It's all gone tits up!

Christ, that was a fucking week. It all began on Friday night when I went over to Manchester to meet up with Mainy and to see Wolves in the Throne Room. It was their last tour ever, so I had to be there. The gig was fucking excellent as they were last year. It's a shame they are splitting up as they play blistering shows. I had to be gone quick sticks after the show and dropped Mainy off in the centre of Manchester pissed out of his head and clutching a bag of cans. I assume he got home OK as I got a text off him the next day to say he was alive.

An amazing gig photo taken at Wolves in the Throne Room...

I had to get gone because I had to be up at the crack of sparrows to get down to that London to be picked up by Steve to be taken out to Thiepval on the Somme. We spent about an hour waiting for that Posh Bastard Dr. Kenyon to finally show up from Jon's wedding. He eventually arrived looking like he'd slept in his car. Pete was also in convoy and stuck his curly headed head into the crowd.

Fuck you England, I'm going to France!!

The digging in France was good as usual and as I haven't been there for a long time it was good to catch up with the Micks. All the boys were there and my team comprised of PC Plod, the Big C, sweet FA and Dog Bummer. We had been tasked with trying to sort out Jon's trench from the previous season. He was away with his new missus breaking beds in Bruges on their honeymoon, so I took full advantage of the situation to absolutely and completely fuck the trench up. Only kidding, after much sweating and swearing we realised that the trench had been fucked up by a large shell burst long before we got there, which made things quite difficult to work out what was going on.

Fucked

Anyway, that took a rear seat to the continuing musical journey of Justin and I. We decided to form a new band whilst out French side. A little perspective is needed here to put you in the picture. A band is only as good as its name. For instance, U2 is a shit name and U2 are a shit band. Burzum is fucking brilliant name and Burzum is a fucking brilliant band. So with this in mind we have always striven to come up with a name that will lead onto to brilliance. The first band we formed, about four years ago was the seminal 'Space Ponies'. Douche Bag was also in this band but was fired minutes prior to our first ever live performance. This traumatic experience did nothing to dampen the first gig and everyone who was there to see Justin beating on a cardboard box and me blowing on a half filled beer bottle will remember that moment forever. In years to come people will say 'I was at the Space Ponies first gig.' Like they say about the Sex Pistol's first gig. Over time we patched things up with Douche Bag and he was allowed back into the fold, this time in the hardest working band in Rock: The Shit Sweats. The Shit Sweats played an acoustic set in a back room in a village called Wombaix. It consisted of Douche Bag on bongos, Justin on ukulele and me on tin whistle. Half way through we swapped instruments, without stopping playing. This performance was actually recorded through the soundboard recording system of Justin's Dictaphone. A single copy of this exists and it changes hands on EBay for thousands of pounds. Fate was to play its hand again and the Shit Sweats split due to musical differences. Mainly that we couldn't actually play any music.

One third of the Shit Sweats thinks about what could have been...

As I said, a band is only as good as its name, so with this in mind Justin came up with a new band name for us this season. He decided that Kiddy Fiddler would be a good moniker for our forth coming musical ventures. People would know us for the controversy and we would get free coverage from the Daily Mail. This was further embellished with my idea that we could get a group of children together and teach them to play fiddles. At least the band would do what it said on the tin. Further to this we came up with names for the first three albums: God Wishes You Were Dead (You'd Be Easier To Fuck), Je Suis Le Jambon and the third album in the trilogy Shitcat Sheep Shift. Look out for us in the Hit Parades.

And next up on Top of the Pops...

In a similar musical vein, we left France early on Friday morning mainly in order that I get back up North to go and see MANOWAR play in Leeds. As ever, they played a fucking blinding set, I ended up quite close to the front surrounded by a load of meat headed Neo-Nazis. They were all very friendly chaps, who insisted on making everyone around them dance, including a young Asian girl I was standing next to. It was only the Blood and Honour tattoos and Seig Heiling that spoiled the fun.

Manowar = Not Gay

The next day was also dominated by music, this time in the form of the Damnation Festival. I went along with Sam and Matt, meeting Glynn and Scott there. The reason I went was to see Godflesh and Ulver. I was also happy to see Dragged Into Sunlight again and Doom for the first time. Godflesh were easily the standout act, the best I've seen them since 1991. Ulver played a brilliant but somewhat subdued set and Doom set the pace with the words 'Shit Metal has left the building!' Scott was upset by Dragged Into Sunlight because they perform with their backs to the audience. He thought it was ignorant of them. I watched a song by Turisas, about as much as I could take of their faux-Viking bullshit, about half a song of Evile and most of Chthonic's set, only for the bassist (like at least half of the male audience in there). I missed most of Alter of Plagues, and regretted it, based on what I saw. So, all in all, a great £30 well spent!

Another great gig photograph of Ulver sound checking...

