexpected things was the film of an obese black woman masturbating, projected onto the screen at the back of the stage, causing several people to leave the room in apparent disgust. Hinoeuma had succeeded again in being a bit too much for some people.

The first band on was Seventh Harmonic, a low-quality goth outfit that seemed very out of place at Hinoeuma. They sounded something like All About Eve at their worst, with a couple of Dead Can Dance-isms thrown in for good measure. When the DJ played a piece of searing noise after this set, it came as quite a relief.

People were allowed a fair amount of time to recover from Seventh Harmonic before Allerseelen appeared. This was better. A squat, Teutonic fellow declaiming between two drummers over a backing of intense loops, drones and samples. They have quite an interesting and varied sound and some songs (such as Wo die Wilden Kerle Wohnen) worked particularly well this evening. This was the band I had really come to see tonight but, even though their set was well executed and enjoyable, it left me feeling that I’d not seen anything that I hadn’t seen before.

The third band was While Angels Watch. Having heard a couple of tracks by them I was curious to see how they would translate their sound into a live set, but unfortunately I missed their brief set altogether. I was informed after that they were a competent neo-folk outfit very much in the vein of Sol Invictus.

Finally, on came Solanas – Solanas who, for me, stole the evening, not least by means of sheer attitude mixed with dry ice. The influence of people such as Clair Obscur and X-mal Deutschland was heavily evident, but presented in a thoroughly updated way. The music was an interesting mix of early 80s-style electronics and modern programming. There were some effective additional sounds thrown into the mix and the singer maintained his intransigent stance throughout. An interesting approach, pulled off with style.

Roger Trill

14^th March 2003

From Issue N.109 May 2003 Terrorizer

DEUTSCH NEPAL, RAISON D’ETRE, DER FEUERKREINER, BOCKSHOLM

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

Nights like these don't come aplenty on these Albion shores. In fact, they don't come at all, unless you happen to be an annual Leipzig pilgrim. Having two of CMI's most imaginative and industrious personalities on the same bill in London, such a can't-miss event has to be grabbed like the Holy Grail, which is, confirmed by the notably denser crowd than usual at the Red Rose tonight.

It's not long before the karmic wheel, NATO-like logo of Deutsch Nepal is projected onto the back screen as one Peter Andersson, aka Lina Baby Doll/ Der General starts operating his machinery of synthetic pulses and sampladelic waves of droning ambience. Wearing some sort of 'I was there!' Ground Zero: 9/11 T-shirt (yes, capitalism thrives in misery!) and already drunk at this early hour, it is somewhat strangely befitting that the mischief and sometime mocking tone of Lina's onstage antics and vocals should mould into the hypnorealist baggage of the Deutsch Nepal sound. To convey the pseudo-subliminal abstraction of early material like 'Benevolence' at a trance-induced altered state of consciousness one minute, and the next... to have someone repeatedly slam 'We are all Prostitutes' (Pop Group cover) in the face of a wide-eyed, bedazzled, more-than-slavishlyappreciative audience, is quite something. Der General is back - in his usual provocative self!

Woefully easy though it may be to philosophies the nature of the aesthetic experience of hearing Raison d'Etre and the notion of the subl i me which it brings to our drained souls, I have to concede that from a pure live visual standpoint, there is nothing enchanting in watching Peter Andersson manipulate a few knobs with the aid of a torchlight. But in the words of Heidegger, "language speaks, not man; man only speaks when he fatefully responds to language". Raison d'Etre is Peter Andersson's mouthpiece, his abode of being. To relate to that being and truth, you feel compelled to close your eyes, recoil and imbibe the umbilical clattering wasteland passages of 'The Hidden Hallows' and the searing, colliding walls of expressive melo-noise in 'Deep Enshrouded'. A near-therapeutic, soul-searching suspension of disbelief.

After the headliners the deluge, I'm tempted to say, but no. They stand still, Valentino and Federico of Italy's newcomers Der Feuerkneiner, their 'Village of the Darnned'-style kinematics speaking volumes for their Der  Blutarsch-esque martial symphonies. Their usage of phonetics is their brute force, one to be reckoned with in death industrial. Manipulative sublimation for der volk.

In the early hours of the night it's left to the two Anderssons to reminisce on their childhood factory playground days in Bocksholm. Bifurcated in ironwork klingklang and claptrap samples of miscellaneous locals of their hometown, the accompanying projections could feature as an educational Riefenstahl-esque travelogue on the Swedish Industrial Revolution - if ever there was one!

Now, Malediction people, bring on Brighter Death Now, Sophia and the rest!

