Anglo-Saxon Peasant Metal

On Saturday, as I mentioned on my last post, I went to see a Pagan/Folk Metal gig. There were four bands, Andraste, Annwn, Ravenage, with Northern Oak headlining. I'm not going to give you a massive breakdown of what I thought about these bands. For a start it doesn't fucking matter, what I want to do is have a look at the third band Ravenage. They were a Viking Metal band from Hull, I really like some Viking Metal and I thought they were pretty good, least of all for their singer's 'comedy gold' introductions to each song in a thick East Yorkshire accent. But some of their songs were OK, the bassist's hairy moobs were a bit distracting and the keyboardist's keyboard was at a jaunty angle. The guitarist closest to us was dressed in a chainmail shirt and had pretensions of the Viking Warrior about him. This brings me on to what I want to talk about; why is that all metal bands just concentrate on the warrior aspects of the Viking Age*? I started thinking about all the other aspects of the Viking Age that haven't been covered by Viking Metal bands. Rather than sacking monasteries or mustering a great army to crush the Saxons, what about the nine or ten months of the year that 'Vikings' spent on their farms? Where are the songs about tending the pigs and chickens? Where are the concept albums about sleeping in the loft of the long hall above your livestock to benefit from the heat of the animals? Where are the nine minute epics about using the loom to make blankets and clothing? I gonna start a Loom Metal band called Spindlewhorl, we're gonna be bigger than Turisas, I tell ya!

*I obviously know the answer to this, so don't comment telling me what I already know you fucking douchebags.

Bang your fucking heads!!

In a similar vein I saw that a U2 tribute band were playing locally, they are called U2-2 and are apparently the 'most authentic U2 tribute in the world'. Now, if you've read this blog before, you probably now that I have a slight problem with U2 so the fact that why anyone would want to emulate U2 is beyond me and why you would pride yourself on being the 'most authentic' tribute? OK, OK, I can give a bit of leeway and say most people are in cover bands for money. Most people would rather hear a lame band playing songs they recognise than not. That I can understand, it's easy, it gets you gigs and money/beer tokens and the adoration of fat middle aged men when you belt out your ropey cover of Wonderwall.

"Thank yoo, that was Boogie Town, this next number is our own take on an the Artic Monkey's Mardy Bum. One, Choo, Free, Four..."

I've always thought the idea of being in a band was to create music, write new songs, get some sick jams going, not to learn a few of the easier Jimi Hendrix songs and play them as though you wrote them. Look, I'm not above doing cover versions myself as you can see here with my 'Lost Wisdom' cover version, but U2-2 take this beyond the pale (excuse the pun). Not only do they sound like U2 but they fucking look like them as well! They are all middle aged men attempting to look like someone else. Someone else in a fucking shit band. Someone else who is the biggest fucking hypocrite on the planet. What is wrong with their lives that they have to attempt to live vicariously through someone else. Can you imagine waking up every morning and checking the tinternetz to make sure your facial hair is still exactly the same as The Edge's? No, Me neither, mind you it's not that the Edge has changed his facial hair for the past ten years, he's as stuck in his own rut as the rest of his fucking band is with their music. I can guarantee you that 'Frank' (or Phony Bono, as his mates probably call him) works as a plumber but fixes toilets with those stupid fucking sunglasses and that stupid fucking hat on. Speaking of which, why can't someone nail that fucking hat to Bono's fucking head like a Turkish emissary. At least that way he won't forget it and have to fly it half way around the world at the same time as increasing his carbon footprint and spending a thousand pounds that could have been better spent on the poor kids in Africa.