I am the God of War

Before we get into the meat of this post, enjoy the horses doovers, if you will.  It's a video I made for Abwehrschlacht's song 'Die Sturmtruppen':

And that cheeky cunt Pledge Manners has been at it again, reviewing this product:

By now, you know the drill, He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named sends me a text, I reply in kind, then write them out here for you to crow at:

Him: Yesterday i saw a student walking down the street playing a harmonica. A fucking harmonica. Today i saw him doing it again. If i see him a third time i may lose control

Me: I can't believe you held your temper in the first place. I would have stabbed it with a breadknife and dumped the body in some woods in staffordshire.

Him: How easy do you think it is to beat someone to death with a mouth organ? I might try that instead. I'm guessing it would take some time.

Me: You could speed up the process by selotaping the mouth organ to a breadknife then stabbing it and dumping the body in some woods in staffordshire.

Him: Man, you're just the craziest!!

Me: I went to a psychotherapist today. He was dutch. What do you think of that?

Him: Why did you want to see a psychotherapist? Especially a dutch one?

Me: Physio Dickhead.

Him: Your text said psychotherapist, check your outbox. Maybe you are going crazy. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something.

Me: Oh yeah. Lol. Freudian slip. I prolly need one of those as well. My back is fucked. He touched me in my privates. Dutch bastard.

Him: Well he's foreign, maybe when you said 'my back hurts' he thought you said 'please finger fuck my penis'. You should get a book called 'treat your own back'. I got it when i fucked my back a few years ago. It's really good.

Me: You're not coming anywhere near me with your 'healing hands' you fucking pervert.

Him: I wouldn't touch you if i were wearing gloves and you were drowning in a tub of bleach. But check that book out, it's good.

Me: Will do. Dutch pervert.

Him: It's cultural, touching someones privates is like shaking hands to the dutch. I should know, i lived there for three months. They were touching my privates all the time. Sometimes they tied me up too, or left me gagged in a cellar for days. They only do that when you get quite close to the family though.

Me: Sounds like you got TOO close. 

As wolves amongst sheep we have wandered...

The End is Nigh...

As I was feeling down in the dumps on Saturday, I decided the best way to cheer myself up was to buy some records. So off I trotted, down through the madding crowds of Saturday afternoon York, first off to the guy who sells records on the market. The man I have to reintroduce myself to every time I visit his stall. There can't be that many returning customers in the York Market. I remember him, why can't he remember who I am and know my eclectic tastes in records ('Me and Bobby McGee' and 'Speed Kills, But Who's Dying?')? I've a good mind to boycott him, but he does let me look at the special stuff behind the stall. All the stuff that is yet to be sorted and priced. He also gives me discounts on bulk purchases. So I probably won't be boycotting him anytime soon. On this visit I also called in at Attic Records. Surprisingly it was open. There have been numerous occasions when I have called in here to see what stock he had in only to find a sign saying 'back @ 2.30' hanging on the closed door. 2.30 duly rolled round and he still wasn't back. 'Fuck him' I thought, you only get two chances with me. Well, I say that, but I have been back and he has been open, so I must have given him a few more chances. Anyhoo, none of this is of any import. He was open, I made a purchase. Happiness was reinstated for about three nanoseconds.

True dat

The reason I mention all this background fluff, is because I bought two records I never thought I'd own in my entire life. The first was Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA. I bought it as I feel that every household should have at least one copy of the Boss' work. I was very pleasantly surprised that it is actually pretty damn good. But the other purchase has such an profoundly astronomical effect on my life that I think things have changed irreconcilably. This is it, there is no looking back now. I bought Appetite for Destruction by Guns and Roses. Now this might not seem like such a big deal to you people, but let me tell you, this is massive for me. I'm a music snob, always have been, always will be. I have always hated Guns and Roses and have held them in continual contempt throughout my music listening history.

Hate you guys...

Allow me to explain how we arrive at that point: As a child I never really listened to music as such. The house was filled with Jazz and Radio Four, courtesy of my parents. The only pop song I remember from these times is Joe Dolce's 'Shaddap Your Face'. As a seven year old I thought this was swearing and was shocked that this would be played on the radio. What a fucking stupid little cunt I was. Around this time the only records myself and my brother owned were Dr Who and the Pescatons, Rolf Harris' The Court of King Caractacus and Rupert and the Firebird. My musical outlook was limited to say the least. What did happen, however, was when I got to Comprehensive school, I grew out of playing war and building dens in the quarry and realised that all the cool kids were listening to something called Pop Music. I wanted in. This was the real shizzle. This would make me accepted by my peers. So I decided that I would dip a toe in the ocean of this so-called 'popular music'. So one Saturday I bought myself some cassette tapes for a bit of illegal home recording. As I mentioned, the radio was controlled by my parents, so when it came to looking for a radio station offering pop music on the pre-tuned radio set, the best I could find happened to be BBC Radio 2. The light program. There was no Radio One in our gaff, oh no. And this is back in the day when Radio 2 wasn't the 'hip' beast that it is now, with all sorts of young upstarts playing contemporary music for a young at heart audience. This is back when they would smother the airwaves in its bed with a pillow of funerary dirges and religious tracts. Obituaries were read out in place of the news.

