judgmental prick/beast from the East

In a genre so beset by poseurs and hipsters, it's hard to find new worthwhile metal in this world. I've largely given up on discovering new American metal that's actually worthy of its namesake. But thanks to the Information Age in which we live, I've found at least two acts that are currently profound and interesting music. The first is Tengger Cavalry, which, from what I read, is a one-man band out of China with partial Mongolian ancestry. Long have I been enamored with Mongol history and culture and also with the various peoples that express their musical voice in the form of throat signing. To the average Westerner, I'm sure, throat singing just sounds bizarre and alien, but after immersing myself for so long in this style, the beauty and emotion are latent. Perhaps what stands out most of throat singing is that it sounds inhuman, nothing like what we consider in the West a "beautiful singing voice". I find it closer to black/death metal vocals that have only arisen in the past 25 or 30 years. If we look at the cultures from which these different voices derive, we find some similarities. My theory is that Mongols and Tuvans developed their unique vocals from the seemingly endless years they spent (and still spend) riding the harsh steppes of Siberia and the Gobi, where desolation thrives and human edifices dot not the landscape. There is an overwhelming emptiness here. Life is sparse, wind, earth and sky are everything. It's Mongols who long worshiped the Great Blue Sky and all it encompasses; it was Genghis Khan who wished to unite all of humanity under its banner. For the metal vocals to which I was referring, I'll just stick with Norwegian Black Metal of the late 80's/early 90's. These people found their heritage in the vast forests and frigid mountains of Scandinavia, in the icy fjords and snow that never melts. If we look at their Viking heritage, we find similar people: consummate warriors, great travelers, prone to extreme violence with a mind to conquer, and unarguably tough as nails.

Exhibit A:

Tengger Cavalry's music just takes me away to another world, a place where modern life does not bombard me with constant lies and fake morality. It is a place where survival supersedes all, where life and death's meaning haven't been obscured by boredom-induced neurosis over trivialities. The music is alive with the strife of tribal war cries and the idea that the world is as large as one's horse can take them. I find this fusion not only fascinating, but lasting. I've searched through much Chinese metal, and discovered that most of it is generic and simply emulates the cliches brought about by more mainstream metal. It seems they've simply tried to recreate substandard Western metal, and, for me, does nothing. There's too much uninspired, boring metal as it is. But that's the way it goes nowadays, a broad spectrum to appeal to the masses rather than a deeply introspective and unique take on the genre. For every Burzum, there's a thousand Dimmu Borgirs. What I find most dreadful about most Chinese metal, is that there is no reflection of their culture present in the music. I've gone on about this before, but their history and cultural roots extend much farther than Europeans in terms of civilization, and to me, should be inescapable to the creators. To deny all that seems disingenuous and makes for uninteresting music. Tengger, on the other hand, embraces the rich musical history of his ancestry and has created some absolutely breathtaking and original metal. It just works.

Exhibit B:

As extensive as my love for metal is, death metal was one genre that has really not intersected with my interests until very recently. It's always been there in my periphery, but never really came into the forefront. There always seemed something not all that engaging in it; it appeared to me, in a way, that it was heavy for heavy's sake, without truly creating a profound listening pleasure as did, say, Norwegian Black Metal. Of course, my perceptions of the sub-genre, for the longest time, were bands like Cannibal Corpse and Six Feet Under, who are rather dull. Years ago, I read the anus.com review for Massacra, whose album "The Final Holocaust" they deem as the best album in the style. Say what you will about those at the ol' anus, but when it comes to true and worthy metal, they're above and beyond anyone else on the internet. I recall downloading a couple of Massacra's tracks, not knowing they were from the "Demo '88" version of "The Final Holocaust" and not the album proper from 1990. The definitive versions on the album are far different from the early rough cuts, but both are brilliant in their own way. The "Demo" versions allude to a thrashier origin, more related to the early Slayer idea of mixing NWOBHM and hardcore punk, them speeding up and amplifying the fuck out of it, whereas the official album is undeniably real death metal, a progress fulfilled.

