Don’t you like Metal? – Trivia
Insidiöus Törment: Legends of the Band part I – the Fruit Incident
Inspirational Novella pt. II: The Hollow Earth Trilogy pt. II
IT Origins Book One: He, Who Howls with the Wolves
The Kraken Remembered – Interview w. Killer
Call to Arms – Trivia |
>>Take it from the top! |
Immediately following the end of the world tour supporting Death!Decay!Destruction!, the band decided to record a new album. Despite being completely hung-over following an amazing 37 after-parties in only 25 days, the boys felt up for it. To get the right feeling, ÏT sought the hard-hitting sound of the erstwhile Erz-banger Studien, but a combination of mishaps had caused the local authorities to shut the studio down (see Hrotogar the Brave Trivia and elsewhere!) several years earlier. Destitute and desperate for a place to record, a number of ill-fated sessions were recorded at local “guitar-hero” Ludo Dickhaut’s Dickhaut Studio. Unable to get the sound they wanted – apparently all the mixers available had the tightness turned to ultra-low – the band decided to go to Hamburg to shop around in St. Pauli. In Hamburg they found the old red-light district enticing and inspirational and eventually the guys found their way to the now epic Scheissverkehr Studios in lower St. Pauli. Here they found a true comrade in arms in tech-guy and button-pusher Heinz “Lippe” Lipschmertz. Often, the guys could be found at the legendary “Prost-am-Üpperlibbe” beer-cellar located next to the revered “Bananen-Bumsen Geil Show Chick Thai” strip/cabaret joint in Vergewaltigen Strasse.
Without question, the most haunting piece of the album is the all-instrumental Buggle-call of the Insidiöus Armü, a masterful weaving together of the instrumental strengths of the band’s 4 virtuosos. Never performed live, the Buggle-call has never been a favourite of the fans. Instead, according to the fans the two classic tracks are Heed the Call and Call to Arms – crowd-pleasers if ever there was such a thing. However, despite these three highpoints, the album itself is bland. Featuring a number of irrelevant instrumentals and rehashings of the same basic songs (essentially Heed the Call and Call to Arms), the album seemed a logical conclusion to the classic Törment catchphrase: the same, only different!
Of the recording process, Steel once noted in an interview with Pöller: “Also, echt, tolles times but not so tolle music. Lippe war einer good guy, but such a scheissverkehr about the music. He was steined all das time, so he though all should sound the same, only different!”
Dissatisfied with the lack of musical growth and unable to contain his persuasion any longer, Ronnie Gamboa quit the band shortly after the release of the album. Despite dissatisfying sales world-wide, it is an essential album in any ÏT fan’s collection. Charting the fall of the band is just as important as charting the rise…unfortunately it is a rare gem indeed, with only some 243000 albums out there. Just in the nick of time, Carlos the Butt took the chair for the promotion tour. The new rhythmic approach of a latin persuasion that he added seemed like a much needed buzz at first. However, the entire tour eventually derailed due to dwindling ticket and album sales and the band ended up back in Germany following horrendous reviews and internal squabble. This squabble was eventually to doom the following years of the band’s career, as is evident from the trivia about the recording of Allow us to Retort…
Recording line-up:
Skream: Lead vocals, hair, backing vocals.
Steel: Lead guitar, guitar, some bass, voice-over, sound effects (swords, shields etc.), backing vocals.
Killer: Lead guitar, guitar, lute, backing “vocals”, roundabout stories from his youth.
Mortor: All bass (except bass played by Steel), backing vocals, destruction.
OJJ: Lead guitar, guitar, ukulele, backing vocals, drinking excessively.
Ronnie Gamboa: Drums, percussion, triangle, backing vocals, missing leather pants.
Sonny Rostock: Backing vocals, parchment crumbling, grunts, groupie-getting, un-answering emails.
Bitney: Mostly that she’s done anything even wilder/more/crazier/extreme with “The Helmets” (??)
Carlso the Butt: Guitar on The Hunger of the Beast, Call to Arms, Heed the Call.
Mixed, mastered, and engineered by Heinz “Lippe” Lipschmertz, Dave Steel & Sonny R at Scheissverkehr Studios, St. Pauli, Hamburg; sometime during August and September 1988.
Produced by Lippe, Sonny R., and ÏT
Artwork: Jakob Kappel.
Issued by: Uniwarnemi Capitony Inc. (Worldwide except as follows:)/Africa Offline (Africa exc. RSA)/Dong Xiao Peng Records (PR China)/Xiang Kaj Chek Rules, Tapes & Sundry (Taiwan)/Michael Learns to Metallize (Laos, My-angmar & Vietnam)/Snobster (“Wherever I may Moan”).
Don’t you like Metal? – Trivia |
>>Take it from the top! |
Still hot after the success of Hrotogar the Brave, the band took a few weeks off after their first major tour. During the holiday, Skream picked grapes in Thüringen because he wanted to get money for an MZ “motorcycle”. During this time, he bumped into a Spaniard whom he immediately named Carlos the Butt, as he always had the butt of a cigarette pursed between his lips. This encounter was later to prove quite significant, as the Butt sat in on guitar for a number of recordings, tour dates and the like. Eventually, he was to advance to become a full-blown member after G’boa quit the band. This was partly due to the harrowing schedule of the Butt’s main band during the period, Salsateca del Mundo. Then at the height of their career, there was little time for the Butt to spend on relishing his metal-interest, and dropping out was not an option due to the immense costs of building the goat/donkey farm that had been a lifelong ambition of Carlos’.