And later in the programme we take a candid look at medieval torture

This is what I had to contend with in my first tentative steps in the direction of music appreciation. Avowed to make a 'mix tape' that I could play at parties and impress Emma Lillyman and Tina Hinchcliffe with, I steadfastly spent the afternoon recording track after track of what I considered to be Pop Music. I still remember to this day what was on that tape. It was what one would best describe as an 'eclectic mash-up'. An even better description would be a 'fucking train wreck'. Amongst the tracks was Meat Loaf's 'I'm Gonna Love Her for the Both of Us' and Ashford & Simpson's 'Solid'. Believe me, these were the 'cool' tracks. I was determined to make a full 90 minute recording that afternoon. I filled the rest of the tape with such great hits as Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree and, I shit you not, The Black Beauty Theme. They said such great musical acts never should be brought together in one place. That afternoon, gentle reader, I proved them right.

Alan, I would have made you proud...

These first steps were soon calmed with the introduction into my life of Top of the Pops, and it was through this medium that I first discovered Metal. I was watching a show one particular evening in 1987, when something happened that changed my life forever. Kiss were performing 'Crazy, Crazy Nights'. I literally shat myself. This is what I had been looking for! Long haired men, fireworks, leather, spandex... erm. This all sounds a bit gay when you write it down. Anyway, Kiss blew me away (figuratively, not literally) that night. My life as I had known it changed. I was determined to track down more loud guitar music. I needed noise in my life. I quickly rejected Kiss when I discovered Iron Maiden and in turn I quickly rejected them when I discovered Slayer. I was a fickle child. In my mind I wouldn't allow myself to like more than one band at a time. This did soon change and the search was on for faster and harder music, Metallica, Nuclear Assault, Sepultura, Anthrax, Megadeth, Voivod, Kreator, Sodom, Acid Reign, Xentrix, Sacred Reich, Testament, and a million more were added to my growing lexicon of musical interest. This was in the glory days of Thrash Metal. I was in the maelstrom and there was no turning back.

Thrash 'til death!

So why am I telling you this? Well, this is where Guns and Roses come in. It would have been around this time that I was made aware of their growing stature in the metal world. I watched a series of programs called Heavy Metal Heaven one Christmas. Amongst the features was a gig at the Whiskey-a-Go-Go by GNR. I watched it in disbelief. here was a band that looked like women, played music that women were actually dancing to and not one person in the audience were headbanging to. There was no moshing, no stage diving, no blood and guts from a violent pit. Literally I thought; what is this shit? and waited impatiently for Metallica's feature to come up afterwards. From that day on, I have always hated Guns and Roses. This hate has become so ingrained in me over the last twenty years that in the past I have felt physically sick whenever I heard the opening bars of Sweet Child o' Mine. This Saturday all that changed. This Saturday was the beginning of new chapter in my life. A turning of the page, if you will. I spotted Appetite for Destruction on the market stall. Having discussed GNR only the other day with Logan Josh, I thought I really should see if they were as bad as I thought. With shaking hand, I handed over my money and placed the record in a bag so no one should see my shame as I walked back. Once back home, I drew the blinds, turned off the lights and locked the door should anyone be around to see what I was about to do. I placed the album on the turntable and dropped the needle on the vinyl. OH MY FUCKING GOD!! I HAVE WASTED THE LAST TWENTY YEARS HATING THIS BAND!! It blew me away, it blew me out of the goddamn room! It blew me to Mars and back! I was shocked with myself, what the fuck was going on? A few years ago I began to appreciate AC/DC for what they really were (another band that I had a long standing feud with, when I was eighteen I once even refused a date with a girl on the basis that she told me she liked AC/DC...), and now here I was loving Guns and Roses! Is this the downward spiral? Am I finally hitting middle age? Have I grown up? Am I able to appreciate what I once hated with venom? Here I am now, listening to Sweet Child of Mine and actually enjoying it. WHAT HAVE I BECOME?

Love you guys...

Death would freeze my very soul, Makes me happy, makes me cold!

OK, here is the obligatory snow post. As my UK readers are aware the country has been under the ICY GRIP OF WINTRY DEATH for the past week. Chaos has reigned as people have taken to digging out their basements to use as shelters and storage for canned goods for the forth coming apocalypse that is always heralded by the arrival of the snow. In supermarkets up and down the country people have been seen fighting pitched battles over the last bottle of HP sauce. The BBC has a 24hr 'grit watch' in the form of updates every ten minutes. We need to know which councils are unprepared for snow after all their money sunk in Icelandic bank accounts a couple of years ago. Old folk are freezing to death for fear of spending some of the money stuffed under their mattresses on fuel bills. Abandoned cars litter the streets where only ghostly figures move like spectres seeking shelter from the grim fist of cursed white.

Looks like I'm not getting to work tomorrow...

