I didn’t even know Omerta existed until December of last year when I and two other WKNC DJs took the drive to Greensboro to see Loathe at Hangar 1819.
Though they weren’t headliners, their captivating stage presence and savage energy riveted me. Following the show, I immediately went home and listened to their entire discography.
Five times over.
America’s Most-Hated Boy Band
Based in Houston, Texas, Omerta fuses 90s metalcore with vaporwave and cybergrind whatever those words mean to create a uniquely hardcore sound.
With a website still under construction and an enigmatic style reminiscent of 2010s tumblr-era “girlcore” aesthetic, Omerta is an up-and-coming brand bringing an air of innovation to the scene.
“Hyperviolence”
Released as the band’s debut album in 2020, Hyperviolence is vicious and vile in all of the best ways.
With a runtime of just under twenty minutes, the album passes by in a feverish haze.
The album’s multiplicity of styles serves as a testament to the band’s experimental nature. Each song has a distinct sound and draws from a combination of stylistic methods.
The album’s opening track, “Payback,” has a trap metal slant while the final track, “Hyperviolence,” leans towards a metalcore style.
“Garbage,” the 4th track on the album, has clear contemporary emo influences.
This blending of styles makes each track particularly engaging.
Every time I listen, I notice something new.
“Antiamorous”
Omerta’s most recent single, “Antiamorous,” is a testament to the band’s stylistic metamorphosis.
Featuring former Spider Gang member JOHNNASCUS, the song hints at an interesting new direction for the band’s discography.
Aptly described as genre-defying, the 3-minute song is almost epsodic in nature.
A mix of metalcore, trap metal, emo and other niche influences, “Antiamorous” literalizes the term “listening experience.”
It was sometime in the winter when I heard Dead Kennedys for the first time. I was living in the passionless coastal town I’ve mentioned in posts before, friendless and freshly eighteen and so bored it hurt.
I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom with the screen door open, letting the cold winter air spill in.
My phone lay on the floor beside me, playing music from some strange YouTube ripoff app, the kind that you can’t find for free anymore after YouTube started its own subscription service.
I hadn’t yet surrendered myself to the trendy green music subscription that all the other cool teens had, so this was my only option. The app operated similarly to the company it was spoofing, only on a smaller scale that allowed for simultaneous watching and browsing.
I can’t remember what exactly I was doing at the time, only that I was letting the app cycle through random songs, not really listening, until a certain turn of phrase caught my attention:
We’re sorry, we hate to interrupt But it’s against the law to jump off this bridge You’ll just have to k– yourself somewhere else A tourist might see you and we wouldn’t want that
Dead Kennedys, “Soup is Good Food”
Maybe it was the irreverence of the statement, but something about it struck me particularly hard. I immediately paused the song and restarted it, this time listening intently.
Up until that point, I didn’t know music could be that way: unabashed, unapologetic and unrestrained.
You Made a Good Meal
“Soup is Good Food” was not the first Dead Kennedys song I heard, but it was the first I really paid attention to.
“Jello Biafra – Dead Kennedys” uploaded by catharine_anderson to Wikimedia Commons, licensed CC-BY-SA 2.0
Released as part of the band’s 1985 album “Frankenchrist,” the song describes (quite blatantly) the plight of the working man in a post-industrial society.
Not only is the working man disposable, but society punishes him for resenting his condition, all the while remaining cheerily apathetic to his misery.
Depression, exhaustion and poor working conditions are socially acceptable in this dystopian society. In fact, this corrupt “system” is fueled by other disenfranchised and disposable workers.
We know how much you’d like to die We joke about it on our coffee breaks But we’re paid to force you to have a nice day In the wonderful world we made just for you
Dead Kennedys, “Soup is Good Food”
This situation isn’t foreign to us. It’s a reality, perhaps even made worse by the innovations of the internet and artificial intelligence.
Killing the Industry
In my opinion, Dead Kennedys is one of the most archetypally punk bands to exist.
Formed in 1978 in San Francisco, Dead Kennedys debuted with their first recorded single, “California Über Alles,” the following year.
The song, a sardonic attack on California Gov. Jerry Brown, was succeeded by the release of “We’ve Got A Bigger Problem Now” about President Ronald Reagan.
