WTF015 - Petrified / Mortified.
(2 CD Download 183MB)
See inlay for details.
01 - Children.
02 - Too much.
03 - Song for Paterson Joseph.
04 - At the arse-end of the rainbow.
05 - Commercial Love Song.
06 - Children, acoustic.
07 - The Final Girl.
WTF015X – Mortified
01- History Today.
Original 2002 Rant:
It was raining, and someone was making off with the rugby posts. They looked official (well, they were wearing jackets, which was more than we were) so we left them to it.
The last time I left Bridgend Football Club was quite memorable, and is written about in an older rant elsewhere, so I was quite apprehensive. God knows why, we weren't going to be working with any of the same people this time round, and how many of them would've remembered the morning after? Everyone was drunk.
The Crabmobile has been donated to a worthy cause (something to do with research into the effects of concrete on metal, don't ask me), so we currently have to get everywhere in The French's car with assistance from Petrified and our feet. Consequently we asked Nuke if we could borrow their kit via the medium of Glyn, thus freeing up ample room for a monkey in the car. They said this was fine, which was nice of them, and so we arrived in a convoy of sorts.
03- Utilising blasphemy as a seduction technique.
Noquenda have a beast of a kit. It looks like a small, industrial city when all the lights are on, with their thunder-footed drummer leering like a giant radioactive dinosaur over his puny human slaves. They've already arranged planning permission, and a crane is just lowering it onto the stage. In a moment reminiscent of Independence Day a weird shadow lowers itself like melted black ice-cream down the walls of the club. Everyone gasps as the temperature drops at least five degrees.
“Christ almighty,” someone says. “What happens when you switch it on?”
We meet Nuke and Recoil , who are both a lovely bunch of lads, and Glyn gives us a Commemorative CDR with a track from each of the bands playing tonight. He also gives us a hefty chunk of his past as a present, which was a bit shocking to begin with, but we'll look after it for you. Cheers!
After the soundcheck I want to quit this damn stupid charade and go and live in Scotland .
06- Song for Paterson Joseph.
My mood lifts a bit as an audience begin to form. As everybody's wearing a black hoody it feels as though the room's growing somewhat darker and smaller. Small things begin to nuzzle your legs, strange voices ask if “You got a light?” and unseen arms knock your beer over. All the signs of a good audience ticked off, and Teflon 's little eyes beginning to shine. Should be good.
Recoil (no, not that one) have a couple of technical problems, but look like they had a lot of fun. I've decided that both they and Nuke fall into the rapidly growing genre of music titled: Bastards Who Are Younger Than Me. It's an all-encompassing title that can be applied to almost anything, from the foetus boy who won Pop Star Idol to the latest mop-topped ex-colonial no-marks to come stumbling off a plane, clutching Mojo .
Where is there space in rock for tambourines?
Answer: Nowhere. I won't elaborate as the argument has a mooncalf-homunculus-shaped hole in it.
08 – The Salt Flats.
Noquenda are blistering. The tiles of the club crack under the assault of the singer's throat, tiles and walls are sucked away by the beyond-hellish winds summoned by the guitarist, the bass lines readjust the earth's tectonic map and the drums... The drums...
Fully activated the kit is amazing. Bristling with armaments and tiny cymbals, it glistens under the creaking lights, a savage technological totem to the primal gods of rock. The beats tear the flesh from our faces and scatter them to the unnatural, screaming winds. The final note blasts out a sonic tsunami. A shockwave that destroys all it touches. Buildings are thrust aside like sandcastles beneath a caterpillar tread. By the time the shockwave reaches the sea its fury is almost spent, but enough force remains to create a further, literal tsunami that destroys Norway , Greenland , Iceland , the Inner and Outer Hebrides, and ultimately Hawaii . Throughout the Rout of Britain The Reverend has noticed, from our orbiting shield platform, that Noquenda 's drummer hasn't once stopped moshing.
The destruction of the United Kingdom is, as you may have gathered, a tricky act to follow.
09 – At the arse-end of the rainbow.
I think we did all right. Lots of people looked scared, and a few (very fine) even wanted their new purchases signed. Bridgend gigs are a lot of fun. They remind me of playing Newtown , so maybe there's something to this “black hoody” stuff after all.
10 – Propaganda.
Remember, if anyone asks, we're “Tart Noir”.