I'm loving it. I love snow, I even love the chaos it brings. Nothing delights me more than watching idiots struggling in their cars to get to work because the cracker factory would really fall to pieces without them being there at their workstation. I've not been at work all week, on Monday I did attempt to get to York from Rotherham and made fifteen miles in three hours. I decided to turn back see what would happen if the sun came out and melted the stuff. It didn't and more fell so I've not been able to move the car all week. It does make me feel a little guilty that the guys are all out on site working whilst I'm sitting here on my fat can in the warm drinking tea and eating biscuits. But the feeling doesn't last very long.

How I left site on Friday...

...and how it looked on Monday, photo courtesy of Logan Josh

What has pissed me off is that fact that last night I missed seeing Wolves in the Throne Room play in Leeds. I'd had the tickets for ages and even rung the venue to see if they'd cancelled the gig themselves. Turns out they were braving the weather and played. I should never have called... But taking advantage of the inclement weather; Dave, Jon and I set out last night to get some promo photos for Abwehrschlacht. I keep getting asked for band photos to illustrate interviews but we have none, so last night we took advantage and headed into the woods. Jon came along as official photographer. He used to work as a gig photographer for the Corp back in the day, so he was a great choice. We stood in the woods, he snapped some pics, we walked through the woods, commenting on how warm it was, he snapped a few more pics. We said 'let's go up on top to where the field is.' We did and instantly wished we hadn't. The icy winds that whipped across the open fields threatened to blow us back into the trees. Mind you, this is Black Metal and it was grim enough for good photos so we took it. They've turned out excellently, here's a couple that have yet to be farted about with. Jon described them as photos from a serial killer's family album...

To celebrate the snow, here's a few Videos for your delight:

I ain't drunk, I'm just drinking...

Apparently according to Alejandro from Facefuck I have been a little slow with my Blog posting of late. Fuck off, it was only three days ago that I last posted. I was going to write a new one last night but tiredness overcame me and I was unable to lift my head, never mind write anything of note. And what brings on this bout of torpidity? Drink, pure and simple, drink. I'm an old man now, I can't drink as much as I could ten years ago and my body tells me that every time I try to drink as much as I did ten years ago. Which is pretty much what I have been doing for the past four days. I'm sure you will recall I spent Friday and Saturday both on the batter. I was going to have a wee rest for myself on Sunday until Vin texted me at about five o'clock to tell me he was engineering sounds at a METAL gig at Stereo. York and Metal are two things that don't always mix so I thought I'd take the very rare chance to check out some of the local bands.

York's attitude to Metal...

The main band Cairngorm, were OK, the lead singer had a fucking amazing growl on her. She just needed to drop the clean vocals and they would be a million times better. The other two support bands were very mediocre, so much so that I can't even recall what they were called. Mind you, I was already against one of them when Vin told me their guitarist had stolen his missus years back. I told him he should mess his guitar sound up as recompense. But he's a professional and refused. So I offered to fill my bottle with piss and sling it at him instead. I digress. The best band by far were the second on the bill, Fortress, total black thrash attack. They were fucking great with their battle armour and spikes. They cleared the room as well, which gave them points in my book. Afterwards Vin invited me to the open mic night at Dusk. It made quite a change, listening to white man's Delta blues. It was like being locked up in a cell in an Alabama prison. Except we could leave when we wanted and wouldn't get raped in the showers. This evening finished at three o'clock when I finally crashed out in my bed, pissed as a newt...

Who's house is this?

With the taste of a dead cat in my mouth the next morning I walked over to King's Manor for the First Year Exhibition of the excavation that I had been supervising on. I was there mainly for the free wine. As I arrived I saw steams of students walking out. I asked why they were leaving and they told me that the wine was disgusting. Fucking trust fund babies. In my student days we would have drunk bleach if it was free. Anyway, after the wine had gone I went along with the remaining students to various pubs, where they all got drunker and drunker and clumsily flirted with one another. This seemed to involve punching one another or bellowing in each others ears. Who said romance was dead, ay? I found myself in the pit of Hell, also known as the Willow Restaurant, the maddest ex-Chinese resteraunt (they lost their food license) in the North of England. Taking my leave, I don't remember how, I ended the night at Alia's house saying goodbye to her for the 67,927th time this week and stumbling into a taxi after twelve hours on the sauce. There was meant to be one final drinking session last night at the end of year King's Manor party, but my body reacted against me and I couldn't even move out of the house.

Taxi for one!

And finally. I posted John's Satnav back to him on Tuesday at about two o'clock. I texted him to let him know that I had and to tell me when it arrived. He thanked me in the reply and I asked him if it had arrived yet. The conversation then went as follows:

He: No, I'm stood at the front window waiting for it. I saw a parcelforce van go past but he didn't stop. He might have just got lost, I'll tell you if he comes back

Me: Keep me updated, I'm gasping to know what's happeneing.