Richie Ruchpaul 

14^th March 2003

FROM: DAGAZ MUSIC

DEUTSCH NEPAL, RAISON D’ETRE, DER FEUERKREINER, BOCKSHOLM

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

Besides the possibility to attend, for the first time, a concert of Deutsch Nepal with Raison D'Être and the corresponding duo Bocksholm, definitely the bigger impulse to return to London Red Rose Pub was Der Feuerkreiner.

The gig started with the Deutsch Nepal contribution. The industrial-noise support used by Lina Baby Doll never led me to expect such an animated concert. Definitely Lina Baby Doll loves what he does and his 'punk' attitude on the stage was for me a pleasant surprise. After some tracks of his brilliant CD 'A Silent Siege' LBD played some tracks that made the Deutsch Nepal history. After a short and pleasant conversation with LBD I was told that most probably he will play in Portugal around June, which will be for sure a show to not miss.

After a short break, started the contribution of Peter Andersson. Raison D'Être is, musically, a very innovator project and Peter Anderson is a very creative and talented musician, but when playing live he seemed to me a little monotonous. With a background of brilliant and captivating sequence of images, Peter Anderson was able with some difficulty to hold the close to one hundred persons that were in the hall.

Der Feuerkreiner was the third project to get on stage and definitely it was the more expected. The duo Frederico Flamini and Valentina Castellani was able to revive the audience that was in the hall with a fulgurant and bombastic beginning. In spite of their sonority being very close to what Albin Julius does with Der Blutharsh, Der Feuerkreiner manage in fact to be more innovating not only musically but also in the way they face the live performance. Besides the ritual-bombastic tracks with almost industrial loops with strong percussions, they also presented an excellent repertory of compositions where Valentina's voice takes almost lyrical proportions and of unique deepness. Definitely this is a project to follow carefully.

The last project to get on stage was Bocksholm. And what an end! With a super attractive attitude, Peter Andersson and Lina Baby Doll let shine through their friendship of so many years. They got together perfectly; each one on his table, each one with his machine they were able, without virtuosos, to reach a very high level of creativity and understanding where the industrial loops succeeded in a unique way. A remarkable ending for an evening difficult to forget.

Once again, and this is never too much to enhance, the amiability of Gaya, Andi and their companions, who received us with an extreme friendliness very difficult to return.

Next month we'll be there again for another evening as no other exists … in any part of the world.

Rui Carvalheira

14^th February 2003

JONATHAN COLECLOUGH/COLIN POTTER, SLEEPING PICTURES, SPIRITUAL FRONT, SIEBEN

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

The organization of the Spiritual Front show in Lisbon left me with a strong desire to see them again playing live without the stress of the organization. Nothing better than taking profit of the stay of Simone Salvatori in London to see them and, joining usefulness and pleasure, to attend a show of one of the more promising English projects of the moment: Sleeping Pictures.

The night started with the performance of Colin Potter. Nothing new … nothing old. Colin Potter is a master of collage and sampling, coming from the same old school already attended by Nurse With Wound, Current 93 or Organum. A small performance stating clearly his capacities and knowledge of this, so strange, way of composing music.

Sleeping Pictures were at the same time a surprise and a disappointment. For me this was a rather unknown project; as I had only heard their track on the tribute to Sol Invictus, I was completely free of prejudice concerning this performance. To start with, they had everything in their favour; a room full of enthusiastic listeners and excellent musicians. Musically, this project is very interesting, moving in a new-folk-rock with captivating and well structured melodies. However, Mark Blackie's voice is quite strange (sometimes very close to Edward Ka-Spell's) and it doesn't fit perfectly in every kind of song. I would say that Mark should work more his voice in order to better enjoy all it capacities. In general terms, the group of musicians looks like very cohesive, all with excellent participations. Definitely this is a project that I am waiting anxiously for the debut CD.

The third band of the night was Spiritual Front. For sure I am not the right person to talk about them. For me Simone Salvatori is one of the best composers of the moment; the music is brilliant, the lyrics are brilliant and the arrangements are brilliant. The gig started with 'her favourite confidential destroyer' and until the end Simone played some tracks of his CD 'Nihilist Coctails For Calypso Inferno' as well as some songs that are not yet available (one of those played here live for the first time). The best nihilistic suicide pop… .

The last show of the night was Matt Howden with his project Sieben. With some highs and lows Matt was able to captive the attention of the not many spectators still in the room. The concert wasn't very homogeneous and some tracks really stand out among the others. In fact Matt Howden is a violin virtuoso and as it usually happens with 'all' virtuosi, he is easily taken by exuberance and spontaneity, falling easily in creativity excesses. .