With the Butt in tow, Skream reappeared on his bike/moped, and the sessions could begin. Rather than return to Hessen, the band found a haven in Ålborg, Denmark’s Kling-klang Studios. Then owned and operated by Frolle “Nipples” Hansson (of dubious renown), the studio really set the atmosphere for the album. Located next to a graveyard and within walking distance of the famous strip joint Maxim’s and “gaden” (“the street”, trans.), the band found loads of things to do when not recording. However, the sessions were raw and intense enough to produce a true masterpiece.
Of particular importance here is the contribution to the band’s sound made by Nipples. He literally recorded the entire album in one take, with only a few overdubs. The rawness of the sound brought yet another dimension to the Törment legacy, and also established Kling-klang as a major studio in metal in general and in Törment’s history in particular.
Initially, the legacy of this album seemed to be the successful continuation of the style that secured the success of Hrotogar the Brave, but it has now come to stand as the instigator of the wave of “boogie” metal that hit the airwaves in the late 1980’s. Lyrically, the band begins its now legendary self-mythologisation, typically exemplified by the enticing Lightning from the Sky. The title track itself also contains these two important trends. By naming members of the band and associating them with various activities, the band breaks the deadlocks of typical metal lyrics and engages with the rules of lyrical engagement, genre and postmodernism in a truly unique fashion. The musically simple track hides a deeper level of awareness that comes to the fore when one realizes that the apparently simple chords that are churned out are actually composed of lines related by the principles of counterpoint and executed with such skill that they appear to be one huge power chord. The drumming is also deceptive. Unlike the many later, and indeed poorly executed, copies, the title track in particular displays the unique “circular” drumming of Gamboa. A simple concept with immense effect, the drum set itself is continually circling the listener by use of both pan-pots and the physical revolution of the drum set during recording. This partly provides the legendary boogie-beat that carries the listener along without losing any of its punch, rawness, strength or speed.
Don’t you Like Metal?
Release date: October 1984
Issued by: Die Schläscher Records Inc. (Worldwide)
Recording line-up:
Skream: Lead vocals, clowning, clitoris, backing vocals.
Steel: Lead guitar, guitar, some bass, voiceover, sound effects (swords, shields, blades etc.), backing vocals.
Killer: Lead guitar, guitar, lute, backing voiceover, roundabout stories about playing pool with some guy.
Mortor: All bass (except bass played by Steel), backing vocals, deconstruction.
OJJ: Lead guitar, guitar, ukulele, backing vocals, drinking excessively and being pissed.
Ronnie Gamboa: Drums, percussion, triangle, backing vocals, going to the local public baths.
Sonny Rostock: Backing vocals, parchment crumbling, groupie-getting, groupie scoring, general busy-bodiedness.
Carlso the Butt: Guitar on Don’t you like Metal, Lightning from the Sky, co-writer of Fret Fever (plays lead and rhythm guitar).
Mixed, mastered, and engineered in one take by Frolle “Nipples” Hansson, Dave Steel & Sonny R at Kling-klang Studios, Aalborg; sometime during August and September 1984.
Produced by Nipples, Sonny R., and ÏT
Artwork: Jakob Kappel.
Hrotogar the Brave – Trivia |
>>Take it from the top! |
Recorded in Hessen’s then premier metal studio Erz-banger, the sessions were so intense the buildings suffered structural damage. The incident that nearly caused the industrial complex to collapse occurred when Mortor tested his then brand new bass-stack hot-rodded by legendary tech-wizard Udo Fleischhacker. According to the legend, Mortor set the volume knob at a measly 3. He then played the opening notes of Songs in the Key of Steel. The power of the stack was such that several doors were blown out, windows likewise, and cracks began to appear in the steel-enforced concrete of the old casting-hall of the legendary Krüpps works that then housed the studio. Mortor was relatively unaffected by the intense volume and strength of the blast – he only stopped playing when a large fissure opened beneath the stack and swallowed the mighty sound system in one enormous lump. Some say that OJJ keeps the stack in his hidden den in the Hellish Shafts, others that it was bound to happen.
The epic tale that unfolds on the album was originally the brain-child of Killer, but eventually the entire band took to the story and have now come to accept it as their own, all particularly fond of the main character, Hrotogar. It remains somewhat unclear who wrote what, how and when for the album, as deceased Törment biographer, fan, and friend Rudi Pöller reports in volume II of his epic band-biography “The Rise and Fall of Insidiöus Törment”. It seems the band were unable to exactly remember their rehearsals, sessions and other activities related to the recording of the album as a large leakage from a local chemical plant (the legendary “Essen Kleber leakage”) caused a cloud of toxic fumes to settle around the studio in the days immediately following the completion of the album. As a consequence, the band had to relearn the entire album by listening to it over and over.
For the album, the drums were handled by studio-drummer Aelbert Späre, but before the tour supporting the album commenced, Gamboa had been added to the line-up.
Recording line-up:
Skream: Lead vocals, voice-over, tambourine.
Steel: Lead guitar, guitar, some bass, voice-over, sound effects, backing vocals.
Killer: Lead guitar, guitar, lute, backing vocals.
Mortor: All bass (except bass played by Steel), backing vocals.
OJJ: Lead guitar, guitar, ukulele, backing vocals.
Sonny Rostock: Backing vocals, parchment crumbling, grunts, groupie-getting.
(Aelbert Späre: Drums, percussion, grunts).
Mixed, mastered, and engineered by Lub Stieliche & Haltz Abermass at Erz-banger Studien, Essen, sometime during August and September 1983.
Produced by Lub & Haltz, Sonny R., and ÏT
Artwork: Jakob Kappel.
Issued by: Intenser Weltschmerz Records & Schallplatten Aps/Ink, Münchlein, Sachsen.
Insidiöus Törment: Legends of the Band part I – the Fruit Incident |
>>Take it from the top! |
The Realms of Metal, 01.09.03:
Location: Studenterhuset, Ålborg, Denmark.