Still, by and large, I'm not as infatuated with DM as much as other metal, but along came Chaotic Aeon out of China, and I felt after listening to it, how I should after most good metal: like my ass has been kicked. DM has been so marginalized since its inception by mainstream "tough guys" who co-opted the riffage to emphasize how bad ass they are, all the while creating garbage music that contributes nothing to the tradition of metal. It's a ploy, a sham, a sad effort those more concerned with creating an image and a style, to convince other (and themselves) that they too can be metalheads, without understanding or respecting the genre itself. But in this time and place: "It's my music, bro, you can't tell me otherwise!" So weak, ineffectual rock band continuously rehash the angular guitar riffs of old metalcore bands like Integrity or Rorschach, all the while their music is actually more akin to pop or it's just a simulacra with the actual intention to just "have fun" and "party", when metal is not about that. At all. Metal has always been for the alienated, the outcast, the ugly, those who can't/don't/won't conform to the sheepish ways of their peers, for those who know that the music the majority loves is just empty and invalid entertainment, meant to keep you sated and satisfied, whereas metal has always been about hungering for more than the scraps you're given by family, religion, society, education, etc. It's not about just accepting people and ideas for who and what they are because that's what this modern liberal society dictates that you do. It's more based on Mongol society in the time of Genghis: merit and what you can bring to the group. If it's honest and intelligent and devoid of ineffectual pandering, then it's accepted. Metal is not pop music; work is not considered important because "Hey, this sounds good", there underlies a deeper meaning to it beneath the abrasiveness and screaming/growling. It's about how a few wolves can decimate and scatter the flock of sheep, not becoming a mindless herd itself.

Exhibit C, just because it's so goddamn good, even better than the original, in this judgmental prick's humble opinion:

Thank you, Mr. Zimmerman

No, I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief
Perhaps I’d rob them

And now I know you’re dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don’t you understand
It’s not my problem

I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you

Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You’d know what a drag it is
To see you

Pleroma Pie

Driving home through wind sharpened by ice, I turn on 98.7 in the car, as my cd player has been malfunctioning due to the cold, and I hear a short piano piece, obviously written for the harpsichord or clavier, and for a couple of minutes, I'm absolutely mesmerized by the combination of melody, harmony and skill. Like so many times when I listen to that station, I wait patiently for the end of the piece to find out what it is I just heard. Peter Vandergraaf's baritone voice soberly tells me it's this:


Not ashamed to admit that I thought of tears whilst hearing this. I didn't cry, but I was so moved by this piece, a short and masterful work of the early 1600's in this almost unrelatable modern day. But there is only so much I can say, the real beauty is in the hammer hitting the strings.

apparent chaos

Though I'm not the misanthrope I once was, I still maintain a general dislike for most of humanity. Nothing personal, I just view these people by and large according to the Carlin Personality Types: stupid, full of shit, and fucking nuts. Some people are indeed all 3. Yet...I still care, obviously, enough to rant and rave about it to whomever might be so inclined to read. And why? Simple; because you people FUCKING FASCINATE ME. Whether it's someone who exemplifies bold and courageous action, intelligence and wisdom, or supreme idiocy and pointless drivel, I'm ever amazed and perplexed by what I see. And I'm addict for what confounds me. I'm not one to let mysteries go unsolved; I seek to know more than anything. But then again, I'm not really one for incessant questioning, I prefer to discover facts & truth on my own accord. I'm a sucker for questions with no easy answer, or even none at all. But that has its downfalls, of course.

Being lost in a labyrinth can be exhilarating and a gainful challenge, but with it comes frustration, repetition, and the occasional despair. But all the absurdities, all the wastes of time and energy, all the dead ends...they ended up amounting to a worthwhile understanding, something I can't really express here in words, an acquired intrinsic element to my mentality. Not all questions can be solved, but we can attune ourselves to how we deal with apparent chaos in our lives. After all, imperfection is the essence of our existence, making perfection its antithesis. We can only strive for what's real, not what's ideal. Remember to breathe.



"There is no reality
This is a mere dream"

For me, I find the value in hardcore for a sense of outward experience, my demeanor to the world. In metal, I find to truly gain anything from it, it's best for solitary listening, in meditative states. Integrity is where those two roads meet, music simultaneously designed for destructive moshing culminating in an egregious display of "fuck you" to the world and being in communication with the internal consciousness as it transcends the oppressive mind to portray the infinite and inhuman.

Say What You Mean

I recently watched Bertolucci's "The Last Emperor" in its entirety for the first time, and within the near 3 hours, one line really stuck in my head. The child emperor asks pedantically one of his favored eunuchs why he must learn to read and write. The eunuch (played by Victor Wong, grandpa from 3 Ninjas!) responds to him calmly: "Because your Majesty, if you can't say what you mean, you will never mean what you say!" I know this phrase, or variations thereof, is a sort of common cliche or proverb, but it intrigues me to think of its origins and place in society.

