GISM --Whatever you do, just please don't call it Jap-core! Relapse Records Reissues Japanese cult classic

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I suppose it was in the 2010's that my writing graduated from being the styrofoam popcorn of my horribly edited fanzines to a slightly more professional level. It was around that time that I became a staff writer for the Belgian website doom-metal.com as well as one of Popmatters.com's thousand music critics (who hasn't). One of the residual perks of some of my commissioned writing for these entities is that apparently neither of them have taken me off their rosters because till this day I still receive press-kits all the time. I hardly even look at most of them, as ashamed as I am to admit it, but I don't abuse the perk either by downloading and reproducing any of the stuff that actually has caught my curiosity. Well, you can't even if you tried. Press kits are usually emailed to you these days as a PDF, and what used to be a music critic's hard copy (LP, CD, Cassette, etc.) became a watermarked digital stream long ago. These download streams set off a notice to the label if you try and forward it anywhere as well as are protected from reproduction.  Regardless, I don't get down like that. I believe that artists should get paid for their work, particularly musicians, and would never pirate shit like that because I think that people who do are real douchebags. Also, I wouldn't risk losing the "industry-insider" benefit of getting to hear all types of music albums months before their release.

One of the labels that still has me on their list of music critics is Relapse Records. Relapse is certainly a reputable label, an institution quite frankly. Their roster past and present has been home to some heavy hitters of the 'extreme-music' scene and although I can't say that I subscribe to all of the music they put out, every now and then they'll break a new band that sucks me in or they'll reissue something cool thus easily taking my twenty bucks. 

This week, my dear friend that I've never met before Mr. Enrique Sagarnaga, manager of Marketing, Promotions and Publicity at Relapse sent me the advance stream and press kit for their latest reissue, the cult (as fuck) Japanese classic Detestation by the mighty GISM. Originally released in 1984 on Dogma Records, it was first imported to America by scene legend Brian Schroeder (Pushead). Despite high praise in Schroeder's insanely famed Thrasher Magazine column (where he wrote of GISM "this type of brilliance people call insane"), and even a glowing review from MaximumRockandRoll if you could believe that considering they have a song titled "Tear Their Syphilitic Vaginas", GISM didn't really take the foothold that had been imagined by those who championed for them. They were initially overlooked by the scene at large, but deep underground dwellers that were already devotees of the impactful Japanese band GAUZE were only a hop, skip and a jump away and so the "circles within the circle" enshrined GISM alongside anything else from Nippon that could be obtained by our grubby American paws. That's not to say that they didn't leave a mark. GISM is touted as an influence by some notable names, POISON IDEA and INTEGRITY to name just two. Both GISM and GAUZE are contenders for the coveted title "Kings of Japanese Punk".

The band's name, GISM, is an acronym with a host of meanings, of which my personal favorite is GNOSTIC IDIOSYNCRASY SONIC MILITANT. (My runner up choice would be GENERAL IMPERIALISM SOCIAL MURDER.) To the novice, or uninitiated in the GISM sound, just think of a melding of the adrenal Rock and Roll of MOTORHEAD with the drunken Punk belligerence of G.B.H. Yes, the DISCHARGE influence is indelible as well. GISM hang in this weird limbo between crusty Hardcore Punk and NWOBHM with trace amounts of First-Wave Black Metal that makes them widely accessible three decades after the fact (sadly). Perhaps their sound was too advanced for it's time of initial arrival stateside, but in today's world where bands like MIDNIGHT and WRAITH have blazed a trail for bands in this vein (and with the Relapse logo next to the barcode) GISM should see a well-deserved resurgence in interest as well as a new level of obtainability thanks to their new label-boss's (relatively) massive distribution reach. 

Detestation is a quick journey through vomit infested Tokyo backstreets and alleyways (if there is such a thing) that clocks in at half an hour, and that is counting the three bonus tracks added to this reissue. Yet despite a brief setlist, this LP has more than its share of memorable moments. Among them, "Nightmare" goes off into a total VENOM worship session that not only accentuates the Metal component to their formula but highlights the fun, tongue in cheek aspect of this band. "Nuclear Armed Hogs" is another great track. With its somewhat comical motif, I would venture to call it Discharge on laughing gas. The original album's closer, "Anthem", is a formidable way to punctuate the point that this album makes with dexterous riffing and their crusty-ass tone over a D-Beat percussive assault.

Detestation dropped yesterday, December 4, 2020AD and is available through the label directly (link above in the body) or if you're like me and have willingly taken the mark of the beast then I suppose that you can cop it from Amazon as well. Frankly, I'd rather give Jeff Bezos my money right now. I am aware that his trillionaire-ass doesn't need a dub out of my smelly wallet, believe you me, but as a fellow divorcee I feel that I should stand in solidarity with him. Besides, he used to break Trump's balls, so he's A-OK with me. Definitely check out this album. It's cool to drink to and get rowdy by. I should be ordering my copy as soon as I catch up on my credit card and child support payments.