Date: 23.03.03
Not only legendary but also recent, the so-called Fruit Incident has all the trappings of a great story. Not only does it involve questionable acts by band members, it also questions the facts of the acts themselves, as well as involving the fans in a hands-on fashion. A result of the concert that led to the successful live album Redebut: Live at die Budikate, this event is thus of particular importance to the contemporary Törment scholar, biographer, fan, hater, and all other members of the press.
Here is the story as Killer S reported it to me in the early Fall of 2003, while enjoying a wonderfully chilled Erdinger at Århus’ premier student hang out, Studenterbaren Universitetsbaren :
“Also, it was the day of the great gig, our re-debut, live, at die Budikate. We had hired a bus to go to the gig, bringing some of the fans along, and building the great atmosphere by drinking and swinging the Limërick. So, we get to the place (Studenterhuset, ed.), and then we have the first troubles. When we get to the backstage area, which was cool/cold (I am not certain what he means here, trans.), there is bit of a problem. Instead of the 10 bottles of vodka we were to have before the sound check, there was 12 2 crates of beer, some soft drinks, and all this fruit. So, the guys get a little distraught, because there was a big before-the-party party at OJJ’s place, you know, the Shafts/Bodega 765, the night before. So with the drinking in the bus and the night before a few of them were pissed and didn’t know what to do. Instead of getting the problem sorted it was decided to eat the fruit immediately to show that we didn’t approve of that sort of thing. Then, when we have eaten the fruit – man there was loads of the stuff – some of the guys gets to feeling bad. So, small accidents begin to happen in the backstage area – somebody was sick, another – probably Gamboa – had the runs… hech hech hech he had the Rons… so, anyway, us other guys start to have a laugh and order more fruit for the guys to eat so they will get to feel even worse. That was sort of cool, except they didn’t really give us the fruit, so Skream got upset and went to sit in the kloo for a very long time – at least that’s what he said. Naturally this meant that the situation became even more tense. The local back-stage people were upset by the mess and we were upset because we couldn’t find Skream and there was this other guy called John running around. Anyway, we hit the stage and play like hell, only, of course, Skream had to go take a crap, so Rostock sung Enticer, but all that was planned, so no problem. So, the concert goes fine, we are on a high and everything. When we get to the backstage area, things are even worse than before. Some other bands, the local support, they had been having a party, drinking all the booze, well, the bottle that was there. We thought we were getting a bottle each – I had already finished my vodka at that time – so we were a bit pissed, off. So, more problem begins. The local crew decide they do not want to clean up the mess after the party and stuff. Rostock talks to their leader, and then to the Armü, and the Armü send a few groupies bitches sluts goth chicks biker babes girls up to help them out. Unfortunately, it does not work out properly, the girls complain about not getting the breaks they were promised – you know, modeling careers and sex – and the crew say they are incompetent, anyway, we have to leave in a hurry because we find out we are late for the bus. So, we get out, and find the bus. Then we find out we have forgotten our banner – the one made out of velvet and sausages – and we gotta have that with us! So with the Armü tagging along, we go back to get it. Unfortunately, they say they are “closed”. So we cannot be getting in, but there are people inside, we can hear them shouting stuff like “piss off” – you know. So we get a bit mad – okay, very mad – and don’t know what to do. So, we see a guy delivering a huge load of fruit and vegetables (“gemuschen”, trans.) – I mean, insidiously, a lot (apparently 2 euro pallets worth, ed.) – and then things get a bit out of hand. We were going that way anyway to get to the bus, so it was not like we intended it or anything, but some of the Armü members and a few of the guys have to pee – they had been drinking all day and most of the evening, I mean, not when they were sleeping during the other band’s concerts of course, but still – so they had to pee. Most of us them weren’t even close to the stuff, I didn’t see anyone who was not 1½ metres from the fruit, but still… So anyway, their (Studenterhuset, ed.) lawyer calls Rostock on the mobile while we are in the bus, saying we have to pay for the fruit, and from then on, it only got worse. Rostock said we were charging them for the banner – it had been quite expensive after all. The lawyer claimed that they had had to throw it out because it was smelly – and that was when Rossi hung up. So now we are waiting for our lawyers to work it out. We want the banner and they want their money, or something, and we can’t play at that place anymore. We have lost other gigs in that town also because of this…strange brew – what’s inside of you?”
Clearly a great tale of woe for the band, and one which has been backed by trustworthy sources within the industry. As well-known promoter and concert/packet tour arranger Ernst “Achtung” Artembech has stated, Törment haven’t played Studenterhuset since, and due to their boycott they have had to feature lesser artists like Train Deck, Iron Maiden and the like. Truly amazing… but this is the situation as it stands here in the fall of 2003
The Realms of Metal, 05.12.03 Newsshocker…Latest news:
Insidiöus Törment is to return to Ålborg’s Studenterhuset for a gig with Björnocator and Melodic Meltdown on Feb 28th 2004. It appears that the lawyers have worked it out after all! HURRAH for lawyers and all their kin from The Realms of Metal…
Inspirational Novella pt. II: The Hollow Earth Trilogy pt. II |
>>Take it from the top! |
The Mensans are here…
As professor Kirvesniemi entered another cave, his thoughts returned to his last glimpse of sunlight. 14 days had he spent underground, wallowing in caves whose course seemed to bring him but closer to the hellfire of the Underworld. In the company of a simple local youth, Arthurd, and his trusty secretary, buxom Irina, ohh, and the goose. He called the goose Jonah, for it alone had ventured into the mouth of the whale without hindsight and filled with the innocence of God. Arthurd had spent more time screening Irina’s dresses for a flash of naked skin than seeing to his other duties. Luckily, Irina had been in charge of drawing the map, and the professor felt that this alone had saved them from getting lost – certainly Irina seemed to be well on top of their whereabouts. Their supply of food was nearly out, and only the occasional subterranean dweller offered any relief from the incessant growling of his bowels. There was plenty of water, but for the last three days they had been unable to boil it and hence they were left open to the ravaging of whatever bacteria might be loose in this dark, dank, netherworld.
