SWEET CONVULSIONS

 

FACTORY

Sweet Convulsions

Pfffth! Records

 

            The lights go out and a strange humming noise fills the air. One by one, torches are lit, revealing, in part, the misshapen outlines of metallic structures upon the stage. Before my mind can make sense of what I am seeing, clouds of smoke appear and further distort my view. A buzzing sound joins the hum and together they build towards a rhythmic beat. I struggle to see past the swirling smoke and notice there is a dark shadowy outline of someone standing before an altar. A green flash of light from the altar momentarily reveals the expressionless face of the man behind the altar. He is looking down at something which is making the cacophonous sounds.

            I hear the gasps of the strangers who surround me, and my attention is drawn to the portcullis on the far wall behind me. The procession has begun. Two exceptionally built barbarians, dressed only in loincloths, appear from the gate. They bear upon their shoulders a large spit upon which hangs a frail and bloody man. The barbarians stride through the throng of depraved onlookers toward the torch-lit stage, dragging the tortured captive in their wake.

            Reaching the stage, they untie the tormented man and cast his gory body unto the center of the platform. The dark figure behind the altar looks on, unfeeling, as he works his hands into a frenzy of sound. He adds more dissonant noises, and they build up into a loud crescendo, which then stops. Silence fills the room for a few seconds. In that moment, I can hear the murmurs of disbelief from the crowd around me.

            The silence is replaced by an infectious dance groove and the bloody victim on the stage begins to convulse. His body is wracked by sudden twitches and spams as he struggles to get on his feet. When he does, he raises his head, and the torchlight reveals his broken face for all to see. I gasp right along with the rest of the crowd. We are shocked to see he has only one eye set into his forehead. In rapt revulsion, I step closer to the stage as the cyclops begins to sing.

            This is Sweet Convulsions. They are scary and they put on an amazing live show.

            Sweet Convulsions began their partnership two years earlier when vocalist Jack Pavlik (formerly of Brain Injured Children) and instrumentalist Joe Pla (of Lazarus Effect) met and decided to put forth their own brand of unconventional industrial dance music. Inspired, no doubt, by performance-centric bands like Skinny Puppy and Einsturzende Neubauten, their music is perfectly complemented by their disturbing and dramatic on-stage antics.

            Their highly imaginative performances features exploding mannequins, unique use of smoke and lights, a skinny, six-foot tall blonde transvestite, unusual instruments, two sexy burlesque dancers and the aforementioned barbarian brothers. But the most important aspect of their shows is their aggressive sound. Joe Pla’s music walks a fine line between dissonance and accessibility. But Jack Pavlik’s tortured vocals makes sure their sound never fully embraces the mainstream.

            After extensive performances at underground venues like Bond Street Café and Club A.D., they have released a small compilation of their eccentric material. Their debut Ep is available on the independent label Pffth! Records. Simply titled Sweet Convulsions, the disc features three original songs and one fantastic remake. The entire Ep is bookended by snippets of an instrumental track titled “Voices”.

            Side Zero of the Sweet Convulsions ep begins with the song “Hostage”, a cry out about the confusion of mixed emotions. Sweet Convulsions captures the pain of being a hostage to love and a slave to your feelings. The music has a driving mid-tempo industrial rock beat, but the ominous electronic flourishes and fuzzy guitar licks give it a distinct personality.

            It is followed by “Blind” which starts with a sample from Predator, where Arnold says: “If it bleeds, we can kill it.” It then goes into early EBM territory with a backing track that sounds a lot like “Geography” by Front 242. The addition of Jack’s high-pitched, screaming vocals, and the aforementioned guitar change the song from a Front 242 tribute into something new.

            Side One gives us their current single “Blue Eyes”. The backing musical track sounds like With Sympathy-era Ministry but mixed with the screeching guitars that would characterize Ministry’s later work. A funky beat accentuates the proceedings and gives the track a pop appeal. Lyrically, it tells the story of a soldier and the prostitute he abuses and later kills on the streets of NYC. During a live performance, Jack Pavlick announced the song is based on a true story.

            The Ep ends with a remake of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive”. Sweet Convulsions takes this beloved Disco anthem, slaps it around and makes it their bitch. Joe’s creative use of electronic music and industrial beats, along with Jack’s pained and plaintive vocals, add a new depth to the track. The guitars that sweep in halfway through push the song into the rock realm. By the time the song ends, its jackhammer beat, and Jack’s screams have morphed the tune into something much darker than Disco.   

            Sweet Convulsions is a band that would fit alongside the other unique acts on the Wax Trax Records label. Their music openly celebrates the bands that have come before them; But instead of sounding derivative, they manage to push their songs into new directions. Their live shows add a dramatic visual component that perfectly accentuates their aggressive sound. Again, it’s as if they took a page from the Skinny Puppy performance playbook, highlighted some items, then added notes of their own with a magic marker.  

            Anyone interested in sampling what Sweet Convulsions has to offer can pick up their Ep at Café Soundz in Montclair, Vintage Vinyl in Fords, as well other forward-thinking record stores. Or you can write them at P.O. Box 9131, Newark NJ 07014 for orders and live bookings. Their next live performance will be held on December 8^th, 1991 at The Redspot on Bay Street, Staten Island. I highly recommend taking that trip.

