2008-06-07 - TERRORIZER ONLINE #3: REVIEWS AND REWARDS
1. Thee Eddess needs some action.
2. WEB-EXCLUSIVE live reviews!
3. Latest news and gigs from Terrorizer.com
4. Bitching and moaning in the digital sandpit, free compilation, Tarja Turunen smells and black metal gets even more comical.
Well this is a rare week, there's not been many gigs in the Big Smoke and believe me, it's actually a good thing. What with non-stop festival action and bands like Converge, Om, Lair Of The Minotaur,
Obituary and Metallica all make pit-stops in London within a week of each other even the hardened party-animals among the Terrorizer staff were starting to feel the pain. And just as we were all starting to fall apart under the pressure of a whirlwind gig schedule those pesky kids at Anticulture Records went and threw their annual summer bash at Soho's Borderline Club and really pushed us all over the edge. Maybe it was the technical insanity of Tangaroa or the copious amount of free booze that they forced us to drink but we sure needed this week to get over it all. Sincere thoughts go to former Terrorizer scribe and Kerrang! whipping boy James Hoare, who was almost cuckolded at the hands of Anticulture's host for the evening, Will from C4's 'Musicool'.
Over at Terrorizer HQ the gig-less week was also a welcome opportunity to get the next issue finished and sent off to the printers, so keep your eyes peeled on August 16th in your local newsagents, bookshops and service stations (yes, we're now available between all good motorway junctions) for the new issue, which includes part one of our Prog Special, interviews with Orange Goblin, Rush, Heaven & Hell,Trelldom and Entombed.
--Louise, Thee Eddess
WEB-EXCLUSIVE LIVE REVIEWS: THROBBING GRISTLE + OM!
Each month the Terrorizer team trawls the country's live music venues, props up the bar, gets a round in and take notes on the sonic showdowns of our visiting musical guests (and sometimes homeplayers). Most of these reviews you see each month in Terrorizer Magazine's STAGEFRIGHT section, however those that don't make it in the magazine live an unhappy existence without ever seeing the light of day...until now.
Now, each week in TERRORIZER ONLINE you will get to read some of the reviews that don't make it into the magazine. And what's more, if you've been to a gig recently that you just have to write about, email it to us at louise@terrorizer.com and we'll print it here.
This week we get to live vicariously through the avant-garde aural antics of Richie Ruchpaul at Throbbing Gristle's Derek Jarman retrospective at The Tate Modern and get down and bassy with Avi Pitchon at minimalist metallers OM's recent Camden gig.
THROBBING GRISTLE
LONDON TATE MODERN
Some of the still-jackbooted, balding purists at the back of the class of ‘76 might balk at this show as the ultimate sacrilege: a sanitised canonisation of yesteryear’s sonic-terrorists-turned-media-curiosities. Tonight though, in the cavernous setting of the Turbine Hall, is Throbbing Gristle with a difference, pouring heart and soul into scoring an exhibition of rare footage from taboo-breaking filmmaker and punk chronicler Derek Jarman. The first part of the show allows TG to seep into Jarman’s dreamscape with their own hour-long, slow-building – at times creepy – freeflow jam, full of pulsating, diagonally-flowing textures, strung out guitar scrapes, and an odd wailing wall of dissonance. Jarman’s Super-8 reels were never imagined for a soundtrack, so it comes as a challenge for TG to craft their own. Curiously, it's when they weave and let flow those washes of ambience to the naturalistic images (Jarman’s grainy, azuric handheld shots strolling in the woods for instance) that the two mediums achieve a real sense of symbiosis. Whether Jarman, were he able to voice his opinion from the dead, would have shied from this grand scale projection of essentially a private collection does tickle the mind but it’s a delightfully bewildering aperture into the director’s diaristic, inner-circle gossamer web.
RICHIE RUCHPAUL
OM
LONDON UNDERWORLD
Being one of the first gigs to take place under the smoking ban, Om’s extreme stoner space mantras are probably an ultimate test-case for the kind of atmosphere this violent omission of anything involving tobacco (does the ban cover weed-only spliffs?) creates. Entering the Underworld to the opening hypno-throb of ‘At Giza’, the initial reaction is that of a certified sobriety panic attack. It’s the fear of realising that net weight Om, minus any friendly mind-benders to usher you through the doors of perception, might not amount to much. It is especially Al Cisneros’ measured, sober incantation that sounds all too tangible and intimate. Emergency alcohol infusion alongside Om’s heavier moments allows the primal subconscious to begin appreciating the ritualistic, rhythmical aspect. Suddenly, staring through the crystal-clear air, the realisation dawns: there’s a new drug in town – oxygen! It transpires that the free flow of that gas enhances brain functions. Intoxication only serves to numb one into familiarity with a predictable state of appreciation. This re-visiting of the uninterrupted, sacred cycle of breathing (as explained by the occult teachings of Melchitzedek) opens a new spiritual frontier of lucidity, within which Om shine in unprecedented majesty. All hail Om! All hail the smoking ban!