He had long lusted for Irina, but here, in the silence, his lust had ceased, and been replaced by a severe loathing for those who lusted for her. He had grown to regret bringing Arthurd along. Simple was he, and not at all the bright young lad interested in geology and the lay of the land that he had pretended to be. That had all been a charade, intended only to bring him closer to Irina. He knew not how Irina felt about either of them, since they had never been that close. She took notes, wrote his letters, knew almost all there was to know about him, but he was strangely ignorant about her. All he knew was that she had applied for the position of secretary almost before the death of his old secretary, ms Hampstead. Scarcely had her body been found on the beach beneath the cliffs, the forelorn loveletter left behind at the summit to indicate suicide, before Irina had appeared – almost as if by magic, but probably by bus – in the remote coastal village where the professor had been preparing his expedition.
IT Origins Book One: He, Who Howls with the Wolves |
>>Take it from the top! |
He, Who Howls With the Wolves
Chapter One: Life among the Goatherds
The mountain people of The Greater Caucasus value tradition above anything and the three most popular passtime activities are folk music (Black Sea Blue Grass), goat-tending and bloodfeuds. The village of Athens, Georgia, dates back to Hellenistic times, when Classic Greek culture dominated the region. Back then it was a small border outpost specializing in trade with the native population, who were famous for their beautiful goats and their tasty dairy products. The ancient marble halls have long since crumbled and the only culture that has survived is the beneficial bacterial kind, which still thrives in the region’s famous goat-yoghurt. the name of the village, however, has remained the same since antiquity.
Even as a young boy, Scream did not exactly fit in. He loved to sing, but his powerful, yet untutored voice was not highly esteemed by the town elders. In fact, his loud and clear voice was so despised that, in response to numerous complaints of tooth- and headaches, the council of elders decreed that he must forever hold his tongue within the perimeters of the village.
He did not share his tribesmen’s love of dairy products and neither could he stand the bi-monthly rape of the women from the neighboring village, nor the bi-weekly riual courting of the she-goats, so he was eventually regarded as a pariah by all of the villagers including his own family, and at the tender age of eight, he was left to wander the mountains by himself, fetching firewood for the village.
The solitude of the mountains suited him just fine. He was sick and tired of always being the target for the village children’s rock hurling competitions. Alone in the wild he felt at ease and sang to himself as he chopped away at giant firs and pines. He drank from the springs, he lived off Mother Nature’s generous hand, eating fruit, roots, nuts and berries, and he grew strong from the work, so that at the age of ten, his strength had grown to rival that of the strongest grown man in the village, his father, the blacksmith, Petrovic.
Then one day, when he was working as usual, cutting down trees, dragging them down the slopes to the village, and all the while singing his homemade innocent worksongs, he heard a voice responding to his own. He felt thrilled. Never before had he experienced harmony like this. He had discovered music. He rushed out to find the stranger whose voice was so like his own. Eventually he found her in a nearby glade. It was an old she-wolf, whose hind leg had been caught in a rusty metal trap.
Scream freed the sad creature, which had almost chewed its own leg off in desperation and he bandaged the wound, held its head and sang to it. This soothed the animal, who obviously believed that Scream belonged to her own species. The two lonely creatures became inseparable. Every day Scream would go about his chores and the wolf would fetch dinner. He called her Babushka after the old woman, who had recently passed away; the only person who had ever been kind to him. His diet changed and he grew to love the proteine supplement, which he would mostly roast over the campfire, but sometimes eat raw with Babuschka if the meat was reasonably fresh.
As the weeks went by Scream discovered that he could communicate with the wolf. He intuitively understood the tone of its howls, its barks and its tender whimpering and he was able to respond and make himself understood in turn. Babuschka told him of a long, hard life among the barren hills. Of cubs raised and of cubs lost to frost, hunger and to the greatest predator, man. She told him that she had recently become separated from her two half-grown sons, Grrrrwf and Rrrwwff, and that she had been searching for them when she was caught in the trap. Now she feared that she would never see them again. She also told him that although he was the ugliest and most useless wolf she had ever met, she considered him her adopted son and that she loved him as if he was her own useless brat.
Winter came with heavy frost, and Scream covered himself in animal hides and wrapped his feet in three thick layers of fur. The foodstuff grew scarce and Babushka grew skinny. Often she would return from the hunt with only a small frozen bird in her jaw and often she would stay away for days. Scream grew worried. He was afraid of losing his only friend. One day he decided to go to the village goatherd and steal a kid. He easily snuck past the boy tending the goats, who was preoccupied by an especially attractive she-goat, he grabbed a small kid, and with his hand over its mouth, he crept out of sight.
That night they enjoyed a rich meal and Scream felt warm and happy inside watching Babushka gulp down the bloody entrails. In a few days, however, the grim spectre of hunger came creeping into their camp again and Scream once again made a trip to the village goatherd.
This happened a few times, until one morning he was spotted. The villagers had been keeping watch, and now Scream found himself surrounded by black-eyed, bearded men, whose silence he knew could only mean one thing.
The sacriledge of stealing from the flock was punishable by death. These men loved their goats higher than their own children and Scream was aware that he only had one chance of survival. He filled his great lungs with chilly air, held his breath for a second, then let it out in a great shout. The sound-wave stunned the would-be avengers for just a moment. Just long enough for Scream to make a run for it and jump blindly from a nearby cliff. He tumbled down the mountainside, ripped and torn by thorns and bushes, until he was finally stopped by an outcropping boulder, which hit him straight in the forehead, knocking him unconscious.