He: I saw a black man outside on the street! You have no idea how rare that is here. He looked lost too. Still no parcel.

Me: Fucking Post Wankers, I sent it two hours ago, what are they playing at?

Then I heard nothing until 11:54pm when I got the following text:

He: I don't think he's coming today. I might go to bed in a bit.

Me: Hmmm, I'm not sure you should. There may have been a crash on the motorway that delayed the van. Give it a couple more hours.

At 07:44 the next morning I receive this:

He: I'm really tired. It must have been a bad accident because he still isn't here yet.

Then at 10:28 the final text comes through:

He: OMG it finally came, the man looked okay I don't think the accident was all that bad, I'm going to sleep now, thanks alex.

You really can't make this shit up.

Brothers and Sisters raise your horns!

I'm back from France and Hellfest, a three day experience of standing in a field shouting at various long haired men with instruments to 'turn it up!'  I was head interpreter as I was able to ask, in French, for directions to the bus stop for Amiens and Dave, Ross and Glynn's level of French ended at telling someone their name and that they were eleven years old. Ah, the Comprehensive School: learning at its best. Armed with this Schoolboy level of the language and more Pot Noodles than even the most hungry student could possibly eat in a lifetime, we braved the Channel Tunnel. During the crossing Dave stared out of the carriage window the whole time trying to see fish and shipwrecks and eventually made some part of a foreign field forever England. It really was; our tents were enclosed on no less than three sides by Brits who had also travelled to bang their fucking heads. The little cunts next door to us kept us up all the first night by shouting French phrases in a shit Death Metal vocal style. So we got our own back the next evening, fortified with wine and Carcass, by shouting the phrase 'Thrash Metal' over and over again for about four hours helped by our French neighbours on the other side. That's the power of music right there, breaking down cultural barriers. All in all it was a great weekend, although it ended up costing me a lot as the price of festival food doesn't seem to bear any resemblance to the cost of food in the real world. A bag of chips from the local chippy would set you back about a pound, at Hellfest a tiny plastic tray with about three frites in the bottom set you back a whopping 2,381 euro. Even with a strong Euro there is a bit of a discrepancy there...

 Fucking Metal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here is a list of the bands that I enjoyed the mostest of all, Carcass, Immortal, Tankard, Anvil, Marduk, Ulver, Watain, Ihsahn, Kampfar, Negura Bunget, Sigh, Urgehal, Jello Biafra, Dark Funeral, Kyuss, Brant Bjork and the Bros, Mondo Generator, Black Cobra, Slayer, Finntroll, Yawning Man, Discharge and MOTORFUCKING HEAD. But by far the best of the best award goes out to the reformed and almightyly loud GODFLESH. I haven't seen them perform live for twenty years and despite waiting 25 minutes for them to sort out their sound and them having to cut their set short by twenty minutes as a consequence, it was like experiencing a musical glacier. A crushing act of nature, an overwhelming experience like no other. A true Force Majeure. 

Devastator/Mighty Trust Krusher

The final evening was characterised by being kept awake half of the night by that group of 68 year old Jewish Grandmothers whose name I shall not mention's firework display. After wishing that they'd stick their fucking Love Gun up their fucking arses and 'pull the fuckin' trigger until it go click', the following morning at the crack of sparrows the intrepid travellers broke camp in wet and freezing conditions and walked what seemed like miles to the carpark. I was half excepting the Melton Mowbray Mini Pork Pie I'd left in the car over the weekend to have grown limbs and TWOCed the car in a bid for freedom. But thankfully it wasn't to be and Glynn drove us back without stopping (except for the Channel Tunnel) in a ten hour journey that would have tested the patience of even the most patient of patient saints. I arrived back in Rotherham clutching my new Sigh CD and my new Kampfar T-Shirt, tired and half mental from the chip overdose, but happy in my Heavy Metal Heaven!

Cleansing

Well, what a weekend that was... At work on Thursday Logan Josh came to me, cap doffed and head bowed (as is his usual way) and asked if the Lord of Violence (Dr Clay) and I would care to join him and his wife as they supped al fresco in their peasant dwelling on Friday. Dr Clay's latest 'experiment', Moogdroog was also invited to the ritual of fire and meat and she duly agreed. Well, she was far too dazed and drugged to offer any form of resistance. Clay and I thought it would be wise to take along someone else we could throw at Josh and his wife should the evening take an ugly turn for the worst and we should have to hasten an escape. We were escorted by a misshapen lump of an ape to the house and the evening began in high spirits. The flowing of alcohol only worsened the situation and it wasn't long before we were paraded around in military helmets to the wild gesticulations and amusement of Josh. Meanwhile, his wife planned a trip to France from road maps of the Gallic country all to the sound track of David Allan Coe. Before the evening panned out into it's usual drunken orgy of violence that comes from a trip to Josh's abode, we made our excuses and left hotfootdly!

The neighbours hated BBQ season on Logan Josh's road...