            As for Sweet Convulsions next project, Jack jokingly hinted that it would be a remake of The Partridge Family’s immortal classic “I Think I Love You”. I wonder what Danny will say.  

KMFDM - SUCKS

 

FACTORY INTERNATIONAL

KMFDM – SUCKS

Wax Trax! Records

 

            It’s 3:00 am and I am at the Guarapillo Hotel in Costa Rica. I should get some sleep because my plane leaves at 8:30 am. But I cannot wrap my head around the events of the last hour, nor of the strange man who just left my room.

            About and hour ago, I was deep in slumberland dreaming I was feeding Bette Midler’s cat when a heavy knocking came from the door. I awoke bleary-eyed and stumbled to the hotel door.

            “Who is it?” I asked.

            “Room service,” a cheerful, and heavily accented voice responded from the other side of the portal. “I have a delivery for Mr. David Zayas.”

            I yawned as I opened the door, but I was cut off mid-yawn by the feeling of cold steel entering my mouth. The stranger at the door had shoved the muzzle of his gun deep in my mouth. My heart froze, my bladder loosened, and I felt a tiny stream of warm liquid race down my left leg.

            The stranger entered the room completely and kicked the door closed behind him. At 5’6, he was shorter than I am, and non-descript in appearance. He had one of those faces that, although not necessarily ugly, wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. It was apparent that he was of Latino descent, maybe even a Costa Rican resident. His jet-black hair stood in sharp contrast to his clear green eyes, which now stared into mine and threatened to swallow me hole.

            He pulled the spit-soaked gun from my mouth, and with an evil leer, he waved the gun in a gesture for me to sit down on the edge of the bed. He sat on the low dresser across from me, and still levelling the gun at my head, he asked: “You will tell me what your mission is and what you transported into my county. You will tell me in detail and in truth. Speak now.”

            I bit my lower lip and stared back at him. What the hell was the talking about? I squeezed my legs together and ran a hand through my hair. I didn’t know what to say. I know that if I told him the truth, he wouldn’t believe me. Characters like him never do. But I couldn’t lie either. I was stuck. I chose to tell him the truth.

            “I… I don’t really know what you are talking about,” I began. “I mean, what do you mean ‘mission’? I’m just a courier.”

            He cocked his gun.

            “Hey!” I said and stretched out my arms, palms open, towards him. “Hey! Uh... wait a minute! Listen, I will tell you everything. Just give me a moment. Come on!”

            He just stared at me. I swear his eyes were smiling. He crossed his legs in an effeminate way, causing his pants’ leg to raise, revealing he was wearing no socks under his dress shoes. I don’t know why, but this made me even more nervous.

            “I… My name is David. But you already knew that. I’m a student at Kean College. I’m studying to be a teacher.”

            The stranger laughed at that. And it pissed me off a bit.

            I swallowed my anger and continued: “I got fed up with life in the States and my girlfriend left me. So, I decided to get away from New Jersey for a while. I became an air courier. I transport objects from one country to another, so I get to travel for next to nothing. It’s just a summer thing. I got this idea from a book I found at my newspaper’s office.”

            The man looked puzzled.

            “What newspaper office?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

            “I write articles for my college newspaper,” I said and lowered my hands back down and rested them on my knees. “I write about music and my life.”

            “Boring!” he smiled. “And what did you transport into my country? That is where my interest lies.”

            “Oh that!” I relaxed a little. “It was nothing. I was delivering a briefcase containing three CDs of the new KMFDM single to the Disco Loco record shop in San Jose. They want to sample it before they place and order from it.”

            “What is this KDFBM?” the gunman asked.

            “KMFDM,” I corrected him. “They are a German music group. They make very hard dance music. They had a couple of hits with “Naïve” and “Sex on the Flag” in the past years. Rumor had it that they were going to break up. But they surprised us all with this new single “Sucks.”

            “I am not surprised,” he said. “Do you know why?”

            “Why?” I asked, scratching my leg.

            “Because I do not care!” he said with rising anger. “I never heard of them. So, don’t they surprised us all because I was not surprised!”

            His sudden outburst frightened me. I leaned back on the bed and put my hands up once again. “Ok. Ok. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you!”

            He jumped down from the dresser and, with the gun still aimed at my head, proceeded to kick around at the objects in my room. I presumed he was looking for something, but I didn’t know exactly what.

            As he searched, he said: “So what does this KMRTM song sound like?”

            “It’s KMFDM, man” I said, a little irritated. “The song ‘Sucks’ is a fast-paced dance song. The song samples a heavy metal riff, just like they did with their prior hit ‘Godlike’, but the guitar riff is not the primary attraction in ‘Sucks’; it’s the lyrics.

            “The song puts down just about everybody. They profess their hatred of rap, Michael Jackson, Madonna, and, of course, Depeche Mode. They also poke fun at themselves saying that their own music is worthless. The whole message of the song is to point out artificiality current musicians, and the fact that kids nowadays still buy their music even though it sucks.  

            “The single has four slightly repetitive remixes of ‘Sucks’ and one dance remix of their older track ‘More and Faster’. I prefer this mix to the original because it has a more accessible dance beat, and less focus is placed on the screeching guitars that dominated the earlier version.”

            Throughout my monologue, the stranger continued to search the room. By the time I was done, he had moved toward the door. He opened the door and turned to look back at me, his gun still levelled at me, but now he held it at hip level.

