Proper Goth Shite: An Introduction (of sorts) to Goth

Today, another strange obsession of mine, well, alright I don’t think it’s strange, but I’m sure some people would. Early Goth. Need I say more? That single sentence should say it all. Gauge your reaction to that, it’ll likely be rather informative, you’re either going to love or hate this, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s become a running theme of sorts; my strange obsessions that is. Well insomuch as one can call three posts a running theme. Truth be told I’d actually hope this’ll convert one or two people out there, stranded on the bleak wasteland that is the interwebz. I’m going to cover three early bands and an album each, as a launch-pad of sorts. I at least hope that’s how this will work. This should also show (I hope) that Goth is a bit of a meaningless tag, each of these bands are rather diverse and divisive, at least that’s how it should work. They should, in theory evoke some strong reactions, like I’ve said, love or hate. All of these bands came out of a rather bleak time, a time coloured by gaudy pop and brainless film. As a result, anything that didn’t sound like it came straight out of candy land was tagged as Goth. I’m going to start off with something may actually be a bit familiar to my (limited) audience.

Ah, yes The Virgin Prunes, they caused quite a stir about Dublin back in the day. Not that I know from experience. I’m sure we’re all familiar with that cliché of Goth music... flamboyant fucks dancing about and singing about flamboyant as fuck vampires or the grave or some other miserable shit, all the while making quite a scene of themselves. Well, this band will be about as close to that you’re going to get today. They were flamboyant, but rather gritty and seedy at the very same time. To put it as Goth...ey as possible, they’re like a pretty corpse, looks nice at first, but as you get close you can’t help but notice how off it looks, not to mention the smell... 

...If I Die, I Die is not only their best album, but the very best introduction to the band. Much as I’d said, it’s flamboyant, but underneath it all is something, odd, something wrong. It’s likely the band’s most complete statement if I can even call it that. Right from the start things are gloomy. The first track is an instrumental that absolutely sets the scene/tone. It takes a moment to really get the gears grinding, much like the title, there’s an air of inevitable doom that surrounds the album. Not akin to the nonsense that typifies Doom Metal, rather a real, palpable sense of doom. That’s not to say there’s not fun to be had. As soon as we hit the fifth track with Pagan Lovesong we see true colours of the music. There’s fun to be had, about the half of the album are filled with jumpy tunes with a nice deep sound. But again, underneath it all there’s a sense of, grime. The album closes much as it opens, there’s a nice dichotomy between those pop-ish tracks and the slower tracks, it’s about 50-50, it leaves the listener hanging by the time the album closes. There are no answers, just like the album title it’s a nice logical statement, it doesn’t really answer much though, it’s an axiom, that’s the best way to put it.

Up next, a personal favourite of mind, Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, much as their name implies, they’re not exactly what you’d expect. One of the many bands who just happened to be tagged as Goth. Are they dark? Yes. There’s a lot of existential fun to be had when listening to them. You’ll hear nothing of vampires and they like, they simply present life as it is, shouldn’t that be enough? They present they ugly side of life. 

Paint Your Wagon is perhaps their most relentless album. At about twenty seven minutes, it’s short, but it leaves quite a burn. I wouldn’t say it’s their best album, but it’s still a powerful one. At twenty seven minutes there’s little left to the imagination. Their music is almost an assault on the senses, best listened to at full volume. It also contains some of their more recognisable tunes, Walking on Your Hands, Jipp and Shout at the Sky to name but a few. Red Lorry Yellow Lorry aren’t conventional listening, you’ll find minimalistic lyrics and quick spirited music, they always leave you feeling a bit angry, but I’d take that as a compliment. There’s so much crap drifting around the airwaves, it’s always nice to hear something that leaves you feeling something. Paint Your Wagon is the perfect introduction, it’s short and sweet and it’ll leave you wanting more.

Alien Sex Fiend are a product of their time, a beautiful, beautiful product of their time. They still make wonderful music, it’s a blessing they exist. Back in the day, it could have been said that Devo were Devo and that there was no other, they were almost a genre unto themselves. Sadly I don’t really think that’s true anymore, now, Alien Sex Fiend on the other hand...