I could go on and on about this, but I can feel the vein in my forehead throbbing, so I'll leave you to read the next part of the long lost Singapore Blog:

Saturday, May 26, 2007

I have just returned from the most Metallist day ever, in fact it would be difficult to get more Metal than today without, in fact, turning into Metal itself. I have returned from the Sabbat/Ironfist gig in the Gas Haus. I had been in touch with Iron Fist through myspace and Ariff, there singer, told me about this gig. I went down to the Gas Haus this morning about twelve. Ariff introduced himself and told me the gig wouldn't be starting until about 1.30pm. I wandered down to the Singapore Art Gallery, where I was assaulted and insulted by more degenerate modern art. Regular readers of this weblog will know my views on modern art, so I won't repeat myself here. Suffice to say, I only wished I had some cans of paint with me in order to cover up the monstrosoties on display.

Infuriated I returned to find the first band was on, there was seven lined up for the whole day. Holy God, how much Metal can one man take? They were a pretty good Thrash outfit who finished with Necrophobic and Raining Blood by Slayer, which always gets top points in my book. The next band were called Tormentress and were made up of three girls and a bloke on drums. Again, good thrash, starting with a good cover version of Troops of Doom by Sepultura. I think they did some Sodom covers as well, but I forget. It seems everyone in Singapore is into Sodom, I only like their first EP and the Agent Orange LP. Maybe I haven't heard enough of their stuff? Then we had the spectacle of Iron Fist, Ariff, whom seemed quite normal when I met him earlier, turned up on stage wearing just a cod piece and covered in Corpse Paint. Some transformation. This is when the crowd went berserk. They had been warming up during Temptress' show, but the shit really hit the fan during this point! Diving, surfing and slam dancing made sure there was bodies flying all over the room, it literally was like a Chinese fire drill. Iron Fist finished with War Pigs, excellent!

Sabbat came on and whipped the crowds into mad frenzies with their blackened thrash. Again everyone went berzerk. I only wish I had taken my camera so I could have shown you what it was like. The rest of the bands suffered a bit from the crowd disappearing after Sabbat had played. I met a guy in To Megatherion the other night, Mike, his band played also. They were very good, technical Death/Black Metal, not really my cup of tea, but very very good musicians.Ariff came over and gave me a Iron Fist CD, which I am listening to now. He didn't want anything for it, a present from Singapore he said. I was chatting to the sound engineer and he told me he was from Leeds, small world. He asked me if I was from Halifax with my accent, I told him to fuck off.

I was knackered this morning when I set off, I was out til three last night at St James' Power Station, it was a bit crap to be fair. I had a bit of a dance,had a few drinks then headed home. I got in the taxi and purposely got in the back to try and have a bit of a snooze, but the bloody driver kept me awake with his questions about what I was doing in Singapore etc. To be fair he was a nice guy, so I couldn't begrudge him a bit of banter. Now if I could only do that with women, I'd be beating them off with a stick.

B***, T**** and I spent Friday looking for a beach to sit on during our day off. We drove over to Changi in the east and headed for the beaches there, B*** stood in some crude oil at the shore's edge, so that put the stoppers on that idea. We headed back to a place near our site called the Orientus, a resort complex. We paid our three dollars each and swam in the pool all afternoon. Twas brilliant.

Right, I'm tired, you've all had enough, fuck off home.

Blast from the Past

I went to see Up on Wednesday (Orange two for one offer...). It's brilliant, it's probably one of the best films this year, if not the best film of the year. For a cartoon it has so much depth it's mind blowing. Of course it has all it's little Pixar moments, it has its chases and it has its very funny moments but beyond that is the human touch it offers the audience. I don't want to spoil it for people who haven't seen it but one of the most affecting moments for me was when Carl puts his hand on the hand print of his wife on the mailbox. There are so many other tiny subtleties (the perfectly made side of the bed that belonged to Ellie for instance) throughout that it seems like not one shot was wasted. Go and see it.

Thumbs up for Up!

I think Owen gave me a plug on his Radio Show and in response I said I'd do the same back for his blog, so here we are: Read It Here. Kate and I saw him last night at a Pagan/Folk Metal gig, he was up to his usual tricks, laughing at fat Vikings and jigging about like a Medieval Flemish Peasant.