            “It is appropriate that you were transporting that song ‘Sucks’,” he said. “Because your review of it sucks.”

            “Yeah, but you listened, didn’t you?” I smiled. “That is exactly the point the song makes. Most people are subconsciously attracted to garbage. Even though they may not like it, they will get a good look before they turn away. Like passing an accident on the highway…”

            “Yes, Yes,” he said, annoyed. “I heard that one. Do you want to have an accident?”

            I swallowed hard. “No,” I said in a tiny voice.

            “Then forget we ever met,” he said. “Tell no one of our meeting. Go about your normal business as if nothing has happened.”

            With the gun now aimed to the ground, he backed out of the door and into the darkness of the hallway.

            From the down the hall, I heard his final words: “And listen to better music like Springsteen or the Bee Gees, because KMFDM sucks!”

Travel the World for Next to Nothing

 

FACTORY

Travel the World for Next to Nothing

The Courier Air Travel Handbook by Mark Field

 

            Today hasn’t been a good day. I got up at 8:00 am to be at work at the drugstore by 9:00 am. The only problem is that I was out last night until 5 am. Consequently, I was dead tired, and it was a horrible day at the drugstore. We received more shipments than usual, and I had to check them all in by myself.

            I was supposed to get off at 2:00 pm so I could stop home and eat before rushing to the video store for work at 3:00 pm. I didn’t get off work until 2:30, so I had to run home, clean up, not eat, and run to the video store.

            At We Got Movies, the customers were extra rude; the last VHS of Car Wash was skipping so badly we couldn’t watch it; I was sleepy; and I got put down by Allan and Tommy because I was a “confused ” and not gay like they are. But the worse part was that I had to work six painful hours with my ex-girlfriend of five years, Jennifer. She tried to be civilized to me, but there were moments when she bared her claws and ripped my heart to shreds. I listened to depressing music while I worked with her, so it was unbearable. There were also two arrests that happened almost in front of the video store.

            After work, Anthony, Patty, and I decided to go out to the Pipeline and have a good time. No dice. A bunch of frat boys had taken over the club and were wrestling on the floor with a sex doll. The DJ purposely played shitty music to get rid of them, so I didn’t dance. After a half-hour, I wanted to leave. But Anthony wanted to stay, so we got into a fight. I left both him and Patty behind and I walked out. Let them find their own way home.

            Outside, the gorgeous, but taken, Amanda came up and offered me a joint. I took it, but it turned out to be only a roach. I tried smoking it, but my lower lip got burnt and it began to blister.

            I got in the car just as Anthony and Patty ran up to it. They apologized and I let them in. Anthony wanted to score some smoke, so we had to stop by his house to get his connection’s number before I could drop him and Patty off at her house.

            But when we pulled up in front of Anthony’s house, I saw my friends Herbie, Kenny, and Ronald were hanging out on the porch. They treated me rudely and indifferently. Ronald even cursed me out for hanging out with his ex-girlfriend Patty. It really hurt, but I tried to ignore it.

            I dropped the kids off and drove home around 3:00 am. On the way home, I thought of all the bills I had to pay and all the papers I have to write. It began to rain hard, and I totally lost it.

            I passed my house, got on the Parkway, and wound up down at The Indy office. I forgot that since resigning as A&E Editor I no longer had a key, so I couldn’t get inside. I sat on the floor in the hallway, back to the door, and wondered how my day could possibly get any worse.

            I looked down and noticed there was a slim package sticking halfway out from under The Independent’s door. I pulled it out and saw it was addressed to our new A&E Editor, Luigi Sgambettera. Luigi won’t mind, I kidded myself as I ripped it open. The package contained a slender read book. The cover read The Courier Air Travel Handbook, but the words that caught my eye were “Learn how to travel world-wide for next to nothing.” I opened it, and what I read inside changed my life forever.

            Author Mark Field gives you step by step instructions on how to become a courier. This basically means you transport legal materials from one place to another. You carry stuff like books, files, computer discs, documents, etc. You pay only a small fraction of the airline fare, and you can travel the world. For example, usually you’d pay $1,000 for a round-trip ticket to Hong Kong; but if you agree to carry a bag of computer chips with you, you can travel for $200.00.

            This sounds amazing! This is what I need to escape my miserable life. I will become a courier! A world of excitement is waiting to be had. That’s what I’ll do. I’m outta here!

            I’m taking this book with me, so if you want to be free and travel the world- I’m sorry, my brotha. You must get your own. The book costs $7.95, but it’s a small price to pay for the excitement of world travel. You can pick it up at a fine bookstore near you; or through Thunderbird Press, 5930-10 W Greenway Blvd, Suite 112B, Glendale, Arizona 85306.

            This summer leave your lousy lives behind and join me on my travels around the world. Coming next fall: Factory International.

KONSTRUKSHUN - Protected (Demo)

 

FACTORY

KONSTRUKSHUN

Protected (Demo)

            Kim, Cathy, JD, and I stand before the ominous, dark edifice which is the Haunted House attraction at the pier in Long Branch. Although the day all around us is sunny and bright, this building is like a black hole draining the light and life of its surroundings. I don’t remember the drive down here, or even what we did prior to this. The only thing I know is that this spooky ride seems to be drawing us towards it through an unseen force.

