WTF023 - The Beast Must DIE!
Coppula eam, se non posit acceptera jocularum .
These are actually hidden tracks. Like the ones you could find on the first X-Files tie-in CD if you scanned back beyond the first track. There used to be a lot of things like that on CDs, hidden tracks lying in countdowns and the like. It was great.
Fuck your future. Fuck it hard.
Chapter 1: Think!
I knew the Beast wasn't going to die easily. The week before the execution was a nightmare. The heatwave was getting worse and there was just no chance to get any sleep. My voice was still fucked from the previous rehearsal which was disheartening like you wouldn't believe. The decade hung like an albatross and I felt so numb and disassociated I just wanted it over and done with.
In the end I just pulled on the executioner's hood with the big shit-eating grin on the front and dragged myself through the fucking hours. It was too important to enjoy.
Chapter 2: Perfect couple.
Nameless was always going to fail, even adding squares didn't changed the mathematics of predestination. It was always more than the sum of its parts and barely a band, more a Greek tragedy with its own downfall encoded within the fatal flaws masquerading as DNA.
And that's what made Nameless so fucking glorious.
The intervening decade since the last red wedding had added weight, stolen hair and given us all the chance to mature. Whatever it was that signalled the previous massacre had lost all power.
I'd worried that we'd be executing the wrong Beast. That somehow a hideous miscarriage of justice would take place and a blameless innocent would stand on its many legs in front of the baying crowd, waiting for their crimson baptism.
I'm very pleased to say that all those fears were misguided. The fucker put up a hell of a fight in the end, but that's because it knew it'd run out of excuses and delays and appeals. There wasn't going to be a reprieve. No last minute telephone call. No sudden twist.
It took over an hour to slice through the neck. And it made a hell of a fuss while we did it.
Chapter 3: Keeping you.
Big J once smuggled me and a fuckload of issues of Propaganda into a Manic Street Preachers gig that led to a reverse epiphany. I stared into the abyss of all possible futures and every one – every fucking one - was Faustian.
For a time we were here and for a time we mattered. That's all any band can ever aspire to.
Chapter 4: I (who have nothing).
My Grandfather played piano for Cardiff's Favourite Daughter once. Years later he followed the fine family tradition of drowning in an armchair. I'm looking forward to my turn, but I'd rather be eaten by a shark. Or a lion.
Chapter 5: Too much.
Dedicated to Francis Bacon , Coil and Tom Baker . In my head.
The Werewolf Break.
By the end of the execution Clwb itself was sweating. Still barefoot, I made my way down the stairs and outside into the muggy Doctor Who location porn.
After a few minutes I felt ready to go back in. The doorman stopped me and said tha wasn't going to happen.
“No shoes. Health and safety.”
You let me leave though.
I've just done a gig, mate. Don't be an arse.
Somehow I got back in. Mark Foley made a point of grabbing me. He had something to say, but I'm afraid it was personal, so fuck you. Ask Future of the Left . They know.
Chapter 6: Identity.
There really are cursed songs. This is one of them.
Chapter 7: Milky 23.
I'd been dragging this song around for longer than most of the weird shapes in the splash zone had been alive.
Chapter 8: Children.
Everyone should read Pork by Cris Fredi . If you can find it.
The lyrics to this song are superb. The music to this song is superb. Don't know why, but I hate it.
Chapter 9: At the arse-end of the rainbow.
(Opens another beer.)
Y'know, I like you . Really. I think you 're ace. You 're smarter than all those other fuckers, and I like what you 've got going on with you r look. I'll let you into some secrets, yeah?
Firstly, this was almost the best Nameless song. Yes it was.
Of all the songs performed this was the one that morphed into something new. The song recorded in Le Mons in 2002 doesn't carry the same meanings that this version does. I think it's beautiful.
Chapter 10: The Salt Flats
When this was first recorded, Nameless was burning so bright that beds actually caught fire.
I played it to someone at the place I was working at the time.
“You'll not be working here for long if you're writing songs like that.”
Chapter 11: Propaganda.
Midnight openings. Signing sessions. Professional jealousy. Pushing the boundaries of what you can get away with if it's catchy and there's no swearing because no-one ever listens to the fucking words .
Propaganda was about all of that and much, much less.
Girls who smoke are sexy.
Yes. Yes, they fucking are.
Chapter 12: Eating people is wrong.
Actually named after an article in the Fortean Times rather than the high-brow sources we later claimed.
Oddly enough it's not about zombies either. I wanted to apologise to the many thousands of people in Iraq who were about to watch their children be torn apart simply because they were an easy target for deaf, cowardly fuckwits. I don't know what the music's about but it certainly fits.
Special thanks to North Korea for making it topical again.
Chapter 13: Utilising blasphemy as a seduction technique.
I put too much of myself into this when we wrote it. It was fucking stupid and dangerous but went a long way to making it far and away the best song we did. No matter what anyone else says.
This song reduced me to tears during one rehearsal. There was never enough distance. I suppose I should've suggested we just cover Gloomy Sunday .
To this day I'll insist that the session version was not only the best recording we ever made, but also a career best vocal performance from me. And that's not arrogant, it's true. Because I know what it's about.
Thanks to Dave Sim , Cerebus and The Big Pink Pixie in the Sky/ Marching With Dinosaurs for the chorus.
I didn't want to introduce the executioners, but it was the right thing to do.
Chapter 14: Needleteeth.
Well, that's childhood over. Time for a new adventure…