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Crucifixion For Dummies

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Gotta frown cause of that thorny crown? Well, turn it upside down!!

I am officially OFF of brandishing the inverted cross as a fashion/political statement. Yes it's the end of three decades of flashing that little doozy at any opportunity where I was sure that some Christian 'Ham-and-Egger' might have a conniption over it. Like, why wear an inverted cross to, say perhaps, an evening of boozing at Churchill's Pub? Of course I am referring to a time before the pandemic when an outing was actually a thing, just for the sake of illustration, mind you. These days, we just drink at home while waiting for the grim reaper to come and sneeze on us. Back to my point -everybody at a place like Churchill's is either wearing an inverted cross or has one tattooed on their forehead, or inserted into their cervix, so where's the satisfaction in rocking that offensive little number? I like to wear it where there will be civilians that don't often get to see the needlessly menacing icon. A good opp would be while grocery shopping at Publix on Sunday morning, for example. You get a real reaction of repulsion and disgust that I relish oh so much, and rightly so. After all, I am forced to sit behind you for an hour on the Palmetto Expressway staring at how you've been "washed in his blood" and how your "Boss Is A Jewish Carpenter". 

Who has ever heard of a Jewish carpenter?

 When I'm on line at the Drive-Thru window, I am constantly being told by your mini-van back window how Jesus is coming soon to make sure that I go straight to hell. Meanwhile, all I want is a fucking medium coffee with oat milk and six sugars and a goddamn plain bagel. So you know what ?! Now I want to be a jerk, now I want to antagonize. Only now, I need a new symbol to stir the calm. The "upside-down" cross is 86'd. In its place I'm thinking of getting a tattoo on my forehead of Christ's head with a machete through it.

 

Antagonism is one of life's unknown and seldom visited joys. I consider it an artform. I also think that it is probably one of the pillars of what my colleague Adel "156" Souto has defined/instituted as "Cultural Terrorism", a cause for which I will gladly be an agent for under any given, adversarial icon that my fellow misanthropes wish to rally under. However, in this case the iconoclastic icon in question is not iconoclastic at all... The thing is, that while inverted crosses can be big, big fun, at the end of the day it's really not an emblem of antagonism but rather just another dopey Christian symbol. 

No, seriously, the inverted cross is a symbol known as 'the Cross of St. Peter'. As lore has it,  Saint Peter (JC hanger-on number one) who was also condemned by the Romans to suffer the same fate as his little boyfriend over there chose to be crucified upside down, so as to not imitate his Nazarene dreamboat (he who had only imitated the demise of virtually every "messiah" figure that came before him.)

Without a doubt, the slaughtered "Lamb Of God" made crucifixion into a household word; and much like band merch and floor polish, branding is everything. But some would be surprised to know that crucifixion had been going on way before the events that transpired atop Golgotha. Jesus (or his script writers) totally bit from the apocryphal history books. The fact is that about a half of a dozen "messiah" figures throughout religions of the ancient world were killed via crucifixion prior to Christ. Among them are the Egyptian god Horus, Dionysus -the Greek god of wine, insanity and religious ecstasy, and the Persian deity Mithra just to name a few. Unfortunately, this was way before the Tribes of Israel had invented Entertainment/Copyright Law and the concept of infringement upon intellectual property.

The first known uses of crucifixion or anything of its kind date back to the brutal Assyrian empire under the rule of King Shamanezer in the 9th century B.C. The Assyrians spent 35 years killing, raping and pillaging any and all who may have been unfortunate enough to stand in the way of expansion and anyone left standing would get impaled. 

(I mean, they were just real  jerks.)

 Impaling is the earliest incarnation of crucifixion. Impaling, or the art of erecting a human body via a wooden or iron stake inserted into the anus is quite an uncomfortable ordeal for most. Yet for some, forms of impalement can make for a great Saturday night if you have a couple of bucks in your pocket to make it happen. 

The Romans were the true innovators of crucifixion. They were the first to implement the actual crucifix that we all know and love today. The "Latin Cross", or the lowercase 't', that which typically depicts the crucifixion of the Christ has been argued by historians, however, who say that it was not the model that would have been used in actuality. Also, it has been established that if Christ really did exist and was crucified, that it would not have been through the hands, but through the wrists. It's all in the wrist! 

The Roman reboot of the cross was believed to have been done to maximize the element of physical anguish and public humiliation. In other words, "how can we keep this gavone alive a little longer so as to make him suffer more before his worthless ass croaks?". 