            It takes a Herculean effort to bring my body to a halt, but I manage to do so and turn my head upwards to gaze at the blacked-out windows of the second floor of the structure. I catch a glance of someone peeking out at me for a quick second before the window slams down and they are gone. The pale face I saw had an expression of pure terror and pain. I couldn’t tell if it was male or female, only that it had dark sunken eyes and its mouth was open as if to scream.

            A sudden giggle draws my attention back to my companions. Kim, Cathy and JD seem oblivious to the overwhelming sense of evil emanating from this place. They are all smiles and laughter as they wrap their arms around mine and drag me onwards to join the queue of people already gathered near the front entrance. My eyes shift to look at the front of the line and I see another disquieting sight.

            The door into the mansion is being guarded by an extremely tall and thin doorman. His spindly legs, pointy head, and sickly, jaundiced complexion give him an almost alien look. He is wearing an ill-fitting bicycle shirt with the words “Schwinn” printed across the chest and a pair of tight spandex shorts choking his nether regions. An odd costume, I think. Looking at his face I am taken back by the most predominant feature on it- his smile. His grin seems to cover most of his face, his thin lips stretch across it, from one tiny ear to the other. It is reminiscent of an ill alligator I saw once as a child at Gatorland Zoo in Florida. The memory makes me shiver in primal fear.

            The doorman has been letting in small groups of four or five people at a time, based on who they were with. The five people in front of us go in, and we are next in line. The tall weirdo looks at JD and says: “My! You are a tall one! I really like your hair. It has that shiny, sweaty look. You know, sweating is good for you.”

            JD, obviously uncomfortable, mumbles “Uh-huh” and turns to look back at us for some sort of assistance. But Cathy and Kim are lost in conversation, and I can only look back at him helplessly.

            “You know…” the doorman continues. “If you ever have to give a urine sample, you should always wash the cup first. Or else, it will be a dirty, bad sample. No good. No. No.”

            JD gulps loudly and before any of us can react, we are being ushered into the inky blackness of the antechamber. Once inside, we turn back to the shrinking sliver of light from the closing door. We hear the weirdo giggling and see the tips of his waving fingers before slamming the door shut.

            In the darkness, we begin to move forward. Our arms are outstretched, searching for any walls or turns ahead. My eyes, still not adjusted to lack of light, are practically blind. I feel Cathy reach for my arm, and I lower it to grasp her hand. I experience a fleeting sense of comfort from her warm grip, but as soon as it comes, that safe feeling is gone again. A noise becomes audible from a few feet away from us and it grows into a pulsating beat. The rhythmic sound mesmerizes me, while simultaneously filling me with a creeping terror.

            Something bad is coming.

            A grating voice from the darkness growls the word “Suffocation”. I grip Cathy’s hand tighter, but I notice it has grown cold…very cold. And her hand begins to painfully squeeze mine. I try to pull my hand away from hers, but I can’t escape her talon-like grip. I am stuck and overcome with panic.

            First, I scream, then I kick at whatever has a hold of me. But it is to no avail. The hand pulls me forward with incredible strength, my legs useless and trailing behind. I feel it pulling me downward, through a thin layer of web-like material. Suddenly, I let me go. I fall through the darkness and land on a wooden floor, my arms and legs akimbo, like some discarded puppet.

            The darkness of my new surroundings is soon dispelled by a dozen black candles come to blazing life, illuminating a wooden stage. The pulsing noise I heard earlier grows in intensity and I recognize the stage as the source of this frightful music. There are swirling clouds of chemical fog pouring off the stage, obscuring the ground upon which I lay. The noise begins to coalesce into actual music, shifting in and out of a melody hidden deep within the noise.

            I get to my feet and quickly realize I can see more of the stage. At the rear, I see the shadowy outlines of two shapely women. Their hips gyrate and sway as they march closer the edge of the stage. When the light of the candles illuminates their faces, I see they are two gorgeous succubi dressed in black. They reach the edge of the stage and begin to grind against each other to the throbbing beat of electronic drums. The distorted and hidden melody grows in to crescendo and then stops. The she-demons stop as well and stare down at me, baring their fangs in an evil sneer.

            I take a small step back. Suddenly there is a loud blast of noise and a blinding white light, and the demons are upon me. They grab my puny arms and pull me backwards back down the foggy floor. I try to scream, but one of them wraps a gnarled and clawed hand around my throat, cutting off any sound before I create it. All I can do is watch helplessly as three more figures materialize from the brightness of the stage and stand at various podiums. Their faces are obscured as the white light fades away and is replaced by various colored lights. These chromatic lights blink on and off in time to a harsh industrial dance groove.

            The succubus griping my throat leans in close. I feel her warm breath against my neck as she whispers one word into my ear- Suffocation.

            I awake, bathed in the secretions borne from my sweat glands. I struggle to breathe as I slowly realize I am not in peril. I am in my bed. In my room. Safe. I close my eyes and let out a sigh of relief. But I am seized by a sudden panic. I can still hear the pounding hell music! I sit up and look around, my fight or flight response about to kick in. Then I realize it is only in my tape deck. I remember I was listening to a demo tape by a new band named KONSTRUKSHUN.