During the breaks of the bands William Bennett plagued the audience with unbelievable sequences of power-noise that surprised me. It is a pleasure to thank Gaya for her amiability and comforting reception and Lloyd for the pleasant chat moments in the Red Rose Pub. I am most certainly half-way to being convinced to return to London on the 14th March to attend one more gig night on the 'Red Rose Pub'. Deutsch Nepal :: Raison D'Etre :: Bocksholm :: Der Feuerkreiner .

14^th February 2003

JONATHAN COLECLOUGH/COLIN POTTER, SLEEPING PICTURES, SPIRITUAL FRONT, SIEBEN

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

In front of the stage a lone figure sits at a desk crowded with equipment issuing a multitude of jack plug synapses. As the sound builds a prerecorded voice (which may or may not be his) announces the presence of Colin Potter and apologizes for the absence of Jonathan Coleclough.

The place we find ourselves is the Hinouema event, a monthly fixture at Islingtons Red Rose Club. Potter (known for his work in Nurse With Wound and with the likes of Current 93) proceeds to furnish us with music that is irrisitably engaging. Hovering, shimmering synthscapes segue into dense driving dance rhythms embellished with guitar and theramin. Potter demonstrates his craftsmanship and artistry in a display of otherworldly power and delicate beauty. An absolute joy. Sleeping pictures follow with a limp, poorly executed dirge which would I suppose fall into the neo-folk category. I have seen them perform before as a duo, but despite extra Instrumentation they still fall short of anything really “neo “at all. Their singer, a candidate for the nine-pound hammer award, drones atonal Goth cliches. The crowd is underwhelmed. (fuck, I try to be nice…) Spiritual Front however, despite the inevitable Bad Seeds comparisons, are in fact an accomplished act. Musically competent and passionate, every thing that Sleeping Pictures are not.

By the time Sieben {Acertain Mr Matt Howden} takes the stage it is late and much of the crowd has left for the last train home leaving but a few to witness his marriage of violin and industrial backing track. An idea reminiscent of 80’s duo The Flowerpot Men who used cello and twelve string in a similar fashion. The evenings entertainments were complimented by the DJing of William Bennett (Whitehouse) who played tracks from the new ‘Birdseed’ album (an astonishingly focused and beautiful piece of malevolence] and tracks from the “Extreme Music” Series. Mr. Bennett ended the evening by bulldozing the remaining patrons with a short improvised set.

Hinoeuma is probably the only genuine underground/avant garde night in London. It is grand anarchist entertainment, not for everyone. Visit it. Fortune favors the brave.

Happy Otter.

01st October 2004 | BREAK YOUR FACE

SLOGUN, GRUNT, CONTROL, CLOAMA, SICKNESS, SKM-ETR

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

Even armed with earplugs, nothing can help you duck the waves of raw cacophonies that come with Control. The two noise mongers operate like velociraptors; you think you can deal with one’s in-your-face aural rape of your senses, then suddenly a hideous gnash on the side rips your sensorial vortex and delivers the death crunch. The damage is done. Deafness is a gift.

To an accompanying projection, filmed Blair Witch-style in handheld monochrome, Grunt’s looping rhythmic noise comes with a Northern chill as with a deep sense of unease. As the video follows him driving a girl into

the woods, the giant Finnish bear gallivants manically onstage like Tobe Hooper’s Leatherface, scraping the mike with a piece of corrugated iron, mirroring the mounting agitation on screen as he molests the girl and urinates all over her. Harshly polemical, true, but you don’t get more threatening this side of the Atlantic. Unless you’re Genocide Organ of course.

Hearing from an acquaintance how Michael Nine aka MK9/Death Squad instilled fear and loathing by taking someone from of the audience hostage at a Hinoeuma performance a few months ago, the serial killer-obsessed Slogun holds much promise.  But apart from their towering vocalist restlessly wandering the floor and abruptly slamming into the few shoved to the front, any blood sport violence is seriously amiss. With four people on stage – bit of a crowd for a noise act one should think – it’s more of an intimidating, vulgar vocal display of power, a dystopian clunk of sado-America, a hell-bent-on-murder machismo that leaves you lifeless, foaming on the floor.

Die, fucker.

RICHIE RUCHPAUL

01^st October 2004 | BREAK YOUR FACE

SLOGUN, GRUNT, CONTROL, CLOAMA, SICKNESS, SKM-ETR

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

Hell – o there!

You’re more then likely aware of this, but just in case…

The new TERRORIZER magazine (Issue no.126) has a good review of the fantastic night at the Red Rose.

I was in the audience and the day of the gig, a blood vessel in my right eye burst!

I was always telling people I listened to music that makes your eyes bleed!!

(mind you I think it was more to do with the high blood pressure I have – but I like to think the whole evening of aural decimation contributed!)

Keep up the necessary (evil) work

See you next time!!