When he came to his senses, it was night and the lights of the village were unpleasantly close by, about 30 goat lengths to his right. He could hear a sort of chant from the town square. Overtaken by curiosity, he crept closer. Sneaking a peak, he could tell that all the villagers had gathered in the town square, which was actually more like a circle amid the cluster of huts. Most of the villagers seemed to be present and they were all facing the centre of the square, where a wooden structure had been erected – and something was hanging from that structure, something made of flesh and blood…
Then he heard a deep voice, which he recognized as his father’s,
“Oh, blood of my blood, flesh from my thighs! Cursed be the day when the ogres stole you from the crib and replaced you with this abomination!”
The huge, black-bearded figure entered the circle, turning slowly, looking around at his audience,
“But tonight I stand avenged! No longer will the changeling mock me with his evil eye and unnatural ways! Tonight the changeling is dead! Once more natural order has been restored and our goats are safe!”
Scream was flabbergasted. His father was obviously refering to him. His father had often called him “changeling”, thus with one word utterly disassociating himself from his unloved offspring. Scream was used to it and often wondered if his kinsfolk were really the mountain ogres. They could not be more unkind than the villagers, this he was sure of. This was old news. But now he was confused: How could his father think that he was dead? Or had there been another changeling in the village?
The blacksmith went on,
“God must have sought to punish us for our sinful thoughts when he unleashed the Demon Child upon us! But we were blinded by our love and kindness and did not see that we carried a devil by our bosom! Little did we suspect that the Evil One had sent the wolf to walk among the lambs! We saw him hiding in the forest, covered in fur like a wild beast, we heard his blood-curdling howls at night, but we did not understand that the boy was more beast than man! How could I suspect that the boy I cherished so, was in fact a changeling, sent from the underworld, able to take on the semblance of man, but being in essence a beast?!”
Now Scream thought he could discern the contours of the shape in the town square. It was a wooden cross, and suspended upon it was a familiar shape…
Petrovic’s raised his voice triumphantly,
“The wolf is dead! Nailed to the cross with seven silver spikes! Head parted from body so that its ghost will never return to haunt us!”
Scream felt hot tears gathering in his eyes. Stupid villagers! Stupid, stupid villagers! Now he recognized the shape in the town square and realization dawned upon him. Did they really think that he was a wolf-boy, a shapeshifter, and that the wolf they had caught was in fact his true form?
Babushka was an old, scrawny, female wolf, nothing like the wolf he would be had he in fact been able to change his form at will. They had robbed him of his only friend. Scream felt the sorrow as a hard core in his chest, which unleashed wave upon wave of pain through his body. He also felt a new, hitherto unknown hunger in his blood. The hunger for revenge! Revenge on the villagers! Revenge on his father! Unaware of what he was doing, he stepped out of the darkness and into the circle, howling as he approached the villagers.
“I am the ghost of the wolf-boy! Face me and die!”
He saw surprise shift to recognition, and recognition shift to stark horror in the eyes of the village people. Following a sudden inspiration, he jumped down on all fours and started to shake wildly. The animal skins on his back danced around his body. He howled with all of his might.
At first the villagers gazed at him in frozen awe. Then a wave of panic struck them and they ran screaming in all directions. After a few seconds only one villager was left. His father stood in the middle of the square as if he had been nailed to the spot.
“Y-you are not real… It cannot be…”
Scream looked at him trying his best to twist his face into a wolfish snarl,
“You’ll see how r-r-r-real I am when I r-r-rip your throat out!”
Petrovic took two steps backwards, obviously engulfed in superstitious horror,
“Wait! Don’t kill me! There is something I must tell you first… I know I am being punished for my great sins. I promised to look after you like you were my own son, but I went back on my word! I sinned against the Law of our supreme god, The Great Musk-Ram!”
Scream was perplexed and forgot to keep up the wolf-act,
“So … you’re saying that I’m not your son … that I actually am a changelling … Am I really an ogre then?”
The man didn’t seem to notice the lacking wolfishness in his voice. He was too eager to confess to his sins,
“Yes! Yes! I mean, no! No! I promised the man to take care of you and I took his gold. But I could not! Even when you were a baby, you looked so strange with your grey eyes and your golden hair… I felt hate growing in my heart instead of love!”
Scream was more puzzled than ever,
“A man? What man? Don’t you mean an ogre of sorts? “
Petrovic’s entire body shaked, tears rolling down bearded cheeks. There was a pause, and when the words finally came, it was as if a strange and unknown voice was issuing from his throat. It was a voice that seemed to come from a place far, far beyond the white hills and black rocks of Athens, Georgia.
“I cannot say…”, then the alien voice paused again as Petrovis gazed into the distance. Scream was growing rather cold and uncomfortable, still maintaining his wolf pose, hands and knees on the frozen ground. Scream thought it best to keep up his act: He yelped, scratched his ear with his hind leg and was contemplating whether licking his own behind would be taking the act a bit too far. Then the blacksmith resumed his narrative, voice still distant and aquiver,
“He came to the village in a metal cart driven by fire. He called upon me in my house. He was dressed in black. His hair was black and long like a woman’sand his cheeks were beardless. He only had a lip-beard, exactly like all the women of our tribe. His eyes were red like the fires of Hell. If it was not one of the mountain-ogres, it was a demon from the ever-burning abyss!”
Now Petrovic was sobbing uncontrollably,
“But alas! I was overcome by greed and sinned against the law, which Great Musk-Ram laid down at the dawn of time! I sinned! I took his gold and I promised to take care of you for thirteen years, after which time, he said he would come back to claim you and to punish me if I had not done right by you … Now he will surely kill me when he returns!”