Both songs likened the two politicans — one a liberal, the other a staunch conservative — to fascist dictators, highlighting the invariable corruption of power when married to a politican’s ideals.
Cover for “Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death” by Dead Kennedys
While Dead Kennedys frontman Jello Biafra eventually conceded that he was “off-base” with Gov. Brown, he levied criticisms regarding Brown’s apparent hesitance to “stand up to the rich people and the land owners who don’t think they should have to pay taxes for the public good.”
Biafra’s readiness to disparage any politican or public figure he felt deserved it, regardless of their political affiliation, colored the work of Dead Kennedys for the remainder of his career.
With the influence of Biafra, Dead Kennedys became a vital cultural force against the social and political climate of the 70s and 80s.
The band was also brazen in its condemnation of the music industry, illustrated with their track “MTV – Get Off the Air” in 1985.
How far will you go, how low will you stoop To tranquilize our minds with your sugar-coated swill You’ve turned rock and roll rebellion into Pat Boone sedation Making sure nothing’s left to the imagination
Dead Kennedys, “MTV – Get Off the Air”
Biafra took great issue with MTV and other similar companies, which he saw as merely the extra limbs of a larger, hegemonic entity.
For Biafra, music was a tool of insurrection. Fame and wealth were unimportant; what Biafra really wanted was to rile the masses, radicalize the youth and make the people in power uncomfortable.
“Riling the masses” is not a new concept for punk, but Dead Kennedys did it arguably better than many others.
*cough cough* Sex Pistols *cough cough*
Final Thoughts
Listening to Dead Kennedys and reading transcripts of Jello Biafra’s spoken word poetry leads me to beg a very age-old question:
Is punk dead?
Counterculture eventually manifests its own type of conformity and stricture. Fashion becomes a uniform and community becomes exclusivity.
Looking at how self-proclaimed “punks” navigate online spaces (Machine Gun Kelly), it can be fairly easy to lose faith in the grassroots core of “punk.”
But when I go to a punk show, I feel a lot different. There’s energy there, barely-restrained fervor that gives way to complete abandon as soon as the music starts.
There are people in studded battle jackets and crust pants, sure, but there are also kids in graphic tees and girls in dresses and fishnets. There are people standing at the edge of the pit and waving lost hats, glasses and wallets.
That’s what punk is to me: people who love wild music and hate the government crashing into each other in a whirlwind of cathartic kinesis.
So, punk isn’t dead. Not really. It just isn’t living on Instagram or Tiktok.
Cover for "RePorpoised Phantasies" by Machine Girl
It’s undeniable that social media has heavily influenced music.
From the recontextualization of the industry through new marketing opportunities to the pervasion of the infamous “tiktok song” phenomenon, the way we consume music — and the way certain artists rise to mainstream popularity — owes itself largely in part to social media.
Such can be seen especially in the realm of alternative music, with once underground genres permeating into the broader subcultural consciousness.
“Atari Teenage Riot 2010” This image was originally posted to Flickr by Libertinus, licensed CC-BY-SA 2.0
Of these genres, breakcore in particular stands out.
What is Breakcore?
A “normie” friend of mine once described breakcore as “electronic music for anime fans,” which is somewhat true in describing the genre’s contemporary sphere.
However, the “electronic anime” style many consider to be breakcore is actually far removed from the genre’s original sound.
Cover for “My So-Called Life” by Venetian Snares
Breakcore emerged in the 1990s as the “bastard hate child” of jungle, happy hardcore, gabba, speedcore, drum ‘n’ bass, techno, IDM, acid, ragga, electro, dub, country, industrial, noise, grindcore, classical music, hardcore, metal and punk.
This auditory hodgepodge arose in response to the rise of fascism — both figurative and literal — in mainstream society. The choppy, experimental and erratic styles of breakcore spat in the face of hegemonic consumerism, capitalism and white supremacy.
With no specific melodic style, the breakcore sound derives from a mixed bag of styles “cut and pasted” from different genres to produce elaborate beats.
Since its inception, breakcore exists as a plastic organism. Constantly in metamorphosis, breakcore is directly influenced by the time in which it’s produced.
