Tuesday, February 21, 2012


I grew up with only the best. My mom listens to classical music, although over the years that has been mystifyingly diluted with shit like Mantovani and Andre Rieu. My dad, who used to be the coolest cat on the block - and played drums for a rock band of some description - was into the Animals, Troggs, Shadows, Stones and Beatles. Even more interestingly, my younger sister is responsible for showing me the way, the truth and the light. She introduced me to such wonderful delights as SLAYER (you always write SLAYER in capitals), Metallica and Sisters Of Mercy. Not to mention such gems as Psycho Reptiles and No Friends Of Harry.

Being the sharp little kid I was before severe cirrhosis of the liver and the inevitable accompanying brain damage, I quickly and keenly immersed myself into the wonderful world of music, discovering, exploring and pushing all the boundaries. I vaguely recall spending all my time and money browsing through huge racks of records and poring through magazines, on a permanent quest to find out about, and listen to, everything I could get my grubby paws on.

It stands to reason that, like any other drug, the fixes got less effective over time and as the years passed, my tastes became more eclectic and, for lack of a better word, underground. And heavy.

Anyway, all this actually is of minimal interest other than to illustrate what an absolute music geek I am. If it has to do with music I'm generally interested, if not already involved.

So as I'm sitting in my office (in the music industry) I decided to see how far I could push my colleague. She's into light, inoffensive dance music. I sent her into near cardiac arrest with a little bit of surprise Septic Flesh. The Amon Amarth got a set of eyes bigger than saucers accompanied by a strangled whimper. I thought perhaps toning it down a little would help ease her into it, but by the time the strains of "I Am Hell" by Machinehead made it through my tinny speakers I thought I'd lost her altogether!


It's a bit one sided though, considering I had to put up with Adele (and that bitch can wail) sodomising The Cure's "Lovesong". No one is allowed to cover The Cure. Some things are sacred. Joy Division is also pretty much a no no. There has been to this day only ONE exception, and that is the live version The Sleepers used to do of "Lovesong".

Says he who is, as we speak, working on his own Cure cover...

To be fair, it's less of a cover and more of a general guideline en homage to The Cure, since we aren't really technically gifted enough...

And speaking of covers, keep the 14th of April open. On that night you will be swept up, astounded, and overwhelmed by the sheer majesty of the selection of Doom Metal classics on offer - being played for you. At ROAR. Only, we're not telling you which covers are being done, we're making you guess. We'll leave clues and hopefully by the time you pitch up ready to be overawed, you will have a fair idea of what to expect. Diarise and watch this space. Event details coming shortly.

And that's what I'm doing tonight, re-hearse-ing for the show. At 2 bereavements per minute. With a sliced up finger.

NGDG: "I'll probably be in heaps of trouble tomorrow. But heaps are easier to shift when you recall that you're no longer a child with a pink plastic spade and you can now wield a pickaxe like Stakhanov."

Spread The Love. Turn It Up!

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