Rob

“We’re All The Devil’s Children”

01^st October 2004 | BREAK YOUR FACE

SLOGUN, GRUNT, CONTROL, CLOAMA, SICKNESS, SKM-ETR

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

From: www.exoteric-zine.com

Con largo anticipo veniamo a sapere che il primo ottobre nella grigia Londra si svolgerà un festival ad alto tasso di elettronica omicida, un evento impossibile da saltare per chi si ciba di pane e power-electronics ed il programma è quanto di rumoroso e violento che l’odierna scena di oltre oceano ci offre al giorno d’oggi. L’esperienza dell’Hagshadow ha ben pensato di sconvolgere i nostri padiglioni auricolari con 6 power-acts di provata fama, addirittura 4 dalle Americhe senza dimenticare gli special-guests scandinavi per la sola data londinese che rispondono al nome di Grunt e Cloama. E gli altri? Da paura. Slogun, Sickness, Control e SKM-ETR. Tappi industriali color arancio e un poco di coraggio a portata di mano e siamo al Red Rose, storico locale e sede ufficiale dell’attivissima Gaya. Senza trascurare naturalmente le stranezze e le meraviglie che la capitale albionica offre agli occhi spaesati di chi giunge per la prima volta in un luogo dove caos e sofferenza umana vivono incontrastati. Una debole pioggia ci accoglie a Finsbury park dove risiede la sede del festival denominato “Break Your Face”. L’accoglienza è quanto di meglio ci aspettavamo, Chris mente e tatuaggi di SKM-ETR è un vulcano di battute ed anche gli altri noisers americani non sono da meno quanto a simpatia e disponibilità, mentre sorprende la notevole stazza di mr. Balistreri, un uomo che farebbe concorrenza ai numerosi grattacieli della sua amata/odiata Brooklyn.

Anche la gente accorsa per la serata è abbastanza sorprendente, solo 60 o forse 70 presenze popolano l’oscuro locale, sarà il tour in contemporanea dei Psychic TV o paura e delirio a rumorelandia? Poco importa, siamo qui per assistere a dei concerti non per fare statistiche. Naturalmente l’impegno dell’apertura spetta a SKM-ETR, il più giovane dell’intera crew ma già salito agli onori della cronaca per alcuni CDr di distribuzione totally underground e per festeggiare l’evento è stato presentato anche il nuovo nonché primo full-lenght per la già collaudata coppia Stridulum/Eibon Records (nonché miei instancabili compagni di viaggio). Chris non nasconde le sue influenze hip-hop sfoggiando una t-shirt de Ill Bill, rapper bianco politicamente scorretto ed il succitato nuovo CD “The Rugged Meat Cleaver” mostra liriche dalle cadenze hip-hop ed il pezzo realizzato con John di Slogun è infatti puro stile rap violento ed urbano. Con fare possente ed immobile ha inizio la messa in scena della BFI law, suoni aspri e liriche violenti contro la feccia che popolano i luoghi pubblici delle metropoli. Il suono non è potentissimo ed ammetto che un volume più alto avrebbe donato allo show un aria più malsana e degradata. Decibel a parte, nel buio più totale SKM-ETR ci schiaffa in faccia la sua visione a base di noise, melodie apocalittiche (Sainthood) e testi violenti nella forma e soprattutto nella sostanza. Il breve live riflette fedelmente quello già intravisto nel grezzo DVDr uscito in poche decine di copie per BFI, granitico e massiccio. Ammetto che un’esibizione più dinamica avrebbe donato all’intero live un brio più spigoloso e più coinvolgente ma le premesse per una crescita esponenziale ci sono e tutte. Enjoy the BFI law!

Sickness è il secondo ad esibirsi sul palco del Red Rose e personalmente attendevo con ansia il noise frenetico e pirotecnico di Chris Goudreau, a mio avviso il miglior progetto noise a stelle e strisce, mi è sembrato piuttosto riduttivo inserirlo nel genere power electronics anche se non lesina riferimenti piuttosto marcati al genere. Con t-shirt rossa ed una marea di strumentazione elettronica ad alto voltaggio omicida, Sickness parte con il suo set esasperante e violentissimo come mai visto su un palco. La perfomance è agitata, nervosa, rasenta i limiti della pazzia, Chris si divincola, scuote la sua strumentazione, la violenta e… nella furia uno dei tanti cavetti si stacca e porta il già visibile (e necessario) nervosismo di Sickness al suo estremo, tanto che afferra un mixer e lo scaglia violentemente per terra dopo aver lasciato improvvisamente il palco tra lo stupore generale del pubblico. Un vero peccato!