In sociologist Andrew Whelan’s article “Breakcore: Identity and Interaction on Peer-to-Peer,” he asserts that the breakcore genre’s development is fueled by online and peer-to-peer distribution.
Thus, contemporary breakcore possesses a distinctly “internetcore” style with influences from anime, video games and pop culture.
Modern breakcore engages with a distinctly online space, often mingling with aspects of glitchcore, vaporwave and other internet-born genres.
Cover for “WLFGRL” by Machine Girl
Growing from the digital hardcore scene of the 2010s, contemporary breakcore is not only built on sound but aesthetic.
With the rise of online “aesthetic culture” and the dissemination of the “alt” label in subcultural spaces, artists like Machine Girl and goreshit capitalize on the duality of sound and presentation.
Some critics argue that this quality undermines the genre’s originally anticonsumerist convictions, with breakcore songs reaching internet virality through apps like Tiktok and Instagram Reels.
Perhaps I will cover the “tiktok song” phenomenon in a future article.
Final Thoughts
While I don’t think it’s necessarily vital to understand the history of breakcore, I do think it’s sociologically valuable.
Much like language changes over time, so does music. And for a genre as malleable as breakcore, it can serve as a sort of time capsule for the era in which it’s made.
Something about that is extremely cool to me, even if it means the genre is moving farther away from its original purpose.
This summer has been an interesting time for music.
In my personal life, I’ve dedicated myself to cultivating my baby brother’s blossoming interest in different genres. His journey began with a timid interest in trap metal and currently spans numerous metal subgenres, experimental music and classic punk.
He’s also acquired a taste for 2000s-era emo music.
It’s amusing — and existentially terrifying — to see my fourteen-year-old brother listen to the same razor-edged songs I listened to over eight years ago.
I guess good music (and teenage angst) really does transcend generational gaps.
In the name of broadening his musical horizons, I’ve started taking him to shows. Of these shows was that of Black Bouquet, a Raleigh-based gothic rock band, at Durham’s The Pinhook.
Unfortunately, COVID-19 necessitated the show’s cancellation. So while this article was originally intended to be a concert review, I’ll take the opportunity to shine some light upon an excellent (and underrated) local band.
Black Bouquet
Black Bouquet defines itself with many labels. Among these are “gothic rock,” “post-punk,” “jangle pop” and — what my brother most appreciates — “emo.”
Having listened to most of Black Bouquet’s discography, I definitely see the band as more emo than goth.
I largely attribute this to the work of lead vocalist Violet O, whose beautifully moody voice evokes the sensitivity and raw emotion that defines the emo genre.
Cover for “Haunt Me Once More” by Black Bouquet
The band’s gothic slant derives from their use of synths and melancholic string instruments, with their track “Footsteps” presenting a bass strain reminiscent of Lebanon Hanover’s “Gallowdance.”
However, where Lebanon Hanover delves deep into a cemetary-like gloom, Black Bouquet’s sound is upbeat and transcendent.
Discography
The band debuted in October 2020 with the single “Until You’re Gone,” an exuberant track with jangly instruments and a beautiful harmony between Violet O, drummer Michael Rumple and Violist Laura Mooney.
The EP consisted of “Until You’re Gone,” “Just Kids” and several new tracks.
Cover for “Until You’re Gone” by Black Bouquet
The band’s latest release, their 2022 single “Footsteps,” is another impressive addition to their lamentably short discography.
An energetic, rock-inspired guitar contrasts with a morose and cold bassline before the rhythm takes on a pop-like beat. O explores the harsher side of emo vocals with several evocative screams, which accompany a vigorous guitar and drum combo.
Though “Footsteps” isn’t my favorite Black Bouquet song, it demonstrates the band’s experimentation with different qualities of the genre.
This summer, many bands I listen to have been hard at work putting out new releases. Here are my thoughts on three new singles by three great artists.
Vandal Moon
Vandal Moon’s newest single, “Heroine Dancer,” came out on June 30. The six-minute track seems handcrafted for the dance floor.
Cover for “Heroine Dancer” by Vandal Moon
With weeping synths, industrial-style percussion and a sensual beat that thrums throughout, “Heroine Dancer” compels the listener to dance themselves.