Acid Bath seems to be their most consistently beloved album, it certainly seems to be true that it’s their absolutely accessible album. No whether it’s their best or not, I’m not so sure of that. But like the other two I’ve recommended it’s the best starting point. The first time I listened to the album was... special, I felt a little sick inside and I mean that in the best possible way. It’s nauseating at first. The music is rather loose, as are the lyrics. Sure there are things being said, there seems to be a point to it all, but it’ll take more than one listen to decipher it all. Gloomy is a good word for it all, there’s a pervasive atmosphere, a pervasive weird atmosphere, the closest thing to Gothic I’ve heard on a Goth album. There’s also an undeniable groove to it all. Tracks like Breakdown and Cry and She’s a Killer are just inherently danceable (such a shame I am a man-bot with no concept of dance or rhythm). Acid Bath is some beautiful paradox of an album, you’ll feel sick, like you’ve disturbed some awful smelly monster, yet you’ll come back time and time again for a listen.

Well, hopefully this has been serviceable. Hopefully this’ll have piqued an interest. It’s an interesting genre, Goth. You just have to glean through the crap, but that’s the same for everything.

Also go fuck yourself, you smell and nobody loves you. 

Spaceboy

A Quick Update: Thoughts on Melmoth

I don’t think Melmoth the Wanderer should exist. I’ve read it, a handful of times now, I’ve made sense of the plot, naturally, but... it still doesn’t make sense? I sound crazy, don’t I? Melmoth the Wanderer is a bizarre novel, in the finest of ways, a wonderfully weird novel in the Gothic tradition. The way I understand it, is that Melmoth the Wanderer is not like a real book, it’s like a story within a story (something the novel is very good at, actually!), that is to say, it’s like The King In Yellow, only if the book were actually about The King of Yellow and not the misadventures of those enrapt by said book. Melmoth the Wanderer is fantastical, it reads like the metaphor to another story we simply never hear from. So, how could you possibly adapt the story for stage?

Surprisingly well it seems. A relatively new Irish company (running for twenty five years now), Big Telly, have recently been touring the country with a stage adaption of the novel. I went in expecting the worst, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised. I’ve only been out of the theatre for the two hours, so, my mind is still somewhat scrambled. Even now I’m still trying to put things together.

The play itself does not attempt to control the chaos of the tale, rather it runs with it, unexpectedly it embraces some of the more comical aspects of the story and yet brings something of its own. Each actor brings their own presence to the show, the domineering persona can change within an instant, lights and shadows bound about, the atmosphere is laid thick and the comedy serves only to make light of the human condition. The Wanderer himself joins in on the laughter on occasion, but he laughs not at the comedy, rather the absurdity of it all. He revels in the torturous condition that is life, pain and suffering to him is exquisite, a luxury, he finds pleasure only in the ruthless temptation of others. State and church are a joke, it’s rather apt, but, Melmoth’s life is pain. Deep, right? That being said, the Wanderer himself is not beyond suffering...

Sympathy for the devil.

The stage space is explored with an almost manic edge, as I’ve said, actors bound about, the props are utilised in increasingly inventive ways. Inventive, that’s the show in one word. There is excellent use of a tape recorder, through which the booming voice of Melmoth communicates to the damned, a projector at one point, drenches a backdrop in red as we here gunfire roar to life.

Much like the novel, the heart of the play is twisted. A number of moments are portrayed through devilish pantomime, silent masked figures weave in and out of the scenery without a word of dialogue, the Wanderer’s harrowing tale unfolds through physical expression and a mix of eerie lighting and obscured effects.

Every prop is put to good use.

Purists, looking for a straight adaption of the novel will be disappointed. A great amount of liberty is taken with the source material. It captures the spirit of the novel, however.

Phantasmagoria, shadow play, that’s what it is, at its heart. Shapes move in and out of life and I’m still not one hundred percent certain with what went down. Some actors, double, triple their roles, I lost count to the honest. It’s a savage experience that can both terrify and assuage the heart. At any rate, I highly recommend the show. Check it out... you smelly bastard.

Melmoth is an outsider looking in...

Nu Hammer Flick

Hammer is back, this isn’t anything new, I just thought you’d like to know, ought to know. Truth is they’ve been back a number of years, though it may have been a quiet return, it certainly was a strong one. As of now they’ve released three new films, Let Me In (an interesting English adaptation of Let the Right One In) an Irish horror film Wake Wood (likely more on that later, some day) and most recently The Woman in Black, an adaption of the Susan Hill novel.
This won’t be a review so much as it is a ramble. Really I want to gather my thoughts, and satiate my rampant galaxy-devouring ego.