            KONSTRUKSHUN (yes, always upper case) is a three-piece band out of Pottsville, PA. The group is made up of Nasaj Ontall on vocals, Tenek Dorle on keyboards, and Sur Talos on guitar. With such varied influences as Skinny Puppy, The Cure, and Eric Clapton, KONSTRUKSHUN purveys a new hybrid of dark, dance oriented industrial music. Formed in 1990, they have played several successful shows at clubs such as The Silo in Reading, The Roxy in New Brunswick, and Club Redrum (Dazzles) in Clifton. At their performances, they are accompanied by two gorgeous and talented dancers Kathy and Chris, who gyrate in ecstasy to the pounding groove.

            I saw them recently at the Roxy in New Brunswick and was blown away by their stage show and song setlist. They are a visual and crowd-pleasing spectacle that had the entire club dancing and calling out for more. They even did a badass cover of Madonna’s Justify My Love, that had us all chuckling and grooving along to it.  It was a spooky fun night, and it obviously had such an impact on me, that I had a nightmare about them.

            KONSTRUKSHUN has an eleven-track demo titled Protected. Protected has several darkly satisfying stand out tracks like “Suffocation”, “Committing Suicide”, “Pushing In Your Head”, and my favorite- “Thoughts That Count”. It is a demo which is worth tracking down if you are thirsty for a fresh, spooky, non-compromising sound with intelligent and thought-provoking lyrics. Anyone interested can order Protected by sending a check or money order for $6.00 to KONSTRUKSHUN c/o Jason Modesto PO Box 94 Seltzer, P.A. 17974. You won’t regret it.

            My only complain about the demo is that it doesn’t include their stirring rendition of “Justify My Love”. Well, I guess I will just wait for their major label debut when they get signed. That is, if Madonna doesn’t mind.

Front 242- Fuck Up Evil and Evil Off

 

FACTORY

Front 242: The Evil That Men Do

            The sunlight steals into my room, assaulting me with its luminescence and robbing me of sleep. During its merciless attack on my hot skin, it wedges into the slits of my eyes and pries them apart, only to blind them again with its radiance. I close my eyes to shut out the light, but I can still see the red glow penetrating through my eyelids. My hand travels upward to intersect the trajectory of the sunbeam creating a momentary darkness, like a knight’s shield blocking a dragon’s fiery breath.

            Once my eyes adjust to the brazen daylight, I begin to discern the familiar confines of my room. My head buzzes with the incoherent memories of midnight’s dreams and early morning thoughts. The fuzziness of my soft brain is like a plush toy in some demented child’s hands, being squeezed and twisted with abandon. With each squeeze, images from last night leap from my mind and dance before my eyes. These images help me piece together yesterday’s events. I smile as I remember I am not alone in my sleep-washed bed.

            Last night’s lover groans softly next to me and shifts his body closer. He lays his raven-crested head against my shoulder, and I feel his warm breath exhale softly across my chest. His hand, which had previously rested upon my knee, now travels lazily up my leg, reaching and caressing my abdomen. His knee lifts and comes to rest over my leg, creating a sudden rush of heat along my thigh.

            I raise my arm and swing it over, allowing him to rest his head on my chest as I caress his upper arm. I lean down and kiss the top of his head, inadvertently smelling the sweet chemical smell of his hair gel still going strong hours after its application. The intermingled smell of it, along with the remnants of his cologne, add another tantalizing piece to last night’s memories.

            “Good morning,” I whisper and squeeze his body tightly.

            He lets off a soft groan and lifts the bed sheet to cover himself a bit more.

            I look over at the digital time display on my stereo system and sigh in disappointment. It’s way later than I thought.

            “Jimmy,” I shake his arm a bit. “Dude, we have to get up soon. I’m not sure when my mom’s coming back home. And we can’t get caught like this.”

            “I’m tired,” he yawns. “Just give me five more minutes, please!”

            I consider the risk of being caught and I weigh it against how wonderful it feels to be here in bed with Jimmy. Am I being too paranoid? I reason. Mom probably won’t be home for a bit.

            I decide it’s worth the risk.

            “Ok. Relax a bit longer. But I have to go to the bathroom really quick. I’ll be right back.”

            I hate having to slide his head off my chest. But my bladder works overtime in the morning, perhaps a remnant of my childhood bed-wetting days. I know that if I don’t get out of bed and urinate now, I risk a deluge nearly as horrible as Noah’s. Looking at his beautiful body, I decide that is a risk I won’t take.

            Entering the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and nearly scream. I have become a victim of that hideous affliction known as “Morning Face”. I quickly do my business, wash up, brush my teeth, and fix my hair. I even put on a spritz of cologne and deodorant for good measure.

            I’m glad he was too sleepy to open his eyes and see me like this!

            My business done in the commode, I return to the room and dive into the pool of bedsheets beside him. We resume our prior position and hold each other for a while, as the sunlight continues its invasion across my room.

            “Hmm! You smell good,” Jimmy says, waking up a bit.

            “Oh, thanks. Yes, I am one of those people whose body produces a natural fragrance,” I reply, a note of smugness detectable in my voice.

            “…That smells like Escape by Calvin Klein?” he asks. “I don’t think so!”

            We both laugh a great and hearty laugh. Our laughter is cut off simultaneously by twin yawns. This strange occurrence sets us off on another fit of laughter which continues unabated for a while, until it tapers off.

            “I had a great time last night,” he says. “What was that band’s name? Front 242?”

            “Yeah. Did you like them?”