You see, it isn't really the crucifixion that kills you, but the horrific scourging that occurs before and during that really just fucks you all the way up. The Romans would crucify any poor hump at the drop of a hat mostly for political motives, and did it publicly for the purpose of deterring future offenders. There have been actual accounts found that tell of Roman battalions leaving more than 6,000 people crucified by a roadside, rotting under the sun and being pecked away at by vultures. Fun, fun, fun!

But it was the world's all time favorite 'Gay-in-the-military' that really razzle-dazzled the ancient world with a crucifixion body count that'll knock your socks off. In 332 BC, Alexander the Great and his army staged a seven month siege on the island city of Tyre. Al and the guys wasted more than 10,000 mooks, while sparing 2,000 others whom were made into the Tyre Welcome Committee, meaning that they were impaled all along the Mediterranean coastline; their gored bodies holding up pretty ribbon and festooning and a billboard-sized banner that read "Welcome to Tyre, Now Under New Management".  

Now you may be thinking to yourself "Geez, the ancient world was barbaric!" Well, don't think that all of the gruesome fun ended in the middle ages. There are still cultures in the world where these shenanigans are still occurring. Just as recently as 2014, a man was crucified AND beheaded in Saudi Arabia for anti-government protesting. Overkill much?! They really didn't want him to come back to life! Ah, you just have to love the Muslim world, where barbarity and piousness went on their first few dates! In the United Arab Emirates, crucifixion is an actual means of punishment that is on the books. This is so in Sudan as well. The terrorist group ISIL (ISIS) get real shits and giggles out of nailing people up to a plank on a slow Friday. In Iran, crucifixion is considered to be "hadd", meaning that it is punishment that is mandated by god (yeah, that's right. lower-case, bitch.) They're actually real sweethearts in Iran about crossing you up, though. Apparently, if you're still alive after three days on a cross they'll let you go; which is great, except that most who are let down from an Iranian crucifixion die by the time that the valet brings the car around.  

How about the wahoos that voluntarily get pinned as a "devotional practice"? This is most common in the Philippines, where although the Catholic Church has frowned upon the practice, some of the more pious parishioners of that island country have said "FUCK THAT" and get themselves tacked up for Good Friday. But wait, get a load of this... Right here in the U-S of A, in New Mexico a local sect performs a passion play of the crucifixion, only the participating members tie the man-of-the-hour to a cross rather than nailing him up. However, real self-flagellation is still performed prior to the main event to get a nice bloody lather going. It seems with Christians that there is a whole lot of self-mortification that needs to be exchanged for "god's" love (Yeah, lower case AND quotation marks! How's that for a little grammatical heresy?)

 Try Crucifying someone next time you've got a score to settle! It is a great way to show someone that they done pissed you off. I would especially encourage/recommend it over the Holidays. And just in case you are like me and you like to have a little mood music that you can whistle to while you perform your gruesome work, well then I've got just the record for you...

I choose Where No Life Dwells by Sweden's Unleashed. This is an old-school Death Metal album released in 1991 that instantly caught my eye with their logo which prominently incorporates the Cross of St. Pete dead-center. This was one of the very first Death Metal albums that I remember advertised towards the back pages of Metal Maniacs magazine (R.I.P.) and both the bleak, icy feel of the cover art along with that logo grabbed me on the spot and has stuck with me for years. It is so strange that it took thirty plus years to finally collect this one. Musically, if we're talking about a good score for the next time you crucify a foe, this joint is as good as any. I used to think that Autopsy's Mental Funeral was my favorite Death Metal record until I heard this. This is what Death Metal should sound like (in my mind). Every element on this joint sounds just right, from the guitar tone to the mix on the bass, even the vocals sound 'just-so' to me. I am not really sure what the rest of their discog' holds in store besides lots of viking lore, but as far as this debut is concerned this is brutal old-school Scandinavian Death Metal, no bullshit "Gothenburg sound" detectable here. I can definitely see myself decked out in fine Roman wares, driving railroad spikes through some poor schlub's wrists while spinning a couple of tunes from this album; such as "Dead Forever", "For They Shall Be Slain" and "Violent Ecstasy". 

Speaking of 'Roman wares', if you want yet another soundtrack for a scourging/crucifixion, I also recommend the Roman Acupuncture EP by Bolzer. I have given this EP by the Swiss two-piece an honorable mention just based on its title. Musically, this band has an original albeit peculiar take on the alchemy of Death and Black Metal. "Roman acupuncture", what a brilliant euphemism for crucifixion! Also note the album cover which I find particularly striking as well...

Alright, that's all I got. The sun is coming up. Time for a skate... Write ya' soon...