L’enorme telo bianco del Red Rose trasmette immagini risalenti alla WWII e precisamente le terre innevate del Don fanno sfondo al concerto del finnico Cloama. Le sonorità cambiano decisamente strada ed atmosfera a favore di una power-electronics di stampo europeo, destinata a fare da contorno a tematiche belliche e pregne di disperazione umana, death-ambient sulla falsariga dello split con Grunt uscito su Freak Animal. Non eccelso nella sua piatta esecuzione, il suo concerto prosegue piuttosto stancamente e regalando poche pillole emotive.

Forte di una discografia dignitosa e di una presenza piuttosto appariscente dovuta dai suoi numerosi tattoo e dai suoi voluminosi piercings, sale sul palco un vero chirurgo del rumore, Thomas Garrison in arte Control. Il musicista di Santa Cruz è magistrale nel tessere colate di rumore, vocals sfumate fino all’inverosimile e samples infuocati, tutto è messo insieme con fare intelligente e cinico, un vero specialista capace di costituire davanti a se un muro del suono impenetrabile e incrollabile. “Removal” apre il live che si dimostrerà anche il più lungo di tutti i set della serata londinese, ed aggiungo anche il migliore della piazza. Thomas ce la mette tutta per mostrare il suo mondo violento, pornografico ed estremo, strati di rumore che si sovrappongono tra loro fino a trasformarsi in un unico blocco monolitico. Mr. Garrison alterna fredde e cliniche modificazioni sonore a sfuriate vocali che portano allo sfinimento la sua presenza fisica, ma alla fine la soddisfazione globale è ben evidente nel suo largo sorriso e nel sudore che imperla il suo volto. Il migliore, d’impatto, violento e cerebrale!

La prossima perfomance vede in scena uno dei più noti e seguiti progetti power-electronics, Grunt di Mikko Aspa mente anche di Freak Animal, Clinic of Torture e Nicole 12 ed in parte di Degenerate. Curioso di assistere al suo concerto dopo lo sdegno provocato in occasione del festival in terra statunitense, Grunt ci ha offerto dell’interessante industrial cattivo e controllato e come ciliegina sulla torta un video che farà discutere non poco. La vena misogina del progetto finnico è nota a tutti e le proiezioni amatoriali sono lì a dimostrarlo in tutta la sua carica provocatoria. Unito al sound puramente scandinavo ed alla violenza che Grunt riserva ad una lamiera arrugginita e contorta, il concerto si manifesta ricco di sfumature ora malvagie ed ora più ambientali ma sempre pervase da un aspetto violento e claustrofobico. Il denso strato di grigio sound viene alternato da stridenti e disturbanti distorsioni provocate dal folle sfregamento del microfono sull’arrugginita lamiera. Promosso!

E finalmente giunse il momento tanto atteso da un pò tutti i presenti accorsi al Red Rose, il più convinto sostenitore della filosofia “Fuck the World”, Slogun. Come nei precedenti concerti di John Balistreri, la line-up è composta da Shane e Sasha dietro il bancone e John alla voce mentre Chris Goudreau è accosciato immobile sul palco. Mentre parte una lunga ed ossessiva traccia di ambient marcia ed insanguinata, John cammina senza sosta, urta debolmente qualcuno come se fosse perso in una valle di lacrime rabbiose. I secondi scorrono ed il ragazzone di Brooklyn aumenta il passo battendo furiosamente i pugni e la sua rabbia a lungo repressa viene sfogata con un’unica e potente spinta che scuote una manciata del pubblico, il sottoscritto compreso. John rimane nervosamente sotto il palco, tra il pubblico, parla, grida e declama le sue parole violente, accusa, punta il dito e giudica mentre il tappeto sonoro prosegue impietrito nel suo marciume incolore sotto gli sguardi duri dei due noisers. Il sound cresce in potenza ed in atmosfera e mr. Slogun sale sul palco per fare spazio ai suoi compagni di viaggio sotto il palco, confusi tra il pubblico. Sickness, SKM-ETR, Control e Shane danno sfogo alla loro voce, sputando liriche inviperite e rabbiose, una jam session vocale totalmente sostenuta dai più alti sostenitori della scena power-electronics di oltre oceano. Un’unica traccia intrisa di morbosa violenza, Slogun sorprende tutti ed in special modo chi si aspettava uno show pregno di True Crime Electronics, ma anche in questa occasione la cultura violenta ed urbana di Balistreri non ha mancato il suo consueto appuntamento con l’estrema strada infangata del suono.