            “Yes,” he says, sitting up in the bed. “They were really good. And they were so friendly! That guy; one of the two singers? He was nice to me. Did you know he’s a painter? He was showing me prints of the work he does. He’s talented.”

            “I think they’ve used some of his paintings for the covers of their records too,” I sit up next to him on the bed. My eyes glance nervously at the time on my stereo and wonder when my mom is coming home.

            “You have all their records, right?” Jimmy asks.

            “Of course! Front 242 is one of my favorite bands ever. I have all their tapes. As a matter of fact, this year alone they released two new albums and I got advance copies of them too. That party last night was the record release party for the newest one Evil Off.”

            “I thought it was something with numbers in it?” he asks.

            “Well, technically the album’s title is 05:22:09:12 Off, but the numbers are coded corresponding to the alphabet. So, breaking the code we find the name of the album is Evil Off. Nifty, huh? It’s the same case with their prior album 06:21:03:11 Up Evil. The title of that one is Fuck Up Evil.”

            “You must have been really bored to figure that one out,” Jimmy deadpans.

            “Just call me the Sherlock Holmes of Industrial music!” I laugh. “Actually, I think I read it somewhere. I’m not that clever. Anyway, the new album is really hot! It’s one of the most unique things they’ve put out. They managed to combine their older EBM style with the New Age-y experimental sound of their last two albums. Then they added a dash of Techno and somehow it really works. The music on Evil Off is aggressive, while at the same time haunting and accessible. They even added female vocals to a couple of songs.”

            “Yeah, what I heard sounded great,” Jimmy said. “It made me feel like I was at a rave or something.”

            “I could see that,” I agreed. “My favorite tracks are ‘Animal-Cage’, ‘Serial Killers Don’t Kill Their Girlfriends’, ‘Skin’, and ‘Crushed’. Those songs are prime examples of that melding of genres they did on this album.”

            “What about that other record they did? Did you like that one?”

            “Fuck Up Evil? Yeah, it was good. It had some great tracks like ‘Religion’, ‘Crapage’, ‘Flag’, and ‘Mutilate’. But for the most part the album sounded too mellow for me. I like this new one better. It’s much more aggressive and hard-hitting. It is like a Front 242 for a new generation. It’s wicked, evil, and even melancholic at times. This is a band who has reached out to the future but has not forgotten its past. Evil Off is Front 242’s best album since Front by Front. I’ll make you a copy.”

            “Great,” he smiles. “Thanks for taking me last night. Great first date. I had fun.”

            “No problem. Thanks for coming with me.”

            Jimmy gives me a sideways glance and shakes his head. We both laugh.

            At that moment, we hear the front door being unlocked. My blood freezes.

            “Shit!” I whisper as I jump out of bed and scramble to find my clothes. “My mom’s home!”

            “What are we gonna do?” Jimmy asks while putting on his pants.

            I stop for a moment and ponder his question. I’ve been hiding too long. My mother knows about my bisexuality, but she refuses to discuss it. It’s time I took a stand and forced a confrontation. After that, things can only get better.

            I look at Jimmy in his half-naked glory and simply shake my head.

            “Nothing,” I say and grab his hand. I pull him in for a quick kiss.

            “David?” my mom’s voice drifts up from the hallway. “Are you home?”

            “Yes, Ma!” I call out. “I’m in my room!”

            The door opens and my mom stands there with a horrified look on her face. She drops the bags she had been carrying and does the sign of the cross on herself.

            “Hi, Mom”, I say. “We gotta talk…”

Late Night With David Zayas - Capsule Reviews

 

FACTORY

Late Night with David Zayas

Halo, Skin Chamber, Butthole Surfers, Fear Factory, Lament, Harajuku, Sunscreem

 

                It’s 3:45 am and I just got in from a wonderful night out with friends. The three of us haven’t hung out together in a long time, so it was fun going out and being silly with them. We got drunk and danced all night at clubs I’ve never been. It’s good to break away from the normal routine and get out to new places. You meet all sorts of new, strange people. Tonight, I met a wacked-out Whitney Houston impersonator, a pretentious choreographer without an ounce of talent in his body, and a beautiful (if not a bit too aggressive) woman who asked me to marry her. Wow, I need to do this more often, eh?

                I have so much I want to talk about right now. First, let me tell you about this new tape I got called Halo by one-man Canadian act named Prayer Tower. This latest release from the Third Mind Records label features the genre’s usual distorted vocals laid over infectious, electronic dance beats. But there is a certain something that makes it stand out from the usual wall of noise. The best compliment I can give it is this: Listening to it, gave me the same majestic feeling I had when I first heard Confessions of a Knife by My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult. It sounds like an instant masterpiece. The best tracks on it are “Electric State”, “Temptation”, and the sublime “Hate Like This”. In my humble opinion, Halo by Prayer Tower has the kind of sound that “Industrial” music should embrace once again, as opposed to the “Heavy Metal” sounds that bands like Ministry have pushed it toward.

                Standing as a prime example of that “Metal” sound I described above, is the new album Trial by Skin Chamber on Roadrunner Records. This album can only be described as ugly. From the cover art to the music within, everything here is so dark, scary, and inaccessible that it is a wonder it was even made. However, there is much to enjoy among the twisted horror. The tracks “Throb” and “Slow Crime” remind me of Metallica on downers. And although other songs like “On a Drunk”, “Torturous World”, and “Swallowing Scrap Metal (Part Five)” sound like the soundtrack to some twisted nightmare; There is a dark beauty to be found within them. Skin Chamber is a side project of Industrial group Controlled Bleeding, and the influence is obvious. Much like scrap metal, Skin Chamber’s Trial is hard to swallow, and will screw up your insides, but it is a quite impressive feat.