I fail to see what's so funny, Owen

Someone was complaining about the colour of the background and the font colour of this blog. If you don't like it, you can FUCK OFF. I like it therefore it stays.


There will be further excavation memories when I get a chance to write them, but before that I was also thinking about the Singapore Blog and below is the first of several installments as I will be reprinting the blog in full. I'll shove it at the bottom of the page so if you can't be bothered to read it then you don't have to. It doesn't exist before May 24 2007 as I deleted it from Myspace in a fit of rage, so all that remains of it is from this point until I got fired in June. Where this installment begins I had already been in Singapore for a few weeks and we'd settled into the job. So enjoy it or enjoy it again for those of you that saw it the first time round!

Mr Wong says 'hooray for the Singapore Blog!'

Thursday, May 24, 2007

This is the first one for a while, I've been a bit busy and last night Myspazz was being a MOTHERFUCKING BITCH and not letting me post a new weblog. On Monday I went into town after work, we found some dummy practise bomblettes on site. You know the kind, plastic white things they drop from aeroplanes before they give the airmen real ones to drop on Primary Schools. I went to find To Megatherion, Singapore's primary Black Metal store. I wanted some new Cd's. Thinking I knew where it was I found myself walking around Raffles Plaza Mall about eight fucking times, completely lost. I even asked a doorman where Coleman St was, the street it is on. He sent me the wrong way the stupid bastard. I was not in a good mood on Monday and I was getting hot and sweaty, so decided to jack it in before I committed pavement rage on someone. I went down again on Tuesday, this time armed with a map. I found the place, only to see it was locked up!! Gah!! Last night I was actually successful and managed to not only find it, but find it was open. I even bought some Cd's. Endstille (what does this mean John?), Impiety and Rotting Christ's 'Passage to Arcturus', which I have on vinyl, but the last track 'Inside the Eyes of Algond' skips so I wanted it on CD. It also has bonus tracks, so a bargain all round... I also bought my ticket ready for Saturday's BM fest...

On Wednesday we entered site at eight in the morning and as we were driving Ang to his digger a military Land-rover appeared out of nowhere and we nearly broadsided it (I'm glad I was driving, I would have hit it. I have been driving all round site in order to practise, I will go for my test after this is all over. At last.). It seems that, unbeknownst to us, the Singapore Army's EOD team were on site to do some practise demolition. It doesn't matter that WE are the only ones who are supposed to have access to the site. We have already had to see of the Dog Handlers section of the SAF, now we had EOD to contend with. It's not that we mind these people being on site, we just wish they'd tell us they are coming, instead of surprising us at junctions. Anyway they had laid out some pretend ordnance to blow up. We went site looking for it. They had a large airdropped Japanese WW2 bomb, a large torpedo looking bomb and a 105mm howitzer shell made in plastic. We asked them if they wanted to blow up the REAL ordnance we had found in the last few weeks. The commanding officer told us they weren't insured to deal with real ordnance.

Fat lot of good they will be.

I was watching Lifeline the other night, it is the single worst soap opera I have ever seen. It is set in the Singapore Civil Defence firefighting team. The acting is so dreadful it has to be watched to be believed... The latest episode involved a load of models getting into a truckload of trouble during a photo shoot. The photographer made the best of a bad job by photographing all the firefighters as they were doing their job. He even turned up in the hospital shooting the girls in
their bandages. I can't wait for next week! You know when you've been in Singapore for a while when I walked up some stairs for the first in four weeks the other day. Mind you, I stood at the bottom of them for ten minutes thinking it was just a really long escalator. I also had trouble
using my knife and fork the other day, I was trying to balance them like chopsticks.