Intanto come fuori programma ci attende una collaborazione sul palco tra i due finnici, Grunt e Cloama e come special guest un’inviperita Gaya ANTIchildLEAGUE. I due Scandinavian (Leather?) boys sono senza maglietta con la panzetta bene in vista e su un sound percussivo si picchiano amichevolmente mentre Gaya sputa liriche schizzate e maliziose con sguardi diretti e magnetici e giochi erotici mimati con il microfono e c’è anche spazio per una fugace apparizione di Peter/L-white già in forza con i Sektion B. Jam di breve durata che diventa ulteriormente più corta a causa di un orario ormai proibitivo ed orientato sulla strada dell’albergo in attesa di un’altra giornata spesa tra roads, streets e paradisi perduti come l’impressionante Forbidden Planet. Ed il ritorno a casa è all’insegna di luci nel profondo della notte, Joe Lansdale e reliquie di cinica Apocalypse Culture…

25th August 2004

TUXEDOMOON, ATTRITION

LONDON SLIMELIGHT

Long runners yet grossly underrated veterans of the 80s British industrial scene, Attrition find themselves in the rather enviable position of support act tonight. Well, who wouldn’t want to be linked to this historic gig? You cannot mistake Martin Bowes’s gaunt figure and deep-spoken vocals as he drops ‘Acid Tongue’ and a few tracks from their well-received new platter, ‘Dante’s Kitchen’. An impressive back catalogue to draw upon, their atmospheric dark electro somehow fails to command the attention it normally should hold, amidst the hum of this impatient, internally frenzied, predominantly Wire-reading avant-rock crowd, many of whom have travelled from the Continent for tonight’s headliners.

The story is never over, as Blaine Reininger once said. Delivering 22 years in one night would be one mammoth of a task, but then it never felt like Tuxedomoon went away. It’s the classic line-up here tonight. Flanked by Steven Brown on the piano – coming forward for the odd mad sax call – is the imposing Peter Principle, one Pete Townshend without the guitar-crashing antics, glacial yet so inwardly passionate, his heavy skeletal bass strums complementing the wackiness of Blaine Reininger’s teasing violin breaks. They expectedly delve into their classic ‘Half Mute’ – 20 years or so old and even more pronouncedly now the basis of their celebrated avant-experimental electronic 80s Frisco new wave – ‘Desire’ and ‘Holy Wars’. They may be more the toast of French jazz festivals these days, but for a brief encounter they have the Slimelight at their feet. Magic!

RICHIE RUCHPAUL

27th April 2004

DER BLUTHARSCH, DEUTSCH NEPAL, NOVO HOMO

Venue: London Electrowerkz

It’s Hinoeuma’s 2004 opening night and many would undoubtedly have preferred the Red Rose to host this special occasion rather then the grotty Slimelight venue. But then, recalling last year’s deliriously incendiary performance by Costes at the Finsbury haunt, it is very unlikely the publican would have tolerated any faces flying around again.

Things are off to a shaky start tonight though with Novo Homo. At times reminiscent of Stalingrad, Kirlian Camera’s orchestral march project, otherwise its flippant trip-hoppish take sounds like a desperate karaoke man trying to engage an apathetic pub crowd. Disappointing!

Deutsch Nepal, in contrast, are engagingly subliminal to the point of transcendence. Who could forget Lina’s memorable performance last year with Raison d’Etre? Perpetually wry-smiled, there’s something of an eternal joker about Der General, a curious ambivalence that seeps into his hallucinogenic throbbing tones and beer-intoxicated croons. It’s a perfect enigma, this uncanniest of marriages, and one that offers timely apertures into his intriguing psyche.

A seeping, jolly neurotoxin. Pumping militaria through every sinew are Der Blutharsch, who enter stage carrying fire torches and entrusting them to the front row crowd.

Theirwhole set and stage persona is metronomically orchestrated, a shroud of dry ice silhouetting Albin and his rather menacing fraulein sidekick, both black-clad and drop-bombing paeans of an esoteric regalism.

And as they retreat to a deathly siren, you should feel utterly blitzed.

The Anglo-German anschluss is complete.

Richie Ruchpaul

[Terrorizer]