                Okay, so John Paul Jones produced the Butthole Surfers’ new album. So what? Is that supposed to make it good? Independent Worm Saloon has a couple of fun songs like “Who Was in My Room Last Night”, “The Annoying Song”, and “The Ballad of Naked Man”, but this is not the Butthole Surfers. If I want to hear Rock ‘N Roll, I’ll put on K-Rock. And if want to hear anything from John Paul Jones, I’ll play Led Zepellin’s “Fool in the Rain”. Catch my drift? Wise up, Surfers or you’ll be shit. You can tell this is their major label debut because it is neutered. No balls.

                Fear Factory’s new EP Fear Is the Mind Killer is pretty cool. Released by Roadrunner Records, it features five remixes of their songs by Rhys Fulber and Bill Leeb of Frontline Assembly.  The remixes take these already intense metal songs into whole new realms, making them sound more like Skinny Puppy and Pigface. It’s like visiting an alternate reality where Fear Factory became an Industrial band. There are some great and dark interpretations of their songs on here. But I would have loved to hear other songs instead of three versions of “Self Immolation”. I began to resent that song after a while. But overall, the EP is worth listening to for the radical interpretations and ingenious lyrics.

                I came across a demo tape by a local, unsigned band named Lament. The cover of the tape features a beautiful, black & white photograph of an angel statue, and that is what drew me to the tape.  When I played it, I expected to hear some sort of slow Goth music. Instead, it was a seven-song compilation of well-crafted, if not a bit stoic, rock music. One song stood above the rest as a potential single, and that is the eponymous track “Lament”. This song has a catchy guitar hook, and earnestly endearing vocals. I’ve been humming it constantly since I first heard it. This band shows promise, and I am interested in monitoring their musical development.

                The musical event of the year, as far as I am concerned, was the release of a techno versions of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s “The Phantom of the Opera” by Harajuku. I was out at a gay club the other night and out of nowhere these creepy Halloween-record type noises started to play over the sound system. You know what I mean, a creaking door, a howling wolf, and footsteps. Then the opening melody of “The Phantom of the Opera” began, and the dancefloor got packed. The original version was techno-ey enough, but this version dialed that up to eleven and gave the song just the right beat to become a dance music classic. I have no idea what or who Harajuku is, but I am curious to see what they do next. I really hope it’s a techno version of “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” by Ethel Merman. I’d buy it!

                Speaking of Techno, Sunscreem has released an album titled O, which is blazing up the dance charts thank to the hit single “Love U More”. I love this song. It touches me in a sentimental way that sends shivers down my spine. The album O isn’t half bad either. I mean, once you’ve heard five techno songs, you’ve heard them all. But this album has another great single potential in the song “Pressure”. It is catchy as hell and features the singer’s wispy, Kate Bush-like vocals at their best. Those two singles alone should make the album worthy of a couple of listens.

                Well, folks, it’s now 4:30 am and I have a dental appointment at 11:30, so I better get some sleep. As always, it’s been a pleasure being able to talk to you like this, late at night, completely naked, and listening to 70’s dance classics in the background. You know, life’s too good. You just have to know when to relax and enjoy yourself. Man, summer is coming soon. I can feel it. I look forward to the freedom from responsibility that summer brings. This one will be nothing but late nights and mellow mornings. But for now, I must drift off into sweet slumber. Too bad you are not here for me to curl up next to. I hate sleeping alone.

Around Campus on Crutches

FACTORY

Around the campus on crutches

From January until March I was on crutches after being involved in a dumb car accident. I was left with a broken femur and a pair of crutches, both of which I have come to despise. I am finally off the crutches and limping around the campus with the aid of a cool-looking wooden cane. Since being on crutches has been a huge part of my life these past few months, I figured I’d write a handy guide for those who have been similarly afflicted.

The first and by far the best aspect of being on crutches is sympathy. You will be showered by waves of sympathy, so you better lean how to milk it for all it’s worth. People will let you get ahead of them in lines; They open doors for you; they smile at you and want to hear about your accident. But the best part of being crutch-bound is the female attention it garners. As soon as you hear a girl say: “Oooh, what happened to you? Poor baby” you know you are in for some quality sympathy. I guess the crutches bring out the motherly instincts in some women. 

Next thing you have to consider about crutches is that it is NOT easy! Don’t be fooled. You don’t use your underarms to lean on the crutches. All of the weight is borne by the hands, and it hurts. I’ve got callouses with personalities of their own on my hands. It is a ton of work. That’s why we always have that pained expression when you see us hobbling around campus. It’s not the broken leg that hurts, it’s our damn hands. 

An important thing to get as soon as you are crutch-bound is the fabled elevator key. This key allows you access to all the elevators in all the buildings. All you have to do is go to the Health Services office, fill out a billion forms, leave a $10.00 deposit, and voila, you got the key! The key is great for avoiding all the steep stairways we have in our school. But most importantly, you can give your friends a free ride up and down, thereby improving your friendships. You can also offer a cute stranger an elevator ride and possibly get a date out of it. 