I’ve a fascination with Hammer. I take myself very seriously, so, maybe I shouldn’t? Well regardless, I’m all too aware of how hooky their films usually are, yet, I still take it all at face value. It bugs me to watch a film with a friend only to have them laugh at the inherently ridiculous proceedings. Yes, I know it’s silly, I know it could very easily be construed as a joke. I realise The Gorgon looks patently silly, yet, I can’t help but be personally affected by the conclusion. There’s something to it, something to the crass nature of their films that appeals to me. Of course that’s not to say all of their productions are like minded. I could recommend Quatermass and the Pit to almost anybody a film not just in the Hammer tradition, but the tradition of cold war era science fiction. Nu Hammer (as I have dubbed them, clever me) is a very different beast. Much, well, classier to be honest. Wake Wood and Let Me In may be divisive films for some, but they are still clever films, in the vein of Quatermass there’s much more to be had for the thinking homo sapiens (rare as they be may be) and little in the way of self-defacing humour. So, what did I think of the new flick?

Well you’ll be happy to know I was suitably impressed. It isn’t the strongest of Nu Hammer’s batch, it could be the weakest, but is it a weak film? Not at all, if anything it’s a brilliantly put together film. People with a clear love for the medium put this together, there’s a technician’s touch a real professionalism to the flick. If Wikipedia is to be believed the picture was put together for a mere ten million, yet I honestly couldn’t see any difference in visual quality between this and say, any other big budget Hollywood effort (effort is the word). The visuals are crisp. There are occasional spurts of camp, but, would it really be a Hammer flick without it? There are no glaring faults, I couldn’t find any. It’s a new hammer picture in the fullest sense, with that comes both good and bad, if the film could be at the fault of anything it’s playing up certain modern horror tropes. The film is creepy, there’s no doubting that, the presence of the titular woman in black is both ever-present and mysteriously vacant at times. The film is eerie, gloomy, it smells of fresh doom, the kind of stuff that gets me up (pun most definitely intended) in the morning, but does it rely on jump scares? Yes... occasionally, muddy pipe anybody?. It’s most certainly Hammer, Nu or not. A good third of the film (at the least) involves Radcliffe, candle in hand, wandering about a spooky set, a spooky well designed set (Hammer always did get the most out of their sets). At the best moments the film feels like a well orchestrated rollercoaster ride, at worst a touch derivative.

Speaking of Radcliffe, who plays our intrepid hero, I was pleasantly surprised by his performance. The film is a touch of an ordeal, it has a cathartic effect without moving into spoilers, you can see Radcliffe’s conscious effort to move out, grow out of his previous role as the boy who lived. It’s admirable, and he does a good job. The cast shines, there’s talent abound, I wasn’t exactly a fan of Radcliffe before, but I’d be interested to see where he goes from here. I can’t be sure of Radcliffe’s age, but he seems young, and for one as young as he is he portrays the character’s anguish well, the character in question is burdened by the kinds of problems which should haunt a man much older than he, yet his performance is believable.

A recurrent critique I’ve spotted about the web is that the film is somehow classical to a fault? No doubt there are moments that feel derivative, but I can’t say I agree with this. Yes, the story is at its heart a classicist approach to the ghost story, but, that’s what Susan Hill does. She does that and more. I’ve read a number of Hill’s works, sadly I’ve not had the pleasure to read The Woman in Black, yet (I know, shoot me now) her work is characterised by a classicist approach, but she often does more, as does this film. The approach is classical, the form is classical, but the tale that informs the story is anything but that. Story threads, the way in which they evolve and unfold, the characters are fully fleshed modern creations, the characters inhabit a classicist ghost story, and so breathe new life into it. This is far removed from the stories of M.R. James, neuroses once implied are explored, this is not classical to a fault. I couldn’t help but feel that as a critique it fell short. But then I’ve spent innumerable hours of my life reading such stories, perhaps this isn’t something that any old person would notice (please, this time I’m trying not to sound like a snob).

The Woman In Black isn’t any old horror story. There’s much more to it. It may not be perfect, but it’s a great film, do check it out. Is it classical to a fault? In a handful of places, but this is not an issue. I admit that in places the film is reliant on certain negligible modern horror tropes. Minor critiques aside this was a strong film from Nu Hammer; I can’t wait to see what they’re up to next.