I saw Josh again on Saturday afternoon, after dashing away from my stalker outside York Minister. He was drinking in the same pub as me, but with his OAP friends this time. I on the other hand was in the company of Kate, awaiting the arrival of Chris and Ryan. I stayed out all afternoon, drinking like the proverbial fish, before going to see Iron Man 2 with Clay and Moogdroog and Ryan. This is what it was like: AC/DC, girls, explosions, girls, fighting, AC/DC. Reasonably OK for a quick cinema fix on a Saturday night, read Dr Clay's betterer review of it HERE...

It's all just Bang, Bang, Bang...

On Sunday, the unthinkable happened, and Mr David Main arrived in York. He was here because I was to give him a lift to Manchester to see the unbelievably good Wolves In The Throne Room play. They were playing in an old Satanic Mill and I had heard rumours of their blistering performances in the past. Fuck me, they did not disappoint. It was like a ritual from beginning to end and I think it ranks as one of the best gigs I have ever been to, if not the best... They also brought a load of limited edition vinyls with them. I managed to snatch three for a future EBay date before they were all sold out, even the band themselves didn't have any copies... Lucky me, ay? What wasn't so lucky was the two and a half hour journey back home via Rotherham to drop Mainy off, leaving me to get to bed about 2.00am. On a schoolnight as well! I should coco!

Vorwärts!!

I don't want to bore you more to tears than you already are by these posts. I don't really have much to tell you about this past weekend, unless you want a blow by blow description of the Square Bashing game Ninjasaurus Rex and I had on Sunday, which I won by the way. I'm not going to describe the take away pizza I had on Saturday night (Spicy Pepperoni, by the way) nor the side of dipping chicken that I had. I will not talk about the way I waded through Saturday night entertainment provided by Harry Hill, Ant & Dec, Louis Theroux and Alan Yentob as I sat slumped, half cut from an afternoon drink with Ninjasaurus Rex. Neither will I give you a track by track review of the new Burzum album which I have listened to about six times every day since I got it. Well, eleven years is a long time to wait for something new from Mr Vikernes. So, as I am not going to do any of that, I am going to Navel gaze for a while. You may want to stop reading here, because it will be of no interest to anyone but me. Don't blame me for carrying on reading...

Last week, or the week before, I forget, I set up a Myspace page for my Great War Black Metal 'project' Abwehrschlacht. Basically, Abwehrschlacht was a return to where I began with music. Back to the Black, so to speak. The Black in question being Black Metal. It has been nearly twenty years since I recorded any form of Black Metal so this was coming full circle. Back in 1993 I was involved in the band Xaztur and my later solo project Immanis. During my time in both of these bands I was involved heavily in the underground Black Metal scene that was bubbling under the surface of music. This was the best time in my opinion for Black Metal: it was dark, underground, mysterious, dangerous, dynamic and very difficult to penetrate both musically and physically.


By the latter, I mean, to get hold of records one did not simply walk into your local branch of HMV or Tower Records like today and pick up the latest Dimmu Borgir or Cradle of Filth album like the Pop Music they are. In fact this was actively discouraged. No, we had to write to the bands themselves or record labels and distributors in order to get hold of the recordings. Many were the hours I spent putting dollar bills into envelopes along with hand written letters in order to get the latest albums by Mayhem, Burzum, Emperor, Gorgoroth and the like. This was also the way the latest news about new releases was spread. I would write to a band to get a copy of their demo (on cassette tape) when it arrived they would send a handful of flyers, promoting their band and others, which I would send on in the next letters I wrote to friends or bands.


Why am I telling you this? To put you in the picture of how difficult it was to get hold of new music back in the day. There was no file sharing, no MP3s and no Myspace. With reference to my earlier bands, Immanis and Xaztur, I don't remember exactly how many demo tapes we sent out to people (Xaztur had one rehearsal tape and one full demo, Immanis put out two rehearsal tapes), but the final Immanis rehearsal tape was hand numbered and I think I sent out no more than thirty copies. The numbers would have been much higher for the previous releases as the last rehearsal tape for Immanis was when I decided to call it a day. Now, since setting up the Myspace page for Abwehrschalcht, it has had, to date, 555 profile views and the songs have been played 167 times. This is by no means a massive amount, but compared to 1993, it is astronomical. It is the equivalent to sending out over forty demo tapes within a week. But I still look back twenty years and feel we've lost something from the Black Metal scene. The sense of immediacy has destroyed the sense of achievement one felt when a new album came through the post.

Keep the fires burning...

Double Your Money!