2008-06-07 - TERRORIZER ONLINE #2: THE FILTH AND THE FURY
1. Thee Eddess peers over Dani Filth's bar-tab.
2. DHG bring blaxploitation to the capital.
3. Latest news and gigs from Terrorizer.com
4. Goth dating, Dani Filth gets slapped down and 'Napalm Death aren't grindcore revelation.
Well I hope you all enjoyed the first edition of Terrorizer Online last week. Unfortunately I am now back in UK, my tan fading fast as are the drunken memories of post-Metal Camp shenanigans. If you ever meet German metallers Disillusion and they tempt you with a concoction of beer and cola run away, it WILL end in tears. However, I was probably the most well-behaved of the Metal Camp inhabitants with Mr Dani Filth Esq possibly topping the list of the festivals badly behaved boys. Rumour has it that the miniscule microphone mauler started on the cheap Slovenian liquor as early as 9am and by the time they got to the stage that night he was in a terrible state, propelling himself into a set in which he had either forgotten the words to his own songs or was just simply incapable of anything but barks and bleeps.
The dear old metal midget then proceeded to ravage the hospitality lounge of the Brothel-cum-Vegashotelroomonacid that hosts the festival and his hotel room. Legends Motorhead, who were due to play after The Filth simply looked on with a vacant air of indifference at Mr Filth's tantrum. But then again they've no doubt seen worse. Testament to Lemmy though who proved he can hold his drink far better than COF's frontman (well, he has had more practise), the other rumour buzzing backstage was that he had wracked up a hotel bill of more than £20,000 in one night, yes one night. And just before his arrival at Metal Camp too. That's gotta be one massive minibar.
And if Dani Filth walks away with the festival's Bad Boy Award golden stars are definitely pinned decoratively on the shirts of German thrashers Dew Scented. When Dutch hardcore crew Born From Pain found themselves in a spot of bother with their singer stuck in the Stanstead storms rather than on his way to the festival Lief and the Dew Scented crew agreed to let them eat into their set time if their new singer along with axeman Karl Fieldhouse who had gone to collect him from his gnarly flight could make it in time. Just when we all thought they wouldn't make it bassist Rob Franssen was on stage churning out their opening riffs and within seconds Karl and Paul flew onto the stage (literally) and the whole band launched into a killer set. It all looked rather gloomy for the Dutchies at one point but with Dew Scented's approval the band played one of their greatest sets n years. Lief Jensen - Terrorizer applauds you.
--Louise, Thee Eddess
BREAKING NEWS: TERRORIZER TO SPONSOR DHG LONDON SHOW!
Terrorizer is extremely pleased to announce that in conjuction with StrataNael promotions we will be sponsoring the forthcoming London show from DHG, the experimental black metal powerhouse previously known as Dødheimsgard and described by Terrorizer as, "a twitchingly kinetic, achingly cutting-edge work of real and convincing fusion."
This evening of one-off sfrostbitten insanity will take place at The Fridge in Brixton on September 7 with support from Horna, Blacklodge, Vorkreist and Spearhead.
How many social networking sites does the world need? Apparently thousands, as if the metal community wasn't catered for enough by the addition of tiny Slipknot and Tool t-shirts in interactive online community Second Life (apparently the cornerstone of Brit cybermetallers Interlock's US press campaign was getting a song played in SL goth club...), chicks with baby blue unicorn tattoos and men in PVC and Orgy t-shirts can now flirt clumsily on the woefully unpopular flash-ridden car crash that is Darkyria. Sign up out of morbid curosity to the, ahem, 'darkest dating site' and then close the window in sheer frustration.
Head on over to youtube for some vintage Filth action, that classic episode of cult music quiz Never Mind The Buzzcocks in which the dimunutive diabolist gets abused by Mark Lamarr. Giggle over part one, part two and, finally, part three.