A simple song about dancing and love, “Heroine Dancer” is something to get lost in.
Active since 2014, Vandal Moon describes themselves as “propagating our sound through the use of synthesizers, guitars, chant, tambourines, drum machines, vodka and psychedelics.”
While I don’t see “Heroine Dancer” as psychedelic or particularly enigmatic, it’s certainly a fun song.
The track certainly stays true to ULTRA SUNN’s signature style. With cold rhythms and echoing vocals, “Broken Monsters” is both danceable and sensual.
Cover for “Broken Monsters” by ULTRA SUNN
A contemporary EBM/coldwave duo from Belgium, ULTRA SUNN spearheaded their career with the release of the single “Night is Mine” in 2019. Since, they’ve released several singles and EPs.
While I won’t say “Broken Monsters” is their best work, as I prefer their second most recent release, “Kill Your Idols,” the track definitely succeeds in capturing the essence of ULTRA SUNN. I hope that as their career progresses, the duo experiment with other musical substyles.
Male Tears
Songs by Male Tears go one of two ways for me. Either I love them instantly, or they become something of an acquired taste.
Self-described as a “California synth duo,” Male Tears started their career in 2021 with their first self-titled album. Since, they’ve made waves in the darkwave scene with their uniquely camp style.
While I like the sweet melancholy of the song’s melody, I find that the vocals straddle a thin line between lo-fi and simply poorly executed.
Cover for “Sad Boy, Paint My Nails” by Male Tears
Songs by Male Tears typically feature stronger vocals. “sad boy, paint my nails” attempts to capture something more plaintive, which I appreciate in essence but find myself struggling to connect to.
While part of me likes the song, I’d probably skip it if it came up on my streaming feed. I anticipate that in the fall, which tends to turn my tastes towards the morose, I’ll have a greater appreciation for this track. However, right now I definitely see it as one of the band’s lesser releases.
It’s a common misconception, especially for those ill-acquainted with alternative music. People like to slap the label “goth” on anything even tangentially dark or edgy, even when it’s far from what goth actually is.
And while I don’t consider myself a purist by any means, nor find myself particularly bothered by the misattribution of “goth” by subcultural outsiders, I do think it’s interesting to explore what separates “goth” from “non goth” in terms of music.
Goth, like many others, is a music-based subculture. While the distinctive stylistics of goths are widely-known — all-black clothing, dramatic eye makeup, back-combed hair and intricate accessories — the music that inspired these looks is not.
“Goth” actually encompasses multiple genres of music. Several major genres are goth rock, death rock, post-punk and darkwave.
This week, I’ll be focusing on defining darkwave and recommending some excellent darkwave artists.
The Sound
Darkwave music is melancholic and gloomy.
With heavily synth-based sounds and a slow to moderate tempo, darkwave tracks put a depressive spin on the ebullient tones of mainstream new wave while maintaining the high energy of post-punk music.
At the time of its development, “goth” referred exclusively to the realm of gothic rock. While contemporary circles generally accept darkwave as “goth,” the subculture of the 80s necessitated a distinction.
Cover for “A Kiss in the Dreamhouse” by Siouxsie and the Banshees
As darkwave spread across the globe, it disseminated into various substyles such as ethereal wave, neoclassical darkwave and dark cabaret.
In the 90s, a second wave of darkwave artists emerged.
Artists from this period include Corpus Delicti, Lycia, Black Tape for a Blue Girl and The Frozen Autumn. Some of these bands drew inspiration from the otherworldly style of Cocteau Twins while others delved further into cultivating cold, deeply atmospheric sensations.
In the 2010s, bands like Drab Majesty, Boy Harsher, Void Vision and Kontravoid spearheaded another darkwave revival, building their respective sounds around the many substyles living under the darkwave umbrella.
Living in a coastal town was certainly interesting, especially at the end of tourist season. Watching well-off middle class families fill the beaches with garbage and watching long-time residents struggle under the brunt of property damage incurred by hurricane season definitely helped radicalize me.
It was a strange period. I spent most of it alone, and thus listened to an exorbitant volume of music. The following playlist is a compilation of some of my favorite tracks from my time by the beach.