An image flashed through Scream’s mind. A sudden vision appeared to his mind’s eye: a ring set with a black stone encoiled by a crimson, horned serpent biting its own tail. But what did the image mean? Was it a premonition? Or could it be some kind of pre-conscious memory? Scream had no chance of knowing, but his reflects were lightning fast and his instincts were what kept him alive, so he responded to them as naturally as breathing.
“What about the ring?”, he asked.
The blacksmith was quivering in anticipation of his own foreboding and imminent demise. He fell to his knees, clutching at his impressive beard.
“The ring?”
“Yes. The ring.”
Scream suddenly realized that he had not spoken to another human being for two years. Alone in the mountains he had forgotten his rudimentary knowledge of the complex mountain dialect grammar. The dialect had 7 genders: neutrum , masculine, feminine, he-goat, she-goat, things oozing from or hanging from ram, and things dropped from or belonging to she-goat. He was confused as to which gender the goat-headed serpent belonged.
“He gave you a ring with a black stone .. and around it a red goat-snake biting itself in the butt of her, or himself, didn’t he?”
Scream smiled to himself. He felt that he had come up with a workable solution to the tricky bit of grammar.
“Yes…Yes!”
The man was crying, sinking to his knees, raising his hands now containing great tufts of his beard to the sky and sobbing uncontrollably,
“So that’s why you came back. The Great Musk-Ram of the underworld sent you back to get it, didn’t he?
And I, poor, lost soul, I sold it. Long ago. He said to give it to you when you were nine years old, but I sold it instead.
Now you will claim my soul as interest!! And rightly so! I deserve it!
But great Musk-Ram be my witness! I only did it to cure the limpness that destroys the pride and the soul!”
By now Scream was getting quite worn out by all the sobbing, quivering and ripping at the beard. He had never before suspected his supposed father of being such a drama queen. He had once stood in awe of this powerful and cruel man and now he was quickly losing all interest in him,
“To whom, or, who to did you sell it … to? I mean … Who bought he/she/it/he-goat/she-goat, etc.?”
Scream still felt that he was on shaky grammatical ground.
“Why, the travelling gypsy hag that comes by the village once a year. She gave me six bottles of the magical Elixir of the Ram-Hangings that makes the crippled warrior stand proud and erect again.”
Scream looked away from the pitiful creature in front of him. He gazed into the black night at the path that led away from Athens, away from Petrovic, away from overrated she-goats and cruel goatherders. He looked into the night and he saw a vague glimpse of his future and his destiny. He saw a path that seemed to stretch into eternity and into the stars, and he saw pitfalls, monsters and dangers, but also beautiful women, fame and fortune. In one instant, he knew that he would leave Athens, never to return.
Now he knew what to do. He had to find the gypsy woman and retrieve the ring. The ring was the only sign of his true origin, it could even be a key to his true family and his true identity, and who knew, maybe even his destiny.
Chapter Two: The Search for the Gypsy Hag
An untiring figure was striding through the deep snow of the Greater Caucasus Mountains. He was covered in animal hides. No one saw him go and no one heard him vow never to return to the village of his childhood. If anyone could have seen him they would have been dumbfounded to discover that this was just a child of eleven. The grim determination of his features and the wiry strength of his frame so belied his age.
Across his shoulders he carried the headless, half-frozen corpse of Babuschka, the old she-wolf, his only friend on earth, who had been killed by the blacksmith of Athens, Georgia, the very man he had thought to be his father.
Scream had decided to pay his final respects to Babushka by stitching together a new outfit from her pelt. He already had the design worked out in his head. It would be unlike anything he had ever seen in the village. A tight fit with extravagant lacing showing off just enough skin to pique the interest.
The boy did not know it, but the blacksmith’s elixir had begun to take effect.
Before leaving the village, Scream had gone to the blacksmith’s house and gulped down the last remaining bottle of the potion that the blacksmith had claimed would make “the crippled warrior stand proud and erect again”. Being in his soul only an innocent child, he had not understood the double entendre of the man’s words.
Scream had supposed that the words simply meant that the liquid would make him a strong and fierce warrior and he had convinced himself that the precious fluid was his by right, since it had been purchased with the ring that had been his inheritance.
Striding through the mountains, however, he could not fail to notice certain unusual emotions rushing through his body and concentrating on his loins. With great surprise, he found himself thinking of a village lass, whose beardless cheeks and well-trimmed moustache had once caught his attention. He did not realize it yet, but Scream had discovered lust, for he had drunk from the Elixir of the Ram-Hangings, which makes viagra compare to a coffee sweetener.
The drink was not meant to be taken by one so young, however, and certain unforeseen side-effects were already starting to occur.
Unknowledgeable about women, Scream had no real object for his passionate adoration — apart from his own person. He started singing to himself:
“Red red blood, blood! You´re hot! So hot!
The snow is cold! So cold! And I am not, not, not!”
TO BE CONTINUED …
The Kraken Remembered – Interview w. Killer |
>>Take it from the top! |
The Kraken Remembered – An Exclusive Interview with Killer
By Vanessa Warhead
Kraken, the Kraken, friend foe or vessel? … And how do we pronounce it?
He’s feared by mariners, scuba divers and astronauts alike. He dwells in the sea but comes from space. Apart from being huge beyond human reckoning, he is also part squid and part polypi, with a touch of genius! His powers of mind control surpass even those of the Jedi masters, and once, in a chess game with Yoda, the little fellah came up short. About the true nature of his intentions there has been much debate, and opinions about his political aspirations fill seven volumes at the Köngeliches Bibliteches den Haaargh in Den Haaargh, Holland. In recent years, a rogue conglomerate of academics have formed the theory that Kraken is in fact a vessel. Is Kraken good or evil and will he float? We can’t answer that, but one thing’s for sure. Size does matter.