At about break time yesterday morning I was laying out a grid for us to run the array across, Mr Wong shouted from the other side of the field. He was bringing my attention to this little figure crossing the field towards us. On closer inspection it turned out to be a girl. I approached her, I thought for a second that she may be a reporter. another unannounced visit. anyway it turned out she was a Spanish Girl looking for the MRT. I asked her if she was lost, she said yes and looked concerned when I told her we were working on clearing bombs and such from the area. She was probably about as far from the MRT as you can get in Singapore... She had taken a wrong turn and walked down the entrance road to the camp, Mr Wong was waiting for his diesel van and had the gate keys. She had asked him directions and being Malaysian and a very poor speaker of English he had brought her about a mile into the camp to talk to us... She was fit so I began chatting her up as we ran her back outside the camp and to the bus stop, I found out she was visiting a friend who lived nearby and was working in Indonesia as a vet treating Orangutans. B*** suggested she could give me a once over. After she had left we decided on the idea that we would go back and under the pretence of asking her if the gate was unlocked during Mr Wong's guarding of it I would give her my phone number. The plan was infallible, except we didn't plan on the SMRT bus service being so goddamn reliable. She was gone by the time we got back to the bus stop.

Mr Wong was asking me if I was married, I told him no and he suggested I should have got the girl's phone number. I told him I tried and he laughed at me. Bastard, that is probably the last time I shall ever see a woman beside T**** in this line of work...

Went to the Beach tonight at Tampines, had a swim, had some food and came home. We have taken tomorrow and Saturday off as we all thought today was Wednesday due to tiredness. It was only made apparent that it was Thursday when Mr Wong and Ang came over and said 'So we work on Sunday, but not tomorrow and Saturday?' B***, T**** and I all looked at each other, Tomorrow as well? Three days off? We thought mutiny was afoot. But no, it was just us being tired and working very hard.

Lions 10 Christians 0

Friday rolled around with no trouble in sight, after work I basically relaxed and watched Seinfeld with John, Craig and Marcus, into the early hours. I had half a plan to go out around York but it didn't really flesh out and I went to bed instead... Saturday brought the spectacle of the York Roman festival. York, being a historical city, likes to celebrate its past with various festivals throughout the year, one of the biggest being the Viking festival in February. Thousands of hairy bastards descend on York, take over the city centre and reenact battles in the museum gardens and end it all with boat burnings down the Ouse. It lasts for days; the streets are awash with rapine and pillage as York celebrates the Medieval equivalent of the modern day Hells Angels. Only without the Harley's.

Holy Shit!!! It's the Vikings!!! Run!!!

Not so the Romans. Roman reenactors are harder to come by. The York Roman Festival seemed to consist of six Romans, twelve Celts (who were in fact Viking reenactors press-ganged into Celtic service for the weekend) and three Germans selling overpriced garlic bread. Perhaps more people want to rape and pillage than learn how to march in formation and carry out sword drill. John seemed to enjoy himself, he would, he's a Romanist. I thought it was quaint. What I did like was when the very nice lady at the Roman Medical tent was giving us a talk on the various medical instruments the Romans used. She was talking for ages and we were just standing there nodding our heads and not saying anything. There were no pauses in her flow and I was wondering how long we could keep her standing there and talking, by us not interrupting. I know what it's like to talk to the public and when no-one asks questions you feel as though you have to keep talking even if you are running out of things to say. I was playing a game in my head to see if we could make her carry on talking for about three hours. Luckily for her there was a pause and someone said 'thank you, that was very interesting.' or some-such phrase which ended her talk. I was disappointed that it only lasted about ten minutes. Next time another opportunity like this occurs I'm going to time it properly.

John, enjoying the Romans, cos that's how he rolls...

On Sunday the Roman 'Festival' was concluded with the screening of the restored version of Spartacus. I've not seen this film since I was very young, but it's one of those films you see bits of but never manage to sit down and watch from beginning to end, so you feel as though you've seen it. What I can say is, is that that reissued version is brilliant. A real tribute to the brilliance that was Kubrick. Spartacus himself becomes very much a footnote to the power play and politics in Rome that was cut out of the original cinematic version. It's great, the bad guy, Crassus is actually working against corruption and trying to bring back the glory days of Rome, the seemingly sympathetic and helpful Roman Gracchus is completely corrupt and taking advantage of the rot that is infecting the civilisation. Nothing is black and white, not even in Ancient Rome... To end it all I'm still amazed that no one stood up at the end and shouted 'I'm Spartacus!'

