A blazing cascade absorbing a sensitive feather boa. A skin of sequins draped in leather fishnet. A black magma eruption emanating from the Danish hamlet of Gündsømägle.
It is Drägönspör.
Drägönspör, in dreams which usher my deepest heart to hoary bogs; in enormous rhythms, like silt that on bilgewater dances; in bowel-yowls drilling strange-quick paths of ear cut into brain.
Lünä Cäbärët Böärd Mïx – “Crëst”
Drägönspör, my slack soul thirsts for the taste of your whip, Dig this crazy scene…
What can I say about FIFE! that so many others haven’t said already?
How ’bout this: They stink like a leper’s scrotum.
That work for ya?
Full disclosure: I went to high school with their dickshit drummer Al Semersky.
I was at his bar mitzvah. I saw his older sister’s left boob while she was changing in his Mom’s minivan in the parking lot at Zilker Pool. I know he paid Jamie Packer $100 to write the personal essay about his love for diversity that got him into Ithaca.
Oh yeah. I know Al Semersky. And I also know this: FIFE! sucks out loud.
Their suck is so mighty, light cannot escape it. Dig this crazy scene…
Undershock came blasting out of East St. Louis back in ‘94, emerging from the same emogrind scene that produced better-known bands like Methgore and Snaildriver. They spent nearly three years touring incessantly in support of their self-produced EP Guppy Blood, permanently searing anthems like Teenage Love Child and Heart Heart Tartare into the souls of thousands of rust-belt adolescents. And then, in late 1997, after staging a mind-bending 1,034 shows in 1,011 days, they just disappeared. Dig this crazy scene…
I first caught The Faerie Factory at a private fundraiser for a shih tzu rescue organization at an art gallery in Calgary. At first, their fey, shambling performance — fronted by wraith-like lead singer Myrrh — was almost inaudible over the hushed audience conversation and occasional muffled dog growls. Guitarist Correa de Muñeca opened the show wearing what looked like yellow cashmere mittens, while drummer Dragonne Contenu wielded paint brushes in lieu of drum sticks as he scrubbed out a kinky, whooshy syncopation behind a programmed bass line emanating from an offstage laptop. Dig this crazy scene…