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misanthropaganda@yahoo.com

The Church, Australian Psych-Alt Rock and their fifth album titled Starfish

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It is beyond my comprehension why it has taken thirty plus years to finally add The Church's Starfish to my archives despite having heard it's two hit singles ad nauseam. However, despite an open and shut case of criminal neglect on my behalf, in my defense I say: better late than never. (Pardon the cliche'...) The Church came into my radar in April of 1988 when "Under The Milky Way Tonight" broke as the album's first single. I would see the music video every single morning at just about 6am and change like clockwork while getting ready for school. Yet with every repetitive view these Aussie alt-rockers would suck me in further and further rather than saturate and bore me. Even now, three decades after the fact, I can still listen to "Milky Way" once daily and still never grow weary of it. In the 'Olde Thyme' world of the music biz, that's called a true hit!

Their other radio hit from Starfish is "Reptile" -a mellow fusion of psychedelia and alt guitar rock that much like it's predecessor hit has also withstood the test of time. Pandora can run "Reptile" about 5 times per day and it would not bother me one bit. In fact, I am almost certain that they do... Odds are that you have heard both of these hits on a Rock station at some point. Now, I challenge anyone who is aware of these two tracks to honestly say that they are tired of hearing either. 

"Reptile" reminds me of my very first skate pal, Luis Marti, who was obsessed with the song. He'd lose his mind and begin skating passionately as soon as he'd hear the instantly recognizable opening riff. Luis was a neighborhood kid where I grew up that skated and was into the underground. Back in the early '80s, any body who would skate or was into the scene that lived within radius of one other would automatically, indiscriminately and imminently 'crew-up' with each other. Nowadays there's 10 skaters in a Skate Park and nobody could give a flying fuck about each other's existence. In my case, I know that personally if I catch somebody skating my private curb, there's going to be a major issue...

(Back to Lou). I got my first pro skateboard (Madrid) as a hand-me-down from Lou as a matter of fact. Another noteworthy attribute of Luis Marti besides having one hell of a family name, he was already tapping pussy in fifth grade. The guy was a mensch in every way -a raw lil' shorty. (Well, except for the fact that he also loved Britney Fox...)

Asides from the album's breakout hits, Starfish is revered across the board for its ethereal beauty. Allmusic lists it as being rated four and a half stars by both the site and its readers alike; and Sputnik called it possibly one of the last great records of the '80s. Now that is one hell of a bold statement but I can't say that I would have an argument against it. The ten track program runs at 46 minutes and change so when the last strums of "Hotel Womb" fade out you are left exclaiming 'encore' to yourself. More than likely you'll hit play again for a second listen. (I have lost count of how many times I have run this joint since purchasing it.) If you frequent my blog then I am sure I do not need to repeat (yet again) my issue with playlists that exceed one hour. 

Personally I really love the tone of the record. It reminds me quite a bit (for some odd reason) of Television's self-titled comeback record from the early '90s which I reviewed a year ago. Starfish offers more melancholy per capita than the aforementioned and with an ultra-lush recording that you can almost sink into; a trait which may in part be attributable to album's producer -Rock bigshot Waddy Wachtel. This is nostalgia-fuel for Sunday afternoon mopery sessions, and since my life particularly has been one giant mope session, The Church's Starfish will definitely be filed with its jewel case protruding by an inch and a half or so, as to remain bookmarked for a quick and easy go-to.

There cannot be, or shouldn't be much more to say about this joint except 'Hook Up Now!' As for myself, I'm graduating on to The Church's 1992 masterpiece, the Opium and Heroin marinated Priest=Aura. I just found/copped a copy of it on Discogs for about $8 (plus a copy of Marduk's Nightwing CD.) I can barely afford to feed myself but I can always spare a twenty for tunes. It is likely at this point that I will never grow up... 

Ol' bitch-ass Congress and Senate better bring their asses back to Capitol Hill and get me my other $12hundy...

Ciao!

Prong

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I've been fucking with Prong like mad lately. Their debut, the second and third albums have been getting daily spins for about two months now ( I have not been able to find the very first EP Primitive Origins on CD, yet.) It is not a hard undertaking to intake these three old-school gems when you consider that all three of them clock in delightfully below 45 minutes a piece. I believe that I have mentioned before how I sort of have a problem with albums that run over one hour in length, regardless of genre. Prong does not seem to ail from this condition.

Prong was/is (might still be active) an NYC band started by guitarist Tommy Victor who was also the sound guy at CBGB's once upon a time. They broke out in 1987 with an EP, Primitive Origins, on a label called Mr. Bear (later re-issued on a label called Spigot.) Their first full-length Force Fed was already in the can when the EP was released, but Prong's debut would not see daylight for two more years due to label problems.

Force Fed finally got released in early 1989 on the the In-Effect label (hit link to viddy their discography/roster) once Howie Abrams and his crew were able to thankfully obtain licensing for it. Unfortunately for the In-Effect posse, Force Fed would be the first and last piece of vinyl (can you get the reference? email me...) that Prong would drop for them. The majors already tasted blood in the water when they heard/saw what Victor and his crew were doing and all of them wanted to snatch up the prize. In the end, it was Epic Records whom ended up with the honors of releasing their second proper full-length, Beg To Differ.                      