Would the real Spartacus plaese stand up?

I Ondskapens Kunst

Before I start I suggest you read Richard Pell's blog, it's here. I like it, you might too. OK, plugs over... My feet were bad on Wednesday, they were dry and the skin was all split. I could hardly walk on them at all. I thought I'd better lay in bed all day and rest them, so I didn't go into work. At precisely Eight minutes and eight seconds past eight o'clock, I got a message from Jo which simply said 'You are a cunt.' Talk about no sympathy, I would have loved to have been at work, cleaning off endless stones, using the total station to record them all and marking them with chalk ready to be removed. It would have been brilliant to have been asked by Duncan whether this pile of stones was 335 or 334, or were the pebbles 335 and the stones 332? As it was I was laid up contemplating what to have for breakfast and whether I should have it in bed or not. I can't believe she was so unsympathetic. To add insult to injury, today she found a beautiful piece of wood with a series of Runes carved along it. It is probably one of the nicest things I have ever seen outside of a First World War archaeology setting:

This piece of wood with a runic inscription is the first ever proof of Vikings in Iceland.
Photograph copyright Jo Taylor

I'm going to talk about the Melabúðin now. It's my local supermarket and I probably spend more than enough time than I should in there. I usually call in most evenings on the way home from work to pick up essentials, the little things we all need, like food. I spend more time there than is reasonably expected because of the lay out of the place. It is like a bear pit, a Chinese fire drill if you will.

Melabúðin, Hell on Earth

They have managed to cram as many shelves into the place as possible, leaving it almost impossible to get to what you need. The aisles are about three inches (7cm) wide making the shopping experience like tight rope walking across Niagra Falls.

Another satisfied shopper enjoys the Melabúðin experience

There appears to be another curse in this place. As I walk in the place appears to be empty, no queues at the tills, I feel elated, I can choose my few purchases and be out in seconds. By the time I've picked some bread there is already a mosh pit forming in front of the meat counter. Fighting my way through this, I arrive at the vegetable shelves (there is what seems to be an Icelandic curse on vegetables that means you have to eat them within 24 hrs of purchase or they turn into black lumps of compost in your fridge...).

Quick! Get those vegetables to a fridge, we have no time to waste! Every second is precious!!

After picking up the already rotting veg I move to the milk fridges, fighting past the ubiquitous shelf stacker who manages to spread the products all over the floor rather than on the shelves. Grabbing what I assume is milk, I'm ready to get to the tills to pay and get out. I arrive in dismay to see a queue has formed out of nowhere comprising of at least half the population of Reykjavik. Now we turn to the next problem. Icelanders have no idea of how to make their purchases and clear off out of the shop. They dither about wondering whether to pay with a card or cash whilst the cashier piles up their purchases up on the area for packing. They don't decide to get their wallets/purses out whilst waiting in the queue, oh no, they do it when they should be putting their products in the plastic bags. So here I am waiting for someone to find, then fumble about with and finally put their change/card back in their wallet/purse, then return that to their pocket/bag. Only then do they begin to start to pack the plastic bag, by which time the cashier has started piling MY products onto the area already inhabited by the previous shoppers products. It's like a collision of worlds, the shoppers want to stay as long as possible imbibing the shopping experience, whilst the cashiers want them out as soon as possible, like they are working on some bonus scheme for the amount of shoppers they can serve in a day. As a final insult in my shopping experience at the Melabúðin, if I am not fast enough to get my things into a bag, usually due to the person in front of me still packing their bags, then the cashier starts sending down the next customers items. It's like being under a cascade of produce. There are hands everywhere grabbing at whatever they can. I hardly ever come out with the items I paid for...

Melabúðin in 1912, the ancient shop layout has not altered once. It was based on the Labyrinth of Minos