29th August 2005 | Noise and Sonic Anamorphosis

SUTCLIFFE JUGEND

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

Yes, I have to concur entirely with I.T. about the drabness of last night’s Noise non-event at the Red Rose in Finsbury Park. Sutcliffe Jugend were like a pantomime without the make-up, Tomkins barking such inanities as ‘I — question — your — right —- to —– exist!’ (big deal, squire, I question my own right to exist) over a generic Noisetrack presided over by a gum-chewing bouncer-type. Some of the rabble were all too ready to be roused (and not a few of the gentlemen around the front of the stage looked like they had popped in on the way to maiming a prostitute in a layby) but, really, this was tepid fare, disengaging and underwhelming. It was more Oi than Noise, a rather flat rifling through the soiled underwear of yesterday’s transgressions. What SJ showed, in fact, is how powerful Whitehouse are; how not just anyone can do it, that it’s not just a matter of spitting invective over a feedback scree. It has to get under your skin, it has to disturb, not merely assault. If it doesn’t, the organism merely closes up on itself, numbs out the excess stimuli, and the result is ennui. So it was with most of the rest of the bill, who turned out the Noise equivalents of twelve-bar blues: howling feedback (check), total lack of rhythm (check). It’s tedious to say that generic Noise is as genre-bound as boyband chartpop – almost as tedious as it is to listen to this stuff. But that doesn’t stop it being true. The chief argument for Noise would be that it opens up sonic channels that ‘music’ closes down or off, but that case is immediately invalidated if the same few sounds are trotted out ad infinitum. This kind of Noise, like a great deal of Sonic Art, doesn’t break out of the tyranny of music because it remains in a negative relation to it – it defines itself by assiduously purging any so-called ‘musical’ elements. The austerity is admirable but the effect of this hair-shirted self-punishment is too often not the revelation of a new affective range, but a dutiful boredom.

Part of the reason that Jessica Rylan’s short set towered above everything else is that she isn’t afraid to include ‘musical’ elements in her Noise constructions; untreated, as she performed them on Tuesday’s ‘warm-up’ event at the Foundry, her songs sounded cutesy-kooky, like a primary school Mary Margaret O’Hara. But fed through her self-constructed effects boxes and synthesizers the songs are transformed into eerie plaints, desiring machine stammers, ghost chatter, geek ectoplasm. The machines sublimate the raw material of the songs, the two together producing something that isn’t present in either on their own. One song sounded like Suicide channeling the voice of a murdered child; another like ‘I Feel Love’ re-recorded for Eraserhead. There’s something not a million miles away from Ariel Pink in the way that Rylan conjures the beguiling illusion of a sonic object that would be perfect if only you could hear it more clearly. Yet the ‘perfection’ is an effect (a special effect, you might say) of the blurring and distorting techniques themselves, like a kind of sonic anamorphosis. Rylan’s methodology is ample proof that DIY need not mean lo-fi lack of ambition. Her noise pieces are one response to the sublimity-destroying effect of digital culture’s excessive (and oppressive) high resolution clarity. Listening to the tracks on her CD, New Secret, is unsettling in the way that Sutcliffe Jugend never could be – there’s a disturbing intimacy in these faux-naif recordings, the suggestion of an abused child singing nursery rhymes in the dark, or a poltergeist-exorcism broadcast on a clapped-out radio… feints and implications…. doodles and shadows ….

So, anyway, Infinite Thought spoke to Jessica today, look out for the interview soon…

_________________________________________________________________

Martin of Beyond the Implode RIP gives his view (this before he threatened to tried to precipitate his own apocalypse by singing Spurs songs deep in the heart of Arsenal territory, at least as risky an enterprise as wearing a swastika on Seven Sisters Road….)

27th August 2005

SUTCLIFFE JUGEND, GRUNT, JESSICA RYLAN, EMIL BEAULIEU

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

“Can anyone put the lights up? I’m old, I’m cranky… I’m American,” Emil Beaulieu teases the techs mid-set as he frisbees a pack of CDs into the crowd. The commotion at the front to catch this dinosaur of US noize means that your scribe cannot have a peek at the Minutoli, Beaulieu’s feared quadri-tentacled turntable. If it’s there at all! In either case, his mic-gulping, comedic extreme noise terror gets this night to a head-traumatic start.

Her svelte, delicate figure and sharp features straight out of Garry Trudeau’s Doonesbury betray Jessica Rylan’s warped, twisted persona. Noise-pop you could term it, Rylan toying frenziedly with a distortion box as her voice is transmogrified under a skeletal melodic backdrop. Something odd, aurally digestible though, yet it leaves us with that ghastly look of seeing a blood-drenched Carrie.

Grunt’s Leatherface-esque performance is terse but tense, in contrast to the forest-bound-joyride-cum-golden-shower-session one poor girl took in the video projection last time round. Adequately scraping nonetheless.

The engrossing hype leading to this historic gig lives up to every nano-second of it. “I-question-your-right-to-exist!” a Droog-style-clad Kevin Tomkins bellows in the face of everyone, his cohort Paul Taylor nonchalantly chewing on a gum behind the keyboard, occasionally inciting the crowd to go apeshit with a middle-finger salute. No one is spared, from the Judaeo-Christian tradition to your mother. Sutcliffe Jugend’s verbal flak leaves you skin-crawlingly disturbed, maimed beyond recognition but thankful. A ball-crushing return to stake their claim as trailblazing cultural terrorists.