Beg To Differ enjoyed some success; about as much success that a Thrash band can attain. Yeah, that's right, I said it... they WERE a fucking Thrash band. Oh wait, you must have thought that having multiple ties that bind to Hardcore (such as Victor being an employee at CB's or affiliation to In-Effect Records) that Prong was a Hardcore band crossed over into Thrash. Nathan! Prong is straight up Thrash, New York Thrash. That is, at least right up until Beg To Differ. 'Differ is Prong's pivot-point, where they began to incorporate more groove oriented, stop-and-go parts (slightly similar to neighbors Helmet quite possibly.)

(Actually, In-Effect had a few Thrash bands on their roster asides from releasing four of the most important Hardcore records ever.) 

Hey, here's some cool useless trivia for you:

Guess who is the legendary "scene" artist behind the front cover? 

Why, it's the work of none other than scene-art legend Pushead (Brian Schroeder). If you're familiar with his work, you'd identify it as his immediately. Pushead has a style that is instantly recognizable, but I'm particularly tripped out by his way of drawing eyeballs that just sucks you right into making creepy eye contact. He just makes them seem so real and alive!

Beg To Differ caught some rec' in it's time. It received 4 out of 5 stars from both AllMusic and Rolling Stone, and a snippet of their song "Lost And Found" was used as a bumper on MTV's Headbanger's Ball (millennials hit the link) that they'd run when they'd cut to commercials. Pretty much everyone of my friends in Middle School had this joint but me. Why not me? LOL... OK, I'll tell you. I had just shaved my head (8th Grade) as like this big declaration of becoming "Full-Blown Hardcore"; and so when I saw their pics on the cassette's J-Card and saw they had long hair I refused to listen to it. (Oh God, that's just the tip of the iceberg of the douchebag that I was as an eighth-grader...) 

Prove You Wrong, released in September of 1991, is the one that catches my attention the most out of all three. First of all, the installation on the front cover (yet another Pushead production), has always caught my eye (even way back when) . I really love it. It kind of reminds me of a certain type of imagery/relics that I would encounter regularly when I practiced Afro-Cuban occultism. 

This is probably as close as they ever got to a Hardcore sound, showing little formulaic tricks here and there that were staples of that genre circa 1991. I think that Prove You Wrong has a lot of elements that would appeal to fans of Burn and Burn-imitators, also if you love Leeway's Open Mouth Kiss, then you'll definitely dig this. I am drawn to a paradoxical attribute in their sound. While certainly heavy, there's also this odd mellowness to it. Like, you can sit and get stoned to it or drink to it and it won't drive you insane. There's a relaxed quality present here. I don't know, it's weird. I literally spin it once a day, and have been doing so for about two months now. I would be torn between this joint and Force Fed if I had to choose a champ. Quite frankly, I think Prove You Wrong might be the winner in my book. It just really meshes with my brain-waves or something.

Going forward from Prove', Prong started going into a more "industrial" sound. Their next album would feature a member of Killing Joke (seems appropriate for a shift to industrial.) Not that I disparage industrial music, but I'm not interested in Prong's take on it. For this reason, the three joints listed here are as far as I go with these cats. 

Just follow this link to a Youtube page I found with Prove You Wrong, the full album, so you can smoke out to this too and then maybe you can tell me what you think by sending your comments or complaints to:

misanthropaganda@yahoo.com

Enjoy!

Suicide, the 1977 self-titled debut album.

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And so finally, the Suicide s/t debut album has made its new home in CD Condo, a.k.a. my archives, shelved cozily in between Suicidal Tendencies and Sunny Day Real Estate. This record has been on my wishlist since time immemorial but kept getting snaked in line by pop-up 'collector's whims' of mine (Like my most recent one for the early work of Lonnie Liston Smith which is fantastic!) Thankfully, I was gifted a copy of this for Father's Day otherwise I may never have gotten to cross this thing off of my list.  Welcome home...

Suicide were under my radar until I was first introduced to them quite a few years ago via an article in, yep, Thrasher Magazine (which has a fine tradition in my household for breaking new sounds to me since 1986.) But that would be all of the info that I would possess on these cats for a while. When I finally did hear them for the first time, it wasn't even actually them but Henry Rollins covering what I presume is their most widely known cut, "Ghost Rider". I can say with full honesty that in June 2020 AD I am listening to this album with virgin ears; all the better to listen to and summarize it with, my dear. There will be no pre-programmed proclivities or biases that may shape or form my opinion.

I can tell you that in preparation for this post, I exceeded the quota of lifetime listens to this album by 200%. I often run an album on 'Repeat' mode while I listen and absorb before beginning to pontificate. In doing so for this particular album I exhausted my reserves. I am not trying to tell you that this record blows because I don't find that to be the case. 