A minor update is in order. I’m taking a free form approach to the blog, as of late I’ve been rather busy (something I’m quite happy with) and I’m excited to see where my current work is going to take me. Y’know working with chemicals and things, because that is my real job...
What this means is that I’ll actually be updating my blog more than before, but you can forget about those previously mention articles, reading over them, I found them to be, rather weak. Since my last entry on Dracula I’ve been rather happy with the blog, so I feel it would be best to take it in a natural direction. I’ll write what I like, when I like, on any natural topic that comes to mind. Well, thanks for reading, night!

I'm Scared, Hold Me!

Dracula is important, I owe quite a lot to Dracula. I’d always been interested in reading, but my tastes were loose, without a real focus, there wasn’t anything I was particularly passionate about. Then I read Dracula, at, an admittedly impressionable age. I was awe struck, I’d always been sensitive to horror, easily disgusted, easily frightened, like I said, impressionable. Certain scenes from the novel have invaded the public imagination. Who can forget Harker’s first encounter with the Count, or the scene of Lucy’s final grisly end as Arthur, her husband, is tasked with driving a stake through her livid undead flesh. There are a great number of scenes I can recall vividly, the novel, to me, is a long fever dream, a series of nightmarish scenes that return to me every so often. It’s the very same in popular culture. Through a series of influential films, the tale has invaded common thought.
Very recently I’d reread it. The first time in two years, but, something was amiss, something was... not quite right.
Only a manner of weeks ago I’d reread Le Fanu’s Gothic classic Carmilla, though some of the closing scenes are haphazardly handled (particularly the hunt) it’s still a fine read, one I could unremittingly recommend to any person with even a passing interest in the genre. I’d returned to Dracula with great anticipation. The novel has made me who I am, really, it founded my love of genre fiction, it was an integral part of me.
A strange thing happened, I didn’t really like it. I suffered an existential crisis of sorts, a Dracula based existential crises, that’s got to be a first, right?

Pictured: Sorrow

Dracula films, as good as some are, are usually somewhat hooky, off, there’s always a level of cheese, a waft, if you will. The novel had always been separate, to me, it was classy, refined, powerful, mysterious. There was a mystique, I approached it as something both well read, well versed and yet at the same time forgotten, abandoned, unlike the films. As I said, I approached it as a separate entity. Stoker was a hero to me, there was something eminently familiar and foreign in him. He was a fellow countryman, I felt I could relate to him. He was an old master of the craft. I’m afraid to say, that, as of now my view has almost totally changed.

The plot, what little of it there is, it’s well, awkward! Events carry on with little rhythm. Don’t even get me started on the transfusion nonsense. Characters are caricatures, Men are men and women are women and to Stoker this is and always was the case and so help the future of the species it must always remain so. Stoker, it pains me to say, was no artist. The novel carries with it an awkward question of the position of the sexes. Mina scoffs at the idea of the “New Woman”. The women, oh man... It’s quite obvious that the novel was written by a man. The women don’t act naturally, really, they read as the perfect (until corrupted by Dracula) evocation of the Victorian ideal, the male Victorian ideal. I could not remove myself from the novel. At every moment it was quite apparent I was reading a book. I couldn’t quite... sink my teeth into it.

Sorry

It was quite clearly a man writing female characters.
The magic had faded, the book fumbles about, feeling in the dark for plot hooks, occasionally Stoker gets it right. It dawned upon me that the, almost knowing level of cheese that characterise the filmic interpretations of the character, were more close to the source material than I’d previously thought. There are the good, Nosferatu, the Lugosi flick, the hammer picture and the Coppola film. I’d started to question myself, wonder if I’d walked down the wrong path, in a momentary panic I’d wondered if I’d spent my years reading campy nonsense, if I’d poured over comically awkward works for far too many years. Had I tackled actually, tackled this book with a straight face? It seemed impossible to me. I began to wonder if Drac’s cohorts weren’t any better. I thought to myself, could I really trust my own judgement? Soon enough I came to my senses. I still love Frankenstein, Melmoth, Torrance and the gang, I was certain. As I closed the book, I’d thought to myself, would I ever read it again?
I was disgusted, I could feel it in my bones. I’d loved the book, really, it seems silly now but I had loved the book. I’d read it over and over, years ago I’d finish it only to start again. Though my tastes are much more diverse, I can’t get enough of horror (classy horror), I owe it all to Dracula.
Could I still love the book?