Not all of these bands are actually surf punk, but they share a similar energy and style that embodies the experience of summers by the coast.
The Playlist
“Stay Close to Me” – Bad Brains
“I Luv I Jah” – Bad Brains
“I And I Survive” – Bad Brains
These three tracks certainly play on Bad Brains’ reggae influences, with softer vocals from lead singer H.R. and a slower, twanging melody. I personally recommend the “Omega Sessions” version of “I Luv I Jah” for its cleaner vocals and smoother audio quality.
“A.M.” – Beach Goons
“Choker” – Beach Goons
“Anirak” – Beach Goons
Based in San Diego, Beach Goons delivers surf punk music with strong Latin influences. Their music captures the often melancholic liminality of living by the coast, with a sound that reminds me of summer humidity and fogged-up windows.
“Pheromones” – Meth Wax
“Invocation” – Meth Wax
“Arachnophobia” – Meth Wax
With a distorted lo-fi style, Meth Wax’s songs are consistently dazed, lustful and unusual. Though based in Athens, Georgia, Meth Wax maintains an ebullient sound that leads many fans to consider them surf punk (at least in spirit).
“Smoko” – The Chats
“Pub Feed” – The Chats
“The Clap” – The Chats
The Chats are a pub-punk band from Queensland, Australia. Their chaotic, disaffected attitude and rocking melodies make them a fun and youthful band with a sound that pairs excellently with summer drives through congested tourist districts.
“Spanish” – Jurassic Shark
“Pacing Tigers” – Jurassic Shark
“Order” – Jurassic Shark
With soft, indie-adjacent punk music, Jurassic Shark captures sensations of yearning, ephemerality and youthful excitement. Smoky lo-fi vocals contrast with clear, artsy strains of guitar.
On Monday, a fellow DJ and I took a drive up to Richmond to see Liturgy perform live at the Richmond Music Hall.
Everything about the experience was surreal.
Richmond is a beautiful city. It’s a real city with a real city feel unlike that of Raleigh or Durham. Something about it felt historical, or perhaps I was just exhausted from the drive up and easily impressed by cool architecture.
Liturgy performed in Raleigh a couple nights before, but we’d decided to catch the all-ages Virginia show instead. It became something of an adventure, driving over a hundred miles to catch a live show in a small bar.
And by the time we headed back to North Carolina, we were both haunted by the majesty of what we witnessed at the Richmond Music Hall. Though the trip itself was tumultuous (read: exhausting, physically and mentally), it was ultimately worth it.
.gif from god
The first openers of the night, .gif from god are a 6-piece whitebelt screamo band. Based in Richmond, the band were comfortable on their home turf. It was interesting to see a “local” band play in an area that was foreign to me but familiar to many of the other attendees. There’s a special sort of liminality to such spaces.
I actually didn’t realize until they took the stage that the band’s members had been leisuring outside the venue when we arrived. That’s another thing I really like about smaller shows; you end up sharing the space with the artists rather than merely intersecting for a brief time and then moving on.
cover for “...defragmented...reformatted” by .gif from god
.gif from god was ravenous. Between the distorted guitar, brutal drums and virulent vocals, the room became something of a hornet’s nest. Even when the bassist snapped a string and was forced to briefly play without it, the band (and audience) never lost its energy.
Things became so unrestrained at points that several audience members took to the pit to gesticulate wildly in a frenzy of fists and feet. By the end of the set, my neck was sore and my heart was beating ferociously.
The HIRS Collective
The first thing I noticed about The HIRS Collective was the magnitude of amps they set up onstage. Like some kind of IRL tetris, the assemblage mystified the audience. I can remember hearing people behind me comment on the likelihood of long-term hearing loss following this set, and I was glad I’d brought my earplugs.
Cover for “The First 100 Songs – Remastered” by The HIRS Collective
They made this fact abundantly clear as they prefaced their set by dedicating their work to all trans women who exist, have existed and will exist.
The HIRS Collective delivered a unique and heavy performance, blending disco-inspired dance music such as Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” with visceral metal vocals. As expected of a queercore band, The HIRS Collective was unabashedly hardcore and unafraid to have fun onstage.