Immediately I'm reminded of Confucius, who taught actions supersede words and that words should always match the action ("Perfects acts need no words"). For a language I don't speak, I'm utterly fascinated by it. Whereas in English, our thoughts our expressed in combinations of basic phonetic symbols read left to right, top to bottom. Chinese is expressed in symbolic ideograms ranging from a few simple lines to immensely complicated representations, but still only sounded by only one syllable, sometimes two, written perpendicularly to ours, top to bottom, right to left. From what I've gathered in the various novels, histories, and poetry I've read, the words are concise as can be, while expressing complex ideas. Economy of language, which I learned from Ezra Pound years ago, finds its hallmark in Chinese. I think I'm so interested in it because of its diametric opposition to English, a hodgepodge language filled with illogical nuances, that somehow is both extremely effective and highly insufficient in terms of expression. We also seem to be a society that gives far more attention to those well-spoken and wordy rather than those who embrace action first and speak little of it.

I'm not sure why I find myself so engrossed in a culture so far removed from my own in both time and place, but Confucianism just makes more sense to me than the world of Christendom that has encapsulated this hemisphere. In an effort to say what I mean, I would say that I'm a humanist in the original Confucian sense, that we forge our own destiny within our natural world, but not in the modern liberal sense, where the notion that the world is imperfect and somehow owes people idealism. "Certain unalienable Rights" are a very nice, quaint idea, but let's not forget they were drafted by slave owners who also said "all men are created equal". America is a great place to live, don't get me wrong, but we were founded on an inconsistent, contradictory basis. Now we're barely out of the primordial cave, but such is the modern mentality where it seems most people think we've reached our evolutionary apex and things are just great and swell the way they are and they should stay this way, awash in mediocrity the "freedom" to do as you see fit, no matter how idiotic and useless it is, as long as no one gets hurt, right? Evolution isn't linear, we are not moving towards one great human utopia on earth. These things move in cycles, it's about adapting to your environment, a process that will not, that cannot, ever end. But now, people largely seem content just working, buying things, accepting endless indoctrination whether subtle or latent, buying more things, working more to pay for those things, and trying to believe that everything will turn out a-ok, as long as the taxes are paid.

I often think of what it would've been like to know a world without rampant technology, without television, cell phones, internet, recordings of music, central air, indoor heating and plumbing, prepackaged food, etc. To me, it would seem a person lacking all these things would be a more "real" human, a more complete one. We have the option now to give up so much of our lives to technology (not judging here, I do it plenty) in lieu of dealing with reality. There's certainly nothing wrong with technology, in and of itself, it's all in how we deal with it, what uses we make. Seems beyond insane to me that in America within the next 10 years, a majority of people will have or will desire a 3D television, yet we'll still be in the dark on curing major diseases, not killing one another over matters petty and political, and what the hell to do with all these starving homeless clogging up our streets. Americans focus A LOT of attention on trivial matters and doing things simply for fun while the country as a whole shows its fractures.

But ultimately, what does one do? Lament all glaring errors and lose your own life trying to fix everyone's problems? Not give a fuck and just have fun, regardless of reality? Again, I find my answer in a Chinese proverb: "If a man does not discipline himself, he cannot bring order into the home." It all must start within the individual to make a conscious effort to effect civilization into the shared human world.

Also: "To keep things going in a state of ten thousand cars: respect what you do and keep your word, keep accurate accounts and be friendly to others, employ the people in season."

Yet we live in a ferocious and hostile world. How can this be? My guess is that ethics are not fully ingrained into humanity yet. We have them and they make sense on paper, but we're still not at that point where we can be a civil and peaceful populace, if it's indeed possible at all. The only thing one can really do is act civil in their own way and promote benefice in their own natural way. It's simple to be a human, but it's not easy.

3 Tenets

Address blind faith.
Challenge hypocrisy.
Correct ignorance.

Wherever you go.

It took years, but I now relish it when my ideas are challenged and people tell me I'm wrong. One's conceptualized thoughts can only grow so much inside the mind; they must be put out there, they must face defiance. Without rivalry, stagnation occurs. Without enemies, there are no heroes.

All things maintain a natural aversion. Best not to try to escape it, lest we lose our own reflection.