I recently hooked up with the man behind the Törment classic to ask him a few questions about the creation of the song.
Vanessa: I am very happy you could find the time to see me. I know you have a quite busy schedule.
Killer: Ja, wir are being real busy right now.. in attempt to make der reconstruction of lost recordings for 1987 hair metal album “Kaltes Nacht, Heiser Würstchen”. Original recording war lost in die explosion of studio, hech hech! Wir are using der neues technologie und auch our memory … it’s not easy.
Vanessa: How do you feel about Boa quitting the band?
Killer: Sad, but also strong. Strong und sad.
Vanessa: I see…
Killer: You don’t really… Der strength ist in die numbers … und auch in der Stahl!
Vanessa: OK … I want to ask you about the writing of your classic song “The Kraken”. You wrote it pretty much on your own, right?
Killer: True! I make das sketchen auf die electro-lute back in Schwarzdorf … Und dann I was meeting up with poet for making of introductory poetry … Alfred hast by die wörter gecharged. Das war nicht cheap, I tell you, hech, hech!I was having dieser vision of how I could like das song to be und I try to describe to Alfred … Lots of die tentaklen und einer gloomy mood … how to describe … fishy! Fishy, wet gloom … und auch das doom, of course! Lots of doom … und then we add water! He did great job, der Alfred! Grossartig! You know, Kraken ist being die enemy of der mankind! He hast been sitting at sea-floor seit always …und always watching und waiting, waiting und watching … excercizing und controlling us from the Deep. Und das war die feelings I try to create. Timeless schreck und mind-control.
Vanessa: What about the rest of the lyrics?
Killer: Well, I do some, Scream do some. Ist alles happy metal melting pot. For an example: I say off top of das kopf: “Kill! Kill!” … und Scream kommt with die great rhymes like … Will, steel or smell! … Or bill! That part is easy! Und great fun!
Vanessa: When did you record the song?
Killer: Ach… Ich glaube es war 2005. Das previous recording from vieleicht 1987 was lost. I believe O.J. pawned only copy for half a bottle of schnapps, ja? Hech, hech! This time we all went out to Seidenburg, at the Long Lake shoreline… Studio Götterdämmerung – It means in Englisch, Dam of the Gods… Or Damn The Goths…I don’t know for sure.. These things are difficult. Language und stuff.. You bist with das studio familiar?
Vanessa: No, not really…
Killer: Well, I tell you, it’s something else! Im mitte of forest, on top of das hill. Big place… Scream used to doing work there, so we get die studio time for peanuts. Hech, hech! … But das recording equipment was really crappy … Not tight at all.
Vanessa: What was the band lineup at that time?
Killer: Me on lead guitar, Scream auf die screams und das singing, Rostock on backing vocals, O.J. on das bass, Boa on die kettles, und of course Gölem was there, too. This was before he left for das Icy Wasteland. He did a great job with vocals and additional guitar-tracks… His anger really shows on das final mix. The recording ist raw und strong … just the way we are liking it!
Vanessa: Any closing comments to your fans out there?
Killer: Ja! Stay strong und healthy! Build up your characters with das metal music und weights! Stay true, stay real, stay metal! … Stay hungry! Drink beer, not wine! Don’t whine! Stay strong … keep it real!… Rock hard … er … have I been forgetting anything?
101 Rules of Black Metal |
>>Take it from the top! |
by Harry and Steve of Kail
1. Don’t be gay.
2. Be “true”.
3. All people who aren’t “true” are gay.
4. Be grim.
5. Be necro.
6. Be simultaneously grim and necro if at all possible.
7. Break things while being grim and necro.
8. Don’t have fun at concerts. Stand around with arms crossed.
9. Repeat all above while denouncing organized religion in any form.
10. Never ever, EVER under ANY circumstances…
11. …Listen to Peccatum.
12. When someone asks you if you enjoy the music of Mayhem, point out that you only enjoy the music of “the true” Mayhem. Maniac is gay.
13. Don’t play with fuzzy things, excepting that by “play” you mean “burn”.
14. Don’t be Dani Filth.
15. Never, ever, under any circumstances utter the phrase “Kenny G slams, man.”
16. Don’t be Dani Filth.
17. When your mom tells you to take out the garbage tell her that you’re too metal to remove refuse.
18. Run for it!
19. Sodomize a virgin whore.
20. Sodomize anything that is not male. (Fuzzy things look out!)
21. Make sure your album goes out of print about 3 years after its release… so it becomes ‘cult’.
22. When in doubt, say “True Norwiegian Black Metal!”
23. If that doesn’t work, blast beats can fill any silence.
24. Turn any cross you find upside-down.
25. Nipple twisting is not a blackmetal activity..
26. Write a cult, underground, grim and necro zine. Feature only interviews with bands no one has heard of, even “true” blackmetallers.
27. Never ever, EVER, EVER be open-minded.
28. Never write songs less than 15 minutes long and containing less than 15 adjectives in the title.
29. a) paint face go in woods. c) act like troll.
30. Don’t be Mortiis (or Dani Filth).
31. Don’t wear white shoes after Labor Day.
32. Don’t make jokes only your mom would get.
33. Don’t make jokes.
34. When in doubt, scowl with eyes downturned.
35. Don’t eat Marshmellow Peeps.
36. To producers of black metal albums: remember…no low end! If it doesn’t hurt to listen to, it can’t be “true”.
37. Make sure that no less than half of the musicians on your album are “session” members.
38. When in concert, always growl names of songs so that they are imperceptible. This will ensure that anyone who doesn’t have your “cult” LP won’t get it.
39. Never play live.
40. When getting ready to go to a show, completely forget that the other people there are not going to the show to look at you.