I’m not sure if I will ever again have the privilege of witnessing a room of metalheads hesitantly headbang to Whitney Houston.
Liturgy
Liturgy is a “yearning, transcendental” black metal band from Brooklyn. Headed by vocalist and guitarist Haela Ravenna Hunt-Hendrix, Liturgy is both a musical project and a work of experimental, theologic art.
Upbeat strains of guitar and bass coalesce with Hendrix’s icy screams, creating something that punctuates the concept of music as an experience.
Cover for “93696” by Liturgy
The show was ritualistic. Moving to the music was like moving in accordance with a divine heartbeat. The audience became a single entity, thrumming rhythmically like a complex piece of machinery, waxing and waning like seagrass buffeted by the tides.
Such is the effect of Liturgy’s music, self-described as “[existing] in the space between metal, experimental, classical music and sacred ritual.”
I had a weird time last week. After contracting a cold from a Durham Chuck-E-Cheese’s, (I won’t add context) I spent around seven days in such acute respiratory distress that I reckon I only slept about three hours each night.
When you’re deprived of sleep, reality becomes indistinct. Such an effect is only furthered when you continue to attend your regular 9-to-5 and self-medicate with menthol-strawberry flavored lozenges.
It was during this strange and (frankly) horrible time that I became slightly unhinged. The only thing that kept me sane was the collection of music I listened to as I struggled to fall asleep.
I first heard Babes in Toyland at three in the morning as I lay on the couch sipping my third cup of herbal tea. Considering the band’s sound, it’s a strange juxtaposition.
Babes in Toyland was an American rock band formed 1987 in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Though the band no longer exists, it certainly left an imprint on the music world.
“Babes In Toyland performing in Groningen, Netherlands, 1991,’ uploaded to Wikimedia Commons by Greg Neate, licensed CC BY 2.0
The Band
Babes in Toyland consisted of a series of women, ultimately ending with frontwoman Kat Bjelland, drummer Lori Barbero and bassist Clara Salyer (brought on in 2015).
Bjelland and Barbero met at a mutual friend’s barbecue, laying the foundation for what would eventually become one of the most inlfuential female-fronted bands in the alternative rock scene.
Before disbanding in 2001, the band produced three studio albums, “Spanking Machine” (1990), “Fontanelle” (1992) and “Nemesisters” (1995).
The band was known for its particular brand of harsh rock music, with Bjelland’s screaming voice and lashing guitar mingling with the intensity of Barbero’s drums.
Though not technically a “feminist” band, Babes in Toyland covered themes related to female empowerment and feminine rage.
I, I live in the densest corner Of the deepest mind of the f–most room And sing “the stars they swing from their chandelier strings” (I know real love) You know who you are You’re dead meat, mother– You don’t try to rape a goddess
“Bluebell,” Babes in Toyland
Riot Grrrls
While their sound is decidedly more grunge than that of their many contemporaries, such as Bikini Kill, Babes in Toyland is largely considered to fall under the “riot grrrl” umbrella.
Riot Grrrl, born from the culture of sexism rife within the punk community, grew into a culture of its own with the efforts of inspired, passionate and angry young women.
Babes in Toyland captures this anger in a bold and brash display.
Cover for “Nemesisters” by Babes in Toyland
Some tracks are purely vengeful while others are irreverent and sardonic. They’re consistently punchy, tinged with a classic grunge smokiness around the edges.
Lyrics are cheeky, insolent and occassionally abusive, laden with vulgarity, profanity and innuendo. Listeners are struck by a sense of brilliant confidence, a kind of uncaring conviction typically reserved for men.
I wear the same face as you And you share my sick point of view But I do hate you Vomit my heart Pull my head apart Vomit my heart Pull my legs apart
“Vomit Heart,” Babes in Toyland
This doesn’t mean that Babes in Toyland is necessarily masculine, but rather that they redefine and recontextualize what femininity can be. Listening to their discography doesn’t invoke a sense of imitation, but rather the creation of something original and wholly unapologetic.