In fact, this is a must have in my opinion, especially if your bread-and-butter is Punk. Not that Suicide is Punk as you and I may know it, but they were the first to use the term to describe music. Trip back with me to 1970. An advert in The Village Voice reads "Punk Music By Suicide", announcing a 10 October gig at M:APFLA (a gallery space for radical NYC artist/activists.) This is the uncontested first use of the term "Punk" in a musical context. On the merit of that anecdote alone, this album is a must have for a thorough collector of Punk.

 Also, while Suicide are by no means originators of electronic music (which has been recorded since the 1930's), they certainly were the first (if not among them) to inject the form with Rock N'Roll attitude, later to be identified as 'Punk' attitude. Way before your grandparents were appalled by a freak with an orange 'hawk and combat boots, Suicide were Punk.   

The thing is, their take on 'electro' is sooooo minimal that it doesn't hold up to the times. They make Tank from the Atari 2600 sound like the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra (which I am happy to brag that I once took a broad out on a date to see. Ahh, Flor Magdalena, que clase de hembra!)  It is certainly a very cool listen if music triggers your imagination. Upon processing, I perceived Suicide as a post-apocalyptic, electric rockabilly duo (think Elvis Presley doing the soundtrack for Tron.) The recording also captures all the warmth and pulsating qualities of the music, nuances of old recordings that audiophiles jizz their Hane's over. 

However, having said all that, I get the feeling that the true beauty, the true magic of Suicide was all in the performance art which no recording can really capture. Legend has it that co-conspirator Alan Vega was inspired by the confrontational nature of an Iggy and The Stooges show and wanted to have a go at inciting audiences to violence. Suicide was notorious for having a knack at pissing off the crowd. They would come onstage and the booing would commence just from how they looked -like Art School felons escaped from a sanitarium. To envision their wild appearance coupled with the music makes that much more sense and of course would make for a much more entertaining experience. 

But Suicide, as a strictly audio experience has a short and quick shelf-life. After this post, I won't be due for another listen until the year 2030, and I may be deaf by then so perhaps I may never hear this joint again. Also, although there is a definite 'dystopian' feel to this album, one that urges me to hop into the whip at one in the morning and cruise 8th Street east of 27th Avenue to see what kind of dirt I can smudge on my face; the current health crisis makes nocturnal thrill-seeking a distant fantasy. Otherwise, I would have more reason to interact with this joint. The thought of hunting 'night-creatures' down the shadowy streets of Calle Ocho while bumping "Ghost Rider" makes for a perfect scene for when they make the bio-pic of my life... 

Do snatch this up, though, if you're a collector of music. If at all possible, shoot for the 2019 reissue on Mute Records (BMG). It comes with a beautiful layout that opens up like a hardcover book -it's really nice to look at and read from while listening.

  

Tombs - Monarchy Of Shadows EP

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Back in March, I reviewed Poison Idea's Pick Your King and the most recent EP by NY's Tombs titled Monarchy Of Shadows. Typically I publish reviews as standalone posts, but for some reason I reviewed these two pieces as part of a 'stream-of-consciousness' bit.

Now, fast forward four months to July... 

While shelving stacks of music that have accumulated upon my desk (yes, an actual desk now and not a mini-fridge), I came across the Tombs EP which I hadn't given a spin to in a couple of weeks. I decided to bump it before situating it in its permanent home ( in chronological order alongside the other five releases that I possess by Tombs.)

My liking towards Monarchy Of Shadows has not diminished one bit since my last listen. Whenever I slip into a Black Metal mood, this record will scratch my itch as much as a  Blaze In The Northern Sky or a De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas can -my apologies to any necro-sound ultra-purist that may have become appalled by such a notion.

It was upon this most recent listen that I realized this release deserves its respect, it deserves its own posting where it isn't mish-mashed into a hundred other mismanaged thoughts that my Latuda prescription can't seem to keep at bay. So I just busted out a cut and paste and created this post to properly honor this thing because as you are about to read (hopefully), this fucking record is no joke.

Again, I did not change the tense of the review, this is merely a cut-and-paste from the original mention in March, so if you read it and it seems out-dated its because it is, dumbass! So, without further ado, I present to you the review of Tombs sixth release, Monarchy Of Shadows:

  

(Reposted from March 30th) The new album by Brooklyn, NY's own Tombs titled Monarchy Of Shadows is a release that I have been looking forward to for quite some time, as with all of this NY Black Metal outfit's work. Fucking A, I literally ordered this shit yesterday morning and Amazon delivered it to my doorstep an hour ago. How's that for service amidst a global pandemic crisis? Jeff Bezos, you deserve a two-headed blowjob, every hour on the hour! I salute you, sir!