41. Use barbed wire whenever possible. (Note: this assists in being both “necro” and “grim”.)
42. When asked by a non true BMer what BM is, say something like, “BM is the raw essence of pure black evil in man”, in any case, make sure that by the conversations end, the other person still has no idea what black metal is.
43. Drive one of your band members to suicide, and claim he died because of the “mainstream” “infecting” the “scene”.
44. Reform with “old members” and release an album intended to produce commercial success.
45. When it flops say that you meant it to fail cause anything less wouldn’t be “true”.
46. Have a side project. Ensure that all other members of your band also have side projects.
47. Fill out the other slots in your other member’s side projects as “session” musicians.
48. Record everything in the same studio with the same producer/instruments/equipment/etc.
49. Make sure your album cover never consists of more than three colors (color options allowed: grey, black, white).
50. Publicly state that your band is “non-religious”, then use the word “Satan” over 400 times on your one-song thirty-minute album.
51. Never stuff your shoes to make them appear puffy and avoid the wearing of backwards baseball caps if at all possible. Red ones in particular.
52. Insist that music should never progress and that it should still sound the same way it did 9 friggin years ago.
53. Never say “friggin”.
54. Never finish anything you start.
55. The word “Hail” is the only appropriate greeting whenever greeting someone “true”.
56. If feeling especially true on a given occasion, try “Infernal Hails”.
57. All logos must include illegible writing and at least one inverted cross and/or pentagram. This is non-negotiable.
58. When referring to sex with a Metal Chick use only the terminology “sticking my clouded frost-spire into her gates of attrition”.
59. Design complex logo for your grim black metal band on binder paper in the middle of math class.
60. Accept every interview you’re offered…then pretend that you really don’t enjoy being interviewed.
61. Thoroughly enjoy Star Trek: The Next Generation.
62. Wait… scratch that last one. (See rule 1)
63. Never divulge to any outsiders the Exact Day of the Divine Arrival of the Massive Hoof. Instead, inform them that they should be ready to suck the Dark Lord’s greasy @#%$ at any time.
64. Use the phrase “suck the dark lord’s greasy @#%$” whenever possible.
65. If you ever find that you have somehow become a member of Hecate Enthroned, be sure to piece together a music video of scrap footage of yourself walking around in the woods at night looking evil. Only, instead of being night make sure it’s the middle of the @#%$ day, and instead of looking evil, look dorky instead. (See also: rule 1)
666. Own hundreds of black metal albums, demos and bootlegs. Listen to approximately 8 of them regularly.
67. Humping a ceramic Virgin Mary in front of your uncle’s house is not “pimping it” (unless you tell her you’re done then blow in her face like a shotgun when she turns around).
68. Refrain from using keyboard smilies when communicating via the Internet. Single acceptable smily: -(
69. Why isn’t the word “Northern” in your album title yet!? Get to it! Amatuers…
70. Spelling things correctly is neither grim nor necro.
71. Norsk Arysk Blak Metal! Rahhh!!
72. No matter where you’re from, pretend you’re from Norway and therefore ‘true’.
73. Don’t be Dani Filth. (I think that’s clear)
74. All pets you own now will henceforth be known as “Crucifier”. Any pets you own in the future will also be known as “Crucifier”.
75. True black metaller: “Many of our dark hymns are influenced by the mighty Tolkien… You have not read the works of Tolkien!? Nerd. Wait a minute… It appears I am the nerdy one after all!”
76. @#%$, I’m talking to myself again.
77. Norsk Arysk Blak Metal! Rahhh!!
78. That’s better, on with the interview!
80. Create inverted crosses in all possible instances. Suggested tools: Drum sticks, twigs, pool cues, pencils, etc. (See also “clouded frost spire”)
81. Profess publicly that you are a Satanist and add that you are in touch with Norway’s ancient Pagan past. Pretend that somehow those two facts make sense in conjunction.
82. Stick your dick in the mashed potatoes.
83. Don’t make Beastie Boys references.
84. Don’t make references.
85. Satanus. Huh huh huhuhuhuh.
86. Huhuhuhuhuhuhuh.
87. If possible, design the title of your album so that it consists of three completely unrelated words. Dimmu Borgir are the master of this (i.e. Enthrone Darkness Triumphant, Spiritual Black Dimensions, Puritanical Euphoric Misanthropia, Godless Savage Garden) but you may also want to refer to Immortal’s “Diabolical Fullmoon Mysticism”.
88. As we all know, women have no place in the homoerotic world of black metal, but if your girl friend still won’t stop bugging you about wanting to be involved in your band, give her a lame spoken word part or something.
89. Never form a band containing you, your wife and/or girlfriend, and some gay looking guy. (See also: rule 11)
90. Go to bed when your mom tells you to.
91. If it’s rare, it must be good. Order it immediately.
92. I will not add that as it is not metal enough.
93. Are you metal enough to be reading this?
94. Own every Darkthrone release. Listen to exactly none of them.
95. Own cult-as-@#%$ shirts of bands you not only own no releases of, but also haven’t even heard.
96. Use the phrase “cult-as-@#%$” whenever possible.
97. Attempt to randomly throw the word “@#%$” during random segments of your songs. (Kindly refer to Attilla’s work on De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas.)
98. In order to make your recording more incomprehensible and therefore more “cult”, be sure to either select a singer who has only a tenuous grasp on the language to be sung. (Acceptable languages: Norwegian, Latin, Orcish.)
99. I’ll tell you what your album lay out needs…Some titties.
100. And you know what else? How long since you acted like a troll? Pick up that makeup and fight, soldier!
101. You mean to tell me you read this whole thing when you could’ve have been prancing about in the forest with an axe? For shame! For shaaaaame!!