Cover for “Fontanelle” by Babes in Toyland
Their work is inspiring. Kathleen Hanna of Bikini Kill testifies to this, stating in an interview, “Even in the ’90s, Babes in Toyland was a band that was hugely important to us and we were like, God if only we could play awesome shows like Babes in Toyland.”
For women and girls feeling displaced in the music scene, it’s a valuable experience to not only look up to a female-fronted band, but to look up to a female-fronted band that’s arguably heavier and harsher than many of its male-fronted counterparts.
Cover for "Only Theatre of Pain" by Christian Death
“Only Theatre of Pain” is the first studio album by American goth band Christian Death. This album is exactly what I would imagine as the backdrop for a Poppy Z. Brite or Anne Rice novel, something vampiric and sensual and darkly romantic.
Released through Frontier records on March 24, 1982, the 16-track album is 52 minutes of pure gothic insanity.
Christian Death 12/3/1982 at the Cove, Hermosa Beach, CA. Rozz Williams (vocals) & Johnnie Sage (guitar) pictured, picture released into the public domain.
For individuals interested in getting into goth music or for those simply curious as to what “goth” sounds like, “Only Theatre of Pain” is by far one of the most archetypically goth albums I can recommend.
The album smacks of classic goth aesthetics, with invocations of magic, blood and allusions to religious texts and the works of Poe. Each track is its own story, united under a cowl of enigmatic mystique.
It’s a riveting experience.
The Album
The album’s opening track, “Cavity – First Communion” starts with foreboding church bells and a swell of drums and guitar.
The melody is warm and vaporous like incense smoke, the trilling guitar at times echoing the cries of a church choir. Vocalist Rozz Williams falls in with his distinctive voice, both raspy and insouciant, and weaves together a tapestry of dark poetry.
Let’s skirt the issue of discipline Let’s start an illusion With hand and pen Re-read the words and start again Accept the gift of sin The gift of …
“Cavity – First Communion,” Christian Death
Following this song is “Figurative Theatre,” one of Christian Death’s most popular tracks.
The song opens with with immediate energy. The rolling guitar slant is classic. Every time I hear it, I know exactly what’s coming next, and that’s the brilliance of Rozz Williams’s penchant for extended metaphor. This brilliance pervades throughout the rest of the album.
“Rozz at Daucus Karota concert,” uploaded to Wikimedia Commons by B. Dippel, licensed CC BY-SA 3.0
Breath ballet prancers spin on porcelain backbones A child’s muddled cry turns into hilarity Ungracious freeloaders leave their dead on a doorstep Flowers of doom all bloom in prosperity
Their razor sharp tongues invite to relax As they slip the skin on your eyelids back Invasive spectators get into the act With roses and candles, silver knives and spoons With silver knives and spoons
“Figurative Theatre,” Christian Death
What I most admire about Christian Death is the way lyrics are translated through the mechanism of Rozz Williams.
His lyrics are intentionally abstract, blending imagery both horrific and holy to illustrate an ambiguous picture. When paired with his irreverent voice, otherwise grotesque concepts become dramatic and theatrical.
The album’s tenth track, “Prayer,” is a sort of intermission — largely instrumental and avant garde (reminiscent of the sounds of Williams’s Shadow Project) — that ushers in the following (bonus) track, “Deathwish,” and its melancholic nihilism.
I see the end, I see the end Well it was open so I crawled inside And someone up ahead was crying Well someone up ahead was dying Lost in the darkness, lost in today…
“Deathwish,” Christian Death
Another notable track, “Desperate Hell,” opens with an eerie harmony of ghostly wails, drums and guitar. Williams’s quavering voice enters before the melody becomes manic and straight-up dastardly as the song’s speaker is dragged into eternal damnation.
Final Thoughts
For fans of the esoteric and occasionally inscrutable, “Only Theatre of Pain” is a valuable resource.
From start to finish, the album is a journey. Perhaps even a horror, with the lurid and the beautiful posed side-by-side. Rozz Williams does not tell the listener what to think, but rather creates a vivid picture to do so for him.
Through the progression of abstract concepts, Williams tells a convoluted tale of perversion and devotion and subversion.
Every time I listen to the album, I notice something different. The album is so multitudinous, both in its lyrical construction and experimental sound design, that there seems to always be something new to notice.