I didn’t get a handicapped parking permit. I wanted access to those sweet, handicapped spots, but I felt too guilty. I’d rather save it for those who really need them. Besides, I never parked too far, thanks to the faculty spaces and the God-given maintenance parking lot.

A note about the handicapped doors at Hutchinson Hall: Not only do they not open automatically; But they are heaviest doors on campus. Do you have any idea how hard it is to try to open one of those doors while balancing on crutches? I urge maintenance, or whomever oversees that, to get it fixed. 

The easiest doors on campus are in the college center because they are automatic doors that DO work. Other buildings should install these automatic doors to make it easier for the truly handicapped people to have access to their education. Geez!

Anyway, apart from the idiots and airheads that insisted on calling me Cripple, Gimp, Handi-Boy, and Stumpy, being on crutches for a little while wasn’t such a bad experience. It takes a lot of getting used to. But if you know how to use it to your benefit, it can be a lot of fun. So, go out and, as they say on Broadway: “Break a leg!”

The Associated Collegiate Press National Convention

The A.C.P. National Convention

David Zayas, Assn’t A&E Editor

As I am writing this, I am flying over the great landscape of the American West on my way back home from San Diego, California. I think I’m flying over Arizona now because I thought I saw Mel’s Diner somewhere down there. But I didn’t see Vic Tayback. Maybe he’s up here. 

You know, you never realize how beautiful America is until you see it from the heavens. From my tiny airplane window, I can see the impressive vastness of our country. I am reminded of that old song “Seasons in the Sun” by Terry Jacks.

When that song first came out, my brother Deadeye told me that the lyrics were found in the wreckage of a plane crash. It was presumably written by one of the passengers as the plane plummeted earthward. Being a kid, I believed him and that was it for me. It was Tear-City every time that song came on the radio. 

I haven’t heard that song in over seven years. 

The other day, I came across a tape by the band Too Much Joy. They were previously known for their hardcore covers of 2 Live Crew and LL Cool J songs. And guess what, friends & neighbors, on this tape they do a cover of “Seasons in the Sun”. 

It starts off like the original, but quickly succumbs into a guitar-heavy, frantic beat. The vocals sound very sarcastic and sound oddly like “Weird Al” Yankovic. It was strange, because even though the lyrics were the same, it did not depress me. Actually, it was too much joy to listen to. 

I brought it with me to San Diego, but I seem to have left it back at The Bristol Court Hotel. I wish I had it right here, right now. I need it. 

And you may ask yourself: How did he get there? 

And you may ask me: “David, you Puerto Rican Stud Muffin, what were you doing in San Diego anyway?”

Funny you should ask.

My Copy Editor, Leah Edsen and I were chosen by Kean College to represent them at the 1992 Associated Collegiate Press National Convention at the Pan Pacific Hotel in San Diego, California. It was totally an honor. 

At first, I was a bit apprehensive because I was in crutches after suffering from a broken femur. But then I thought: “What the hell?” and I went for it. I do not regret it. 

During the convention, I attended lectures and workshops that significantly altered my perception of journalism and helped me focus on what direction I want the paper to take for next semester when I get to run things (Heh! Heh!). Everything I learned at the conference will be of immediate benefit to The Independent, especially the Newspaper Design/Redesign workshop. 

The best part of the weekend, however, came at the end of our daily lectures. This being a “National Convention” there were college students from all over the United States. I, of course, being the charismatic and social person that I am, managed to meet up with nine of the greatest people there. 

They were:  Brad from Virginia who know what to do with a good set of maracas and a Mexican Hot Dog; Karyn from California, a caring woman loves to host parties at Room 309; Jason, also from California-picture a hybrid between Tom Petty and the guy from Nirvana, but with much better hair and attitude; Debbie from Washington was the first person I met and, by far, the smartest and truest (and first!) real hippie I’ve ever known;  Steven, from California as well, knew good jokes and was not afraid to try “alternatives”; Marnett (Ca.) was the wildest 30-Something I met and really cared about Handicapped Seating; Reina (Ca.) was an exotic Spanish speaking lady or Japanese ancestry who was a true Dancing Queen; there was also Mike (Ca.) who was our illustrious leader and living proof that there are hip, real people in California; Last, but not least, Sherry from Virginia. She was the most beautiful and understanding Southern Belle that has carved a palace within my heart of stone. Oh, and she loves to say: “Ya’ll.” 

These nine people made my weekend the best in an otherwise miserable existence. They will be missed. 

Among the adventures I had were: walking what seemed to be 345 miles through the Gas Lamp District; discovering that in Tijuana “Americans have no rights”; Playing a game of truth telling and drinking called: “I never”; dancing in crutches to “Pump Up The Jam”; meeting a 20 year old beauty named Sandy; having the sudden realization that San Diego is New York without the bad attitude; my first trolley ride: and getting carried across the Mexican-American border by two beautiful women after I hurt my leg. What fun!

Looking out of the plane window now, I see that the sun has set across America, creating a dark gap between my comrades and myself. It’s funny how you can miss people you have known for less than three days. I wonder if I will ever see them again.

Oh wait! I think I see something. Yes! I can see Vic Tayback now. He’s right outside of my window and he is singing.

“Goodbye, my friends, it’s hard to die when the birds are singing in the sky.”