2. Broadcasting Filth - Someone call Mary Whitehouse!
3. Latest news and gigs from Terrorizer.com
4. Dave doesn't just love Jesus, Ramsey doesn't love Victory Records, readers love Spineshank and nobody loves bad MS Paint.
We're off to Wacken! Starting as we meant to go on, we get the beers in at Stanstead Airport. On the plane I noticed that far too many people were reading 'Metal Hammer'. After shouting obscenities at various people I get the general feeling that airports don't stock our wonderful publication, mental note to do something about that, fuckers...
After arriving at Lubeck Airport I give photographer Al Pulford a bell to share the cab fare. He had arrived an hour earlier and had been waiting for us...
AT THE WRONG AIRPORT! D'OH!
Sorry Al me old mate! We arrive two miles from Wacken (the traffic was not moving so we got out and walked) after a 90 minute cab journey with bags stuffed up our arses, then the grief started...
Press organisation was pretty poor and I ended up having to walk the two miles to the entrance, to find out that I had to walk back to were I started to get my pass, which was some little shed next to a supermarket, with a fucking horse in it! By this time it was pitch black and after about another three miles walking down an unlit, creepy country road on my own I manage to crawl through a few bushes and find the back door, unceremonious and minus the handy full metal bag everyone at the main entrance got!
Nevertheless my first stop is the famous Wacken supermarket to get a crate of beer! I struggle to set my tent up along side my mates in the dark, and we get to the beer garden. Here, one raised voice cheer was all you needed to get the entire garden of 3,000 odd people screaming 'WAAAKENN!' It was a beautiful thing. We had bagpipes setting the mood, meat on a stick was exsquisite and the litre steins of Franziskaner weissbeer were brutal.
Come 7am we are all suitably pissed (an understatement) So the obvious choice was to go and buy two bottles of Jack, a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Jagermeister. From here things started to black out somewhat, it was doomed to end in tears, and it did. Dead Beyond Buried vocalist Oli Marchant (pictured above on the left) ends up with a broken ankle after a short round of UFC in a field, the following day he is on a plane back to the UK, poor sod. He didn't even get to see one band!
Seeing as the field was a muddy mess, the organisers covered it with tonnes of hay, not a great idea when it's now baking hot and thousands of people are smoking. Right before Amorphis are due on, a massive fire breaks out in the field, quite worrying when youre standing in it. Admiringly the German PA announcer says "Its okay, just all move to the back, have a beer and watch from there" - legend! You wouldn't get that at Download would ya?!
Over the next couple of days some bands were watched, in true Wacken spirit I cant really remember much else other than being glad that Vital Remains pulled out as it meant that Cannibal Corpse and 1349 didn't clash! Brilliant. Enslaved and CC were easily the highlights of the festival, Sacred Reich, Immortal and Dimmu were also very good, except Immortal and Dimmu suffered from being far too quiet.
Er... What else? On the last night some guys tent got set on fire and it exploded! The site of the moon and thick smoke slowly breezing over the trees would have looked great for a Darkthrone album cover!
In fact, the whole camp site looked pretty much like wartorn Vietnam. Sunday morning we all smashed our tents up and left. Until next year. Miss you already Wacken. The last festival in the world where, clearly, absolutely anything goes!
--John B, Advertising dude and drunken liability
THEE ED AND THEE SUB-ED ON TOTAL ROCK RADIO!
Want to put gravelly voices to those words which dance in front of your eyes like butterflies? Well next Tuesday our eloquent editorial team of Jonathan 'Thee Ed' Selzer and Joseph 'Thee Sub/News/'Breaking Faces-Ed' Stannard will be discussing the forthcoming issue and spinning a few phat choons from the forthcoming Fear Candy on bangin' online radio station Total Rock.
That's 18:00 to 21:00 with host Maz Star at Totalrock.com and as an added bonus they'll all be making a fool out of Will from Channel 4 reality TV series 'MusiCool'. Yes, he of the Sunday morning corpsepaint.
"At night I can still hear you saying, 'Hang onto me. Baby, just hang onto me. It ain’t easy.'
All very sweet, except of course this is Megadeth fan fiction, and not just any common-or-garden garbage but 'slash fiction', a nerdism referring to fictional same-sex romatic couplings. Fortunately you have to register to actually read these literary monstrosities so the odds of you 'accidently' finding yourself alone in the room drooling over a poorly detailed love scene between Dave Mustain and Chris Poland are blissfully slim.