New Mosh Generation

"Did anyone call shotgun? SHOTGUN!" I yelled as we prepared to depart Cheeseville. Yeah, I took front seat and I'm not even in the band. The sun had just gone down and the chill began to rise, but felt good after breathing in spray paint fumes in the basement. Evan made a "RISK" stencil and he, Varg, and I sprayed each CD individually. If you got one, I wouldn't recommend putting it in a CD player you give a shit about; there's a good chance that stuff will chip off inside of it. I think the first 50 copies of the Risk demo will suffice as more of a collector's item. Just download it for free anyway: http://www.megaupload.com/?d=SBX7LJBP


Half-buzzed from a couple Old Style's and a hitter or two, Danny and I tried to find ridiculous music on the radio to sing along to. I think we hit gold with GNR's cover of Dylan's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door". I can never contain my laughter when Axl sings "Hey, hey, hey hey hey hey" in his overly-nasal style. We were all laughing pretty hard, trying to keep the chorus going and throwing in various other GNR lines into the mix. After that song, I jumped around the radio when I hit ELO's "Fire on High" which I switched off much to the chagrin of Evan who yelled and demanded I keep it on. I'll admit, it's a nice little piece of music...

After what seemed like an egregiously long ride, we arrived in the alley behind the Albion House. Two other vans were parked, hazards on, with the other bands carrying in their gear. We began to unload when I noticed a police car coming up the alley. For as long as I can remember, cops have made me uneasy, even if I'm not holding or doing anything that would warrant trouble. Always felt they were more interested in just fucking with people rather than the whole "serve and protect" facade. But we went about our business as they ticketed the van belonging to Like Rats and no one else. It's things like this that kinda legitimizes my paranoia. At any rate, we got everything safely inside, had a smoke, and went in search of food. Diego instructed me to a nearby Mexican place (tacos al pastor is my staple hc show food) but I couldn't find it, so we got falafel instead. We scarfed it down ASAP as there was no way we were missing Black & Blue, aka The Chris Schuman Experience. Chris is a dude whose friends I've known for years and vice versa. He comes from Elgin where I used to work, with several of his longtime friends actually. And in that interim of me being "out of contact" with the S-Wood Fam, Schuman and Diego befriended and now live together (Whipple Wimps). Anyhow, he was already drunk when we got there around 6:30 and continued to pound beers until they played. Since my dumbass left the Wild Turkey at home, I mooched beers off of Peach and Evan and even went so far as to drink a Four(not a Loko) to maintain the slight drunkenness.

B&B began a little before 8, with guitars feeding back and Schuman pacing around goonishly as a good hc frontman will do. He certainly looks the part. I couldn't quite make out what he said before they started, just that it ended with "we're Black and Blue! Fuck you!" Their style is straight ahead hardcore, fast but not too fast, with mosh parts but not excessive to the point of just being dumb. I remember in the first song Spider bursting out from behind me and doing his running mosh, which to those unaware, means "FUCKING MOVE". Evan came out to the floor, most likely to maintain his title of Chicago's number one mosher, which he did with ease and brutality. He even threw in a few spin kicks that caught a couple of people on the arm. Dude is a joy to watch if you find hardcore dancing interesting. Often times I'll be more focused on the maniacs in the pit than the band. And there certainly was plenty of action here, with Schuman dropping the mic and slamming various attendees against the plywood over concrete walls. During the first song, his mic got unplugged and the band just kept playing while he fucked with the cords. He re-electrified it just in time to finish the song in a dramatic move. After much pitting (not from me however) they went into a cover of Minor Threat's "Salad Days" and "I Don't Wanna Hear It", both to excellent reception. Their next song really grabbed my attention with the groovy guitar line backed by a raging rhythm section. I had no idea the title or words, but I hope to in the near future. Truly not bad for a first show.

As always, I stood outside with a drink and a smoke waiting for Risk to begin. Varg was out there, too, while the rest of the band set up their stuff. Varg does what he wants, don't forget it. I was somewhat surprised by the small crowd that night, however. There is usually a much bigger turnout, with the basement and backyard filled. I'm not sure where everyone was and I wasn't aware of another show that night. On the plus side, a non-packed basement meant one could actually breathe and not tempt heatstroke.