I went to sign on again on Wednesday. The Job Centre hasn't changed much since before Christ's Mess it's still full of the stinking scum of human effluence. This time, however, like me, they were all demanding to know where 'their fucking giro was'. I haven't been paid since before Christ's Mess, despite them having had three weeks to sort it out. I was told that the computer system they were using was from the old Civil Service and therefore had the computing capacity of a village idiot drunk on lumpy cider, moonshine and pond water. It had the digital equivalent of a straw hanging out of its mouth, hence the delay in sorting out my claim. I was told I would be paid on Monday, so I'm expecting a lump sum of the money I'm owed, plus the money I just signed for. Yes, come Monday, I'll be richer by £12.68p!! As I was signing I was also informed that I will have to attend a 'back to work session' in a week or so. I was informed it would affect my claim if I decided not to attend, I was informed of this just as I was about to open my mouth and say something like 'But I know how to get back to work, I have a degree after all, I'm not a fucking thick Rotherham Orc, who wouldn't be able to find his arse with both hands. I also keep my CV updated and I am in touch with potential employers, there is nothing they can possibly teach me, in fact I should be teaching them. So take your fucking course and shove it so far up your arse that it touches the back of your teeth.' Or words to that effect.

"Can I put 'eating man flesh' as a hobby on my CV?"

I've just returned from Sheffield where I had a lovely lunch with Lauren and in turn saw Angela, Linzi and Colin. Much archaeology gossip ensued. Which brings me to something completely unconnected. The British Archaeological Jobs Resource website sent me a message through Facefuck the other day, it read: Subject: BBC Radio want to know top 5 archaeologists songs: 'Just got onto Radio Scotland... they now want top 5 archaeologists songs for next weeks radio show.. go here to add your fave!' I looked at the lame ass list that the other archaeologists in the country were producing and it had the same old hackneyed shit that archaeologists always come out with, which they generally think are hil-fucking-arious: Christy Moore - 'Don't forget your shovel' being usually somewhere in the list as is the Mock Turtles 'Can You Dig it?'. By far the best and criminally overlooked Archaeological song, which sums up everything about archaeology and the people that practise it is Anal Cunt's 'Van Full Of Retards':



Speaking of music... the accusation keeps getting levelled at me that I 'only like music that no one's ever heard of''. This is simply not true, I do like music that is obscure and difficult to obtain, that much is true. For the early part of the nineties I was heavily involved in the underground Black Metal scene. It is not like it is now, with Myspace and Blogs offering downloadable music at a click. I had to write to bands themselves to hear their music, there was a system of exchanging and recording tapes for each other. I would write out by hand long lists of the music I had available for recording and search similar lists from others to find gems that I'd not got copies of. CDs and Records were virtually unheard of, record labels operated like cottage industries pushing out 500 copies of a split EP. This has coloured my taste in music to an extent that I still get the buzz of excitement when I finally track down that hand numbered limited edition LP of that Scottish Black Metal band released through an Italian Label. Whilst this is still true of me, I do like popular music. Just not all of it. My critics complain that if few people have heard of a band then that band must by definition be shit. By the same definition U2 must be one of the best bands on the planet. As must Coldplay. And they simply are not. But here, to prove my detractors wrong, is a list of bands/artists that are very popular and known to the mainstream and I like them: Abba, AC/DC, The Bee Gees, Black Sabbath, Boney M, Johnny Cash, Nick Cave, Daft Punk, Deep Purple, Dr Dre, Elvis Presley, Ice Cube, Iron Maiden, Joy Division, Kraftwerk, Led Zeppelin, Manowar, Metallica, Misfits, Motorhead, Pink Floyd, Public Enemy, The Prodigy, Run DMC, DJ Shadow, Slayer, Snoop Doggy Dogg, The Stone Roses, Tom Waits... I could go on... But I won't. Instead I'll leave you with this little gem:

Simon Jenkins is a Dog Bummer

I have just returned from a week in France so I thought I'd tell you all about that, also, you can read about last night's Damnation Festival, the highlights and lowlights of a day of METAL! First off though, France:

Moody battlefield cemeteries...

After Danny deciding he was going and then deciding he wasn't going about forty times, I travelled down to Brighton, stopping on the way to see Jo at Victoria Station, we had a jolly nice meal at Cafe Rouge, in order to get me ready for France. It was really good to see her again, albeit for an hour or so. I carried on to Brighton and met Justin ad Lucy at the station. Back at their gaff Bob (aka Sarah) called over (in a fucking sweet Reign in Blood t-shirt...) and in time so did Danny. After a wild drinking session, the bunch of us piled upstairs to play with Justin's gun collection.

Rule number one of gun safety, never point your weapon at someone else unless you intend on killing them...

We had to get the guns out from under Justin's bed where he'd hidden them in case the landlady came round and didn't take too kindly to her house being used as an arsenal. After more drinks and curry we hit the hay for the early morning rise for the trip to the ferry. The ferry journey was enlightened by a lovely Romanian girl who gave us all a massage for next to nothing. She offered to take me to a private room for my massage and I must say the offer was tempting... But I didn't fancy getting thrown overboard by the ship's crew for giving her undue attention. Arrival at Ocean Villas tea rooms was greeted by meeting the rest of the lads and lasses of NML and also Walter Rapp, the descendant of Jakob Hones, the body I discovered at Serre a few years ago. Shaking hands with the descendant of a body you have excavated is a humbling experience. After a look around Avril's museum and a buffet meal, Justin, Danny and I made for the place we were staying for the week, Snowden House:

Sixteen archaeologists crammed into a house packed with World War One Militeria makes for a great week!