Hisssss?

The answer is... yes. I still love it. I don’t resent the time I’ve spent with it. I can’t even say I’ve out grown it, I haven’t. Stoker’s prose, Stoker’s direction... Stoker is an awkward writer. For every triumph he has, he falls somewhere else. He’s flawed, as we all are. But for a writer he has a peculiar number of flaws. The novel’s goody-goody morals do nothing for me, the Christian overtones confuse me (given the almost darwinesque elements) and certain sections of the novel seem to go nowhere. But, there’s still something to it. When Stoker gets it right, there’s a level of intensity, that, for the time was unseen, visceral moments, haunting moments, the tale has etched its way into the minds of millions. The novel is celebrated, and I can’t see that ever changing. Dracula has changed the way we approach horror, among other things. I can still vividly recall Harker’s short stay in Dracula’s castle, those moments are unforgettable, among the best in the novel. I call into question the quality of the characters, and yet, Stoker managed to conjure up Renfield (who is portrayed brilliantly by Tom Waits in the Coppola adaptation), a walking enigma. Let’s not even go into Dracula himself.

Despite all of its flaws, I still love it. It’s an important novel.
Dracula is important.

Horror

  The Event Horizon post isn't up, sadly, so I'm assuming Blogspot ate it? Will post it up this Thursday (again).

Worship Satan No#2

Hey all, back after the Christmas break. I thought I’d take the time out, as, few people would be about during Christmas, or, I certainly hope not. At any rate I’ve a few updates. First of which, I have not been ignoring the blog, though that may seem strange, rather I’ve been collecting material together, I also return with a routine. As of this week Thursday at nine o’clock, that’s night, will be the time... for you to spend on this blog... that's right, Thursday o'clock at nine I'll be uploading a new post. Because face it, if you’re reading this blog, that empty feeling inside is likely the lack of a social life. Or cancer.

Following this Thursday will be three blogs on things that aren’t books, expect that to change, quickly. First off, yes I have a word or two to say on Event Horizon. Following that I’ll be blogging about Gemini Rue, finally the Hammer Horror classic The Gorgon, which will certainly be interesting, I feel it’s a rather underrated Hammer flick, because it is exactly what people expect out of a Hammer film, and yet, more.
My return has to Galway has brought stability.

Pictured: Galway

Back to the old ball game, I hope you’ll enjoy the coming weeks entries.
Also your whore hole is smells of man pong, lots of man pong.

Worship Satan

Straight from the time worn world of the internet I bid you hello. Who in their right mind doesn’t enjoy science fiction, horror? Not I, awkward segue aside, the two genres make rather good bedfellows, not certain many would agree, but at this day and age, many forget science fiction was (arguably) birthed during the nascent years of Gothic fiction, which itself would transform into the crudely titled genre of horror fiction.
Though science fiction has largely lost the trappings inherited by horror fiction, earlier works, particularly that of the mid twentieth century has a distinct gloom about it, a heavy paranoia usually associated with works of horror. Horror and science fiction are the writings of ideas, really. That’s what excites your intrepid host, ideas, usually of the miserable bastard sort.

The haunted house and the lonely (derelict?) space shuttle careening through soundless space have more in common than is often thought.
I don’t have many aims, twaddle off during free hours about something, hopefully amusing. And, likely your author here will try to stick to this loose topic, truth be told little else interests me, makes good brooding fuel.

I think, some good controversy should do us a rather good start.
Soon enough I’ll upload a review, or, honestly a collection of my own thoughts/opinions on the contested cult film Event Horizon, it ain’t going to be pretty. I’ve honestly little good to say of the film following the first act. Shortly after that I’ll give some opinions on the science fiction themed videogame Gemini Rue, bit of an indie darling that one, and for a good reasons too.
So, does that sound like a good start? I should hope so.

Stick around, maybe we’ll get a good scare or two out of it, maybe I’ll introduce you to a good film, or two, maybe a book... or five?
Anything to give you temporary leave of your utterly dull life, hey, I only said what everyone was thinking...
You dirty whore bitch.