The blunt Evan lit up was intended for after the set as a celebratory inhalation, but he had the good sense to light it up right as the band started, announcing Risk's new mantra: "If it ain't gettin' puffed, your ass is gettin' snuffed." He passed it around to the band as they were tuning up, getting that tension going that I've come to expect from a good band. Danny passed it off to me then I to Schuman and that first crash was heard followed by that infectious bass line into "WE'RE RISK!" Unfortunately the mic went out, so Evan just sang with outspread arms. There was all sorts of mayhem and plenty of ignorant moshing. Evan's banter was just priceless, especially when he called me out as Risk's "only real fan". Big Wheel needs the publicity. Probably the first and last time you'll hear a Discharge cover out of them. Best moment by far was after one of their songs, Evan put up the "T" sign with his hands and took some sips of water. I yelled out, "There's no time-outs in hardcore, pussy!" He managed to spray a perfect mist of water right in mine and Schuman's face. Chris responded with a loogie shot perfectly into Evan's ear. Had he been lacking earplugs, that would've been a horrendous wet willy.

Their set reminded me of some MW lyrics:
"We are the army of drunks
Our weapons are set to destruct
We've come to punish all foes
Now it's our time to erupt!"

It appears the NMG is going to be fueled by alcohol, THC, and whatever toxic shit they put into energy drinks. Another awesome, unpredictably chaotic show from Risk. My only hope is they get more destructive with each set. Someone needs to promote utter foolishness since Duress ended...

After the set, I was approached by a super-drunk older guy from the "cornfields" who had that look of pure happiness on his face, the kind that actually manifests physically within the body. He raised his fist for me to bump and seemed highly appreciative of all the ridiculous action. I had never seen him or his two friends before, but he was telling me how much he loves these kinds of shows and that they never happend where he's from, wherever that is. Sometimes it's these interesting random meetings that make these so much fun. I went out for some air, which felt amazing after standing amongst so much body heat in that cramped basement. Danny brought the van back around and we proceeded to load it back up. I think I scored another beer from someone at that point and went down to check out The New Yorker, featuring members of Raw Nerve or something. RN's a pretty good band, much better live than on record I think. I think TNY would be the opposite. I recall it sounding cool, but not something I want to stand around and watch at a show. Schuman resurfaced at this point with a bottle of Jimmy from the liquor store which he so graciously allowed me to sip from, then he disappeared again, probably to puke then get more booze.

The only time I've seen Like Rats was their Black Flag cover set at the Albion House Halloween show. Turns out they don't really sound anything like BF at all. Their style is one of relentless hostility without sounding like typical tough guys. What I really liked about them is that their music is constantly ripe for moshing of all sorts without trying to be. It's not garbage "mosh metal" that's become so popular nowadays; it is what is without some stupid label that predicated the music. People were moving furiously for this band, including those aforementioned dudes from the boonies. I swear, one of them looked just like Grover Gil from A Christmas Story. It was a lot of fun to watch that little guy spin around and throw fists. At one point, one guy took a nasty spill and smashed his knee real hard on the floor. People went to pick him up but he yelled to be left alone and, like a fucking man, army-crawled out of the pit where he eventually pulled himself up and went outside. Like Rats finished out their brutal set to a great reaction from the (relatively) minimal crowd.

I think it was around this time that I ended up in a somewhat heated argument with Jeff Klepper about China. His stance was "Fuck China. They've never done shit", while mine was "China's always been more advanced than the West and will probably take over the world someday." It got kind of stupid but entertaining. We never finished our debate, but I think I had the winning hand. He gave me some of his Bacardi Raz (I did what I had to, alright) later on so it was all good.

In a brilliant move, we walked to the liquor store where Peach bought a 6-pack of Old Style tallboys; what a fucking lifesaver.

Razorfade was up next to finish out the night, their first time headlining in Chicago. I found it quite humorous that a straight edge band was playing after all the drunken debauchery and pot-smoking that went down. The singer, Carlos, is one friendly dude however, and member of the Streamwood Families. I've always enjoyed seeing them play, a blistering, ultra-angry youth crew style, with plenty of beats for dancing like a crazy person. I think they covered Minor Threat too (guess which song!) to a crowd of equally enthusiastic moshers. Carlos really tears it up in that respect, with his lanky arms and long legs flying at top speed as he runs back and forth fluidly. Best to stay out of his way. Other than their set at My Friends, The Pit earlier this year in Indy, this was definitely my favorite time I've seen them. It's interesting to not think of them as a "newer" band anymore. They've definitely become a staple of Chicago hardcore.