I discovered Tombs in 2006 when they were out promoting their second album Path Of Totality. I became interested in them initially based on the imagery which they incorporated. A lot of it seemed to make strong allusion to Thelema and other esoteric and occult schools. Around that time I was heavily interested in the likes so Tombs was a perfect fit which has stuck to this day.

Traditionally, Tombs sound has been a marriage of Black Metal, Sludge and Post-Metal (like Souls At Zero era Neurosis for example). There are some traces of a fondness for Swans that play into their previous work as well. Also, another influence present -which perhaps would be unavoidable to any extreme music band from the BK- is that of early '90s, breakdown-oriented Brooklyn Hardcore. However Monarchy Of Shadows seems to shed all additional flavor that has peppered prior records and seems to just storm through its 35 minute playlist with a stricter adherence to Black Metal orthodoxy than previously heard. There are still moshy breakdowns interspersed lightly throughout the proceedings but their use isn't as prevalent as it once was in their repertoire. Even all traces of synth, present on previous recordings, seems to have been significantly reduced since full-time keyboardist Fade Kainer's departure. I only detected synth on two tracks ("The Dark Rift" and "Once Falls The Guillotine"), and those are now performed courtesy of drummer Justin Spaeth. In an odd way (because I do hate synths in a Metal context) I miss that component of Tombs sound because it was always used to create this ambiance of deep space or the cosmos, which is a recurring theme I have surmised in Tombs lyrics (cosmic esotericism, or Astrotheology). 

In my opinion this is their best release to date which is saying a lot when considering that this band's catalog is nothing to thumb your nose at! Prior to Monarchy Of Shadows if someone were to ask me what is the ideal Tombs jump off, I would have referred them to Paths Of Totality. That will no longer be the case after this new addition to their anthology. On this new album they just rip it out at full speed ahead. It's an unrelenting ordeal. I am commanding you to jump on this. The recording may be a little too polished for you shit-sound die-hards, but for people like myself whose bread and butter isn't Black Metal and that appreciate being able to hear notes and chords clearly, this shit is on point. 

The art direction is really beautiful, as has always been with this band's work. As I had mentioned earlier their imagery was what fished me in initially. All of their work has had appropriately provocative art to accompany their dark, mythical sound (except for the Savage Gold cover which was a real piece of shit.) The front cover art is gorgeous to me, and the inside of the CD version carries on that clean motif in cream and blue, illustrating the same "skull-cup" from the cover in different perspectives. Lyrically you don't get your usual Satan and evil that most Black Metal bands have to offer. Rather, as stated earlier, Tombs writes mostly on an esoteric tip from a dark perspective but I don't think that the aim is to be 'evil' in some dopey way. Their music is dark and heavy, and so I feel that their arcane lines are only appropriate to accompany the mood of the work. Yo, fuck what I think, you smelly little pinks, hook up quick-fast! It's like $11 bucks on Amazon Prime meaning you'll get it by tomorrow. Hook up now!

The Day The Laughter Died

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I don't care for stand-up comedy! 

I don't know... I think I'm just way too bitter of a guy to allow some jester/buffoon to make me crack a smile -it annoys me. (Leave me alone, what do you want from me?!)  

I'm too angry and way too accustomed to not letting people see me smile to indulge in stand-up. In fact, the mere suggestion of anyone trying to pry the yucks out of me is downright offensive. When I want to laugh, I'll make myself laugh! 

(Believe you me, there's more than plenty to laugh about at my life...) 

Having said that, I find that comedians are brilliant people (besides being somewhat neurotic and considerably angry, like myself sans the brilliance.) According to my psychiatrist, a sense of humor is the clearest cut sign of intellect. It is because of this that -to me- the advent of the podcast is probably one of the greatest mediums of the new world. I can listen to two (or more) comedians just yenta-it-up for an hour or two because I love listening to witty, introspective conversation and animated storytelling. If there is but one unifying trait of all reasonably successful comics besides intellect, it is wit. 

      In 1990, Andrew "Dice" Clay was the biggest stand-up on the planet. Dice had been putting in work since 1978, though not in the "Dice Man" persona yet. He mostly did impressions and characters, amongst those characters was a Fonzie-esque bit that very well may have been the early precursor to the "Dice" shtick. His 1989 debut album Dice went gold, which used to mean something, and one year later Clay became the first comedian to sell-out Madison Square Garden two nights in a row. He was the embodiment of the "Rock N' Roll Comic", nevermind that hump Kinison. I never got Kinison's shtick anyways!  But Dice, on the other hand, was a fucking supernova! Just think of his dirty nursery rhymes as an example! When had anybody before ever seen a comedian who would setup the jokes and the audience would deliver the punchlines in unison? It was unheard of!

... and then he got cocky!