And there is more to come…

RICHIE RUCHPAUL

8^th August 2005

SUTCLIFFE JUGEND, LIVE ASSAULT 00

Venue: The Red Rose Club, Seven Sisters Road, London

After the blitzkrieg that was Live Assault 00, I was disappointed to hear that the show at Hinoeuma had sold out apparently. Things took a turn for the better when I managed to buy a ticket from the Hagshadow /Hinoeuma website and I finally got it through the post. Whatever happened, I’d booked my place to get in so pressure was off. Seeing this venue is in North London and our transport system is so crap, I decided I’d drive there meaning a scramble through London traffic in my old car. No problems there and I noticed on arrival that there was a film crew lurking so that has to be one to keep ‘em peeled for. Details posted here if and when i hear anything about any film release.

This was a formidable line-up. Birds of delay , Prurient ( who was ear destroyingly excellent), Emil Beaulieau  (who had the most animated performance of the evening and created some superb noise – highly recommended live ) , Jessica Rylan ( who was good but maybe didn’t have the best night by her usual high standards ) , Grunt ( more awesome wall of noise stuff ) and finally Sutcliffe Jugend with something to prove seeing this was their first ‘official ‘ live appearance.

Sutcliffe made their entrance, wearing their white ‘droog ‘ clothes again, using the ambient track ‘ fear and anticipation’ from ‘ Victim as beauty ‘ CD and it’s straight into a cracking noise onslaught….none of the improv stuff from Live Assault 00. This was a direct attack to the senses ( and ears ) and SJ won hands down. Paul Taylor, assuming the position behind a keyboard surveys the crowd with contempt arms folded when not playing, leaving the stage free for Kevin Tomkins to run riot. When i was told the gig at Tunbridge Wells ‘ was just a warm up to London ‘ I can only presume Kevin Tomkins had it all bottled up ’cause he was right in the faces of the front row yelling ‘ come on ‘ then jumping into the audience, back onto the stage to twiddle a few buttons for noise then to shout in the faces again ‘ i wish your fucking mother could see this ‘….. the aggression was in overload and it’s what we wanted. I actually wanted the volume louder.  Where SJ were visually calmer in Tunbridge Wells, here you could see where Kevin Tomkins gets the venom for SJ’s lyrics.. he looks fucking as angry as hell and you could feel it !!!!

Bathed in red lights, they played for just over half an hour, ending with ( i think ) ‘ Right To Kill ‘ then left the stage not to return.At the end of the performance, Paul Taylor stands mid-stage , looking at the crowd in disgust, Kevin Tomkins says no to those begging for more at the front. The waves of noise flow from the speakers and it’s over leaving the crowd demanding more, a monitor burning and my ears ringing. Tonight wasn’t such a revelation for me as Live Assault 00 but it was damn close. I’m glad i was there – I wanted more but was this a ploy? To leave the audience wanting more? The aggression was off the scale but it all seemed to be over too quickly. It was a triumph tho’ and opens the pathway for their forthcoming material.

2008

In Collaboration with the Trenches 22.11.08

Con-Dom. ANTIchildLEAGUE. Iron Fist of the Sun.

Pain Nail. Stab Electronics.

=================================================================

 Level X event on the 01.11.08

SCHULTZ (+Fetish performance by VDREY.)

Baraclough +  Sz. Berlin [Schmerzzentrum Berlin.] +  Skat Injectors

=================================================================

2007
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Level X and Slimelight Event 15th. December!!  

 The Horrorist  + Gerechtigkeitsliga

 The DIGITARIAT

 check Level X info page.

40 pages in colours
Hardcover
16 x 24 cm – 40 pages – hardcover

300 copies only.

TIMELESS EDITIONS Timeless.

Since 1992. Bizarre Uproar remains one of the leading figures among Finnish noise. Their 2011 album is unleashed as LP/CD by Freak Animal and Filth & Violence. “Viha & Kiima” is culmination of the current style. showing the side of band that been seen on live assaults during recent years as well as on already classic “Musta Rotta” 7″. 4 long tracks of amplifier torment captured in rehearsal bunker. combining the best elements of live-in-studio approach. Fierce and crude results. with very natural flow of physical and concrete sound. Bizarre Uproar’s style takes a good dose of most violent elements of power electronics and drenches it to loud rusty harsh noise. Freak Animal / Filth & Violence. CD with f&v cd style soft clear poly-box with full color artwork by J.Siikala.

Freak Animal Records , Filth And Violence

Cover Painting By Jukka Siikala
“Where Are You Now (Portrait Of Fallen Angel)”
Oil On Hard Board 110 x 150 cm 2010

A Black two sided T-shirt.

Hagshadow Logo on the front.

Bands in the back.

Black

big logo-print  ”Gotos=Kalanda”  sizeM

big logo-print  ”Gotos=Kalanda”  sizeXL