By the time we had reached Snowden House the Irish Contingent of the team had arrived and we said fond hellos. I haven't seen many of them nearly two years and it was great to see everyone again. Even Simon, the Dog Bummer. During our stay in Snowden house we were over looked by this rather alarming looking fox:

David had to be physically restrained from trying to hunt this poor fellow

Unaware that Sunday was supposed to be a work day, Danny, Justin and I took off on a walk around a small part of the 1916 front line. The day was beautiful and we didn't want to waste it by working so we settled down for a snooze by one of the many CWGC cemeteries that dot the landscape of the North East France. It was the middle of shooting season and there were many French farmers walking around blasting anything that moved, so we didn't linger too long in anyone place for the fear of taking a peppering of buckshot.

The lanscape of a small portion of the 1916 battlefields

The main reason we were in France was to work on trenches that we had excavated in previous years. A few years ago, the Somme Association of Northern Ireland had bought Thiepval Woods opposite the Ulster Tower, Carol, the boss of the Somme Association had asked No Man's Land (of which I am part) to help out excavate the trenches that lay in the woods. This was in order for it to be turned into an interpretive visitor attraction for the growing tourist market in the area of the Somme. Actually it works as a non-profit attraction but tours of the trenches have to be booked at the Ulster Tower before hand and they are the only excavated original front line trenches that exist on the Somme Battlefields today.

A Mortar Pit, situated just behind the front lines, as excavated and reveted by NML and the Somme Association

Obviously the trenches need constant repair and rework in order that they don't collapse in on themselves. Over the past few years work has been done to revet and sandbag the trenches and this trip was another one of similar repair work. The trench which I had worked on for the most time was a second line trench system which had an associated dugout. The trench had cut through an early dugout, which had collapsed, possibly due to shell damage. We had quite a difficult time working out the sequence of events but a small amount of archaeology conducted on the end of the trench cleared up our confusion. I had small but crack (head) team under my supervision: Black Shining Heather, Dog Bummer Jenkins and Mo-Jo, we were augmented by the demonic sandbagging abilities of Douchebag Philips:

Area 8 team, left to right: Dog Bummer, Mo-Jo, Douchebag, Black Shining and self

We were so fucking great we had all our work done by Thursday morning a full day earlier than expected. The trenches looked fucking amazing and it was testament to everyone's hard work that we got it all completed so quickly.

Area 8 before

Area 8 after!

The rest of the week between work was taken up with drinking and playing Wings of War. The other highlight included Dr David Kenyon eating a plate of shredded carrots without using his hands for three euros. Like a fucking horse.

Go on Dobbin, get it in you..

As ever with trips to France, I come back with more things than I left with. I try to travel light but the return trip always has an increased weight bag. This time I returned with a hat that had been sitting in David's car for two years, a fake Iron Cross from the turfed out collection at the Waltham Gunpowder Mills, a pair of moleskin trousers from Steve and a pair of Army boots from Major Carling. All in all it was a great trip, especially since I haven't been out to France for eighteen months and haven't seen the Irish lot for even longer. I miss them all and it is the proof a of a great friendship that we can all get along as though no time has passed between our last meetings!

Proudly eating shit for NML since 2003

Last night was a night of something slightly different, Dave, Ross, Amy and I drove over to Leeds to spend the evening in the company of about a thousand social misfits and chronic masterbaters at the Damnation Metal Festival. We saw some great bands although the venue seemed to suffer from bad sound all the way through. I was gutted that the Romanian Negura Bunget didn't play, the singer had laryngitis apparently. I would have thought that should have only improved the performance... Rotting Christ were my overall highlight, their set was fucking great. I've been into them for over fifteen years, so to finally see them play live was great. They were full of energy as well and put on a blistering performance.

Rotting Christ, the angriest Greeks around...

The other highlight of the festival was the last ever performance by Mistress. I'd never heard them before but their set was fucking brilliant, with stage diving galore, just like it was 1991 again. The lowlight of the day was by far Akercocke, a British Black Metal band, a poor man's Emperor in their shit days. Dave said the singer and keyboardist looked like they worked in a call centre and the bassist was a homeless.

Akercocke? Shit Cock, more like

The other band I was really wanting to see was Jesu, the project Justin Broadrick formed following the split of Godflesh, as you no doubt already know. This performance was completely ruined by the sound engineer fucking everything up and playing the vocals and drums too loud in the mix. Jesu perform a delicately balanced soundscape of beautiful low-fi music and it needs to be mixed correctly to be able to appreciate Justin's incredible song writing abilities. The sound engineer should have been dragged out and shot. In the event I dragged myself out to go and watch Lock-Up, who's cover of Fear of Napalm was the highlight of their set.

Jesu: it could have been brilliant...