In February of 1990, produced by Rick Rubin, the Dice Man released a double live album that was recorded during an unannounced show at a small venue over the preceding Christmas holiday -a 'word-of-mouth' spot at Dangerfield's on First Avenue in NYC. Not only did the Dice Man not announce the show, he did near 2 hours on stage without any prepared material whatsoever -NO SAFETY NET! 

Did you grasp that? I said, TWO HOURS WITH ZERO MATERIAL PREPARED!!! Take it from someone who has gotten up on a stage more than a handful of times; to get up there for a mere 5 minutes with no material would seem like a nightmarish eternity, but Dice did two fucking hours! Let that marinate for a second.

The Day The Laughter Died accomplished something that no other comedy album or televised special has in a very long time... it made me laugh out loud! Not only that, but too further illustrate its comedic potency, it made me laugh out loud just prior to my separation/divorce; in other words, even under barren grey skies the Diceman had me howling, tearing up in laughter. I sat on the front porch of what was soon to be a broken home the night that I revisited this '8th Grade-throwback' with my headphones on for two hours without moving as I listened to it. Who would have ever convinced me that "the Dice Man's" shtick would provide solace for a wailing soul?

The album has a great pace to it, probably attributable to Dice having to take subtle pauses between every line (as he tries to figure out the next words out of his mouth.)  Also, Rubin does a great job of capturing the small club vibe. You can almost envision the presumably smoky scene in your mind as you listen. Dice goes through the entire set without having to want for a lit Marlboro as you can physically hear him taking his stylistically exaggerated drags off of his cigarettes. The clinging ice cubes in the drinks of the club patrons heard faintly in the background is a nice touch too, lending even more atmosphere to this presumable comedy classic. 

His crowd-work is fantastic, and it feels as if most of the material came from goofing on those in attendance! He berates the audience, prompting many to walk out on him during his performance, a display with which Dice takes major umbrage with an addresses hilariously. Dice's material runs the gamut here from brilliant to downright cringeworthy; but yet you can't stop listening. I recall one particular bit about Native Americans that did not extract a single laugh, instead inspiring a gasping silence from the audience. I myself cringed so hard I almost shattered my teeth!

I don't know that Dice's shit would wash in the hyper politically correct age that we live in. Dice is from a time in space that humanity will never be able to get back to - I'm referring to when we had a sense of humor. Sure, there's elements of misogyny, sexism and racial stereotypes in his work; but "Dice", as such, is just a character very much in the way that Andy Kaufman was a character ( Kaufman was a stupid one, but one no less). Clay's facade of the Brooklyn mook from Sheep's Head Bay is should be ridiculously obvious. Only a nimrod would not find it apparent that it's a caricature -or perhaps even the stand-up version of method acting. True, Dice is more male-oriented humour (ooh, humour with a 'u', how European), but that's okay! I mean, for Thoth sake, can men have their secret lodge where we can practice a little misogyny strictly for cathartic purposes?! It's okay for broads to have their 'men-are-from-Mars' shit but we can't get a couple of shits-and-giggles from some blow-job jokes without having to get #ME TOO tattooed on our taint?

This comedy album is highly recommended for some get-high shit. I strongly advise a fat spliff of some dank ass weed, a set of headphones, and then following this link to Youtube where you can viddy well, little droogies, viddy well. A 10mg dose of Diazepam (or 5mg on an empty stomach) would also go very well with the ambience of this recording and I highly recommend it (even though I substituted Diazepam with 1.5mg of Ativan.) This entertainment recommendation is especially advisable now that the Grim Reaper is hovering above us again, wearing a ridiculous blonde wig and an Estee Lauder spray tan, preparing to unleash a giant COVID-saturated sneeze over America and a second lockdown (a more draconian one at that) is imminent. You're going to be needing more great entertainment suggestions from your droog and narrator to pass quarantine, such as the one I made back in March when the Black Plague Redux first popped off, and this one here is a great start. Think of it as a comedy album that "sounds black and white"! Think of it as comedic art! As Dice himself says on this record "this isn't about laughter, this is about comedy." Does that make sense?! To me, it absolutely does!

That's all I've got for now... My pseudo-journalist member feels like it has been thoroughly stroked to completion for the time being. And so, as I once again shoot my load into the web, further infecting the internet with my completely unsolicited cyber-gonorrhea, I continue to indulge and fulfill this silly notion that I have legitimate opinions on certain things and someone out there cares to read them. Whether it is to your delight or to your chagrin, that remains to be determined. If the latter is the case, then don't you wish that you could email the Coronavirus to me so that maybe I'd fucking die? Hypothetically speaking, if this was possible, you can infect me by sending the strain of COVID that you isolated from your mother's cunt to the official Misanthropaganda email addy, which is:

 misanthropaganda@yahoo.com?

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