Electric Six

Whoever said that you should never meet your heroes must have had the wrong heroes.

On Saturday 15th December I was fortunate enough to see Electric Six perform at Shepherd's Bush Empire in London. Fortunate as, despite seeing them play a mere five days earlier in Brighton, I was shocked and completely blown away by them.

My good friend Tim spent a bit of time writing a great wee article about their seventh album, Zodiac, and why it (and the rest of their output) is both so exciting and intelligent. Yes! Intelligent! A fan-made video for one of the songs Tim mentions in his article, 'After Hours', is profoundly illustrative at conveying where the band is coming from. It combines footage from the films Metropolis, American Psycho, They Live, Eraserhead and A Night at the Roxbury. Normally, fan videos on youtube make me cringe and feel sorry for the people making them, but in this instance the creator has made something that is generally more fitting than the majority of music videos.

So, these guys aren't just being vulgar, mindless schmucks. There is a point to it all (well, most of it). Swift didn't honestly believe that the Irish should eat the children of the poor in order to ease their economic woes. Satire is a potent tool for criticising social conventions, and when in the disempowered position of the musician, it can be a mightily effective one. I find it hard not to read Electric Six's third album, Switzerland, as being an all out critique of the music industry. Fresh from being dropped by Warner, ultimately ending their mainstream music careers, beneath the comic set pieces and ludicrous imagery lies a powerful bitterness. Without being tempered by comic set pieces and ludicrous imagery, such a powerful bitterness would be a major turn-off for most listeners. With this tempering, the band have created what is widely held by fans as one of their most engrossing albums. Maybe at some point in 2013 I'll write about it a bit more, but for now I'm focusing on a gig they played in 2012 which featured but two songs from that album, and one of these was only part of an acoustic set before everything kicked off!

So, I knew what to expect from the gig, especially as I'd seen them play earlier in the week. The tour was to celebrate the ten year anniversary of their breakthrough album, Fire, the one that carried 'Danger! High Voltage' and 'Gay Bar' into the public consciousness in 2003. As a result, the main set in Brighton and elsewhere on the tour had consisted with the album being played in its entirety, bookended by 'greatest hits' from their other albums. Fire is undoubtedly one of their strongest albums, if not the strongest, and so this worked fine as a set. It was also a wonderful opportunity to hear great songs that are seldom played live nowadays. It was the first time I'd heard the track 'Vengeance in Fashion' in the ten years I've been seeing them live, and it was the first time Tim had heard 'Naked Pictures (Of Your Mother)' since we'd seen them in 2003, despite us having covered this song in our band, Philanthropy, numerous times in the past. This was what I expecting then; the entirety of Fire, with about 7-8 other tracks from their back catalogue, with one or two of these hopefully being different to the ones played in Brighton.

That ain't what happened.

I should have said earlier that myself and my wee brother Ian had got VIP tickets to the gig. This entitled us to a meet and greet session pre-gig, a signed poster and entry to the aftershow party. What I didn't realise was that this would also include a wee pre-gig acoustic set by frontman Dick Valentine. This treated us to a couple of deep cuts from the back catalogue, along with a couple of tracks from his solo and side projects. Cute start. Neat touch. Feeling pretty good about the gig.

Then we find out that there aren't any support acts, and in fact the band are going to be playing two sets. Wowzers. The second of these would be the Fire set. Wowzers.

And then, when the lights cut out, the audience all salivating in eager anticipation, out of the shadows ambles Dick Valentine.

Alone.

Wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.

He then proceeds to play 'Underwear' by the Magnetic Fields.

Then Tait Nucleus? the synthesiser player comes out, carrying a t-shirt for Dick.

They then proceed to play a song, just guitar and synth.

Then Percussion World the drummer comes out, carrying trousers for Dick.

They then proceed to a play song, just guitar, synth and drums.

One by one, the other members coming out, assembling the line-up and Dick's wardrobe one song at a time. It was such a surprising and enthralling way to start a set, and I especially loved it as a homage to Talking Heads' Stop Making Sense performance. The songs they played as part of this initial set were all huge favourites of mine, and I couldn't fault their song choices at all. The crowd also helped make the experience incredible; the level of participation from the audience was the best I'd ever encountered at an E6 gig, and there were no acts of arch-douchebaggery from any audience members that I experienced. The E6 Brighton gig of 2011 had seen me sent flying into one of the pillars in concorde2, hurting my back a fair bit. Sometimes you get meat-headed arch-douchebags in the audience. Not so this year.

For the second set, playing through Fire, the band (barring Tait Nucleus? who opted for some flamboyantly camp waistcoat action) wore white naval captain/dance commander uniforms.

They also found the energy for a two song encore after this second set.

This was the gig that kept on giving. The energy levels from the band rubbed off onto the crowd, whose excitable enthusiasm must have rubbed off on the band, and everyone everywhere in that venue was rubbing off all over the place.

Struggling to write paragraphs longer than a couple of sentences now, such is my excitement in recollecting the gig.

The after party was also quite something. I was lucky enough to have chats with Dick Valentine about life and being an English graduate (Dick don't reference Yeats and Shakespeare for nothin' yo), and Smorgasbord (bassist) about Brighton and how much Ohio sucks (it does a wee bit). Both were very pleasant gentlemen, and I would presume the others chaps in the band are as well. It made me wonder, why don't all bands do it this way? Anyone at that gig could tell just how much the whole occasion meant to the band, they were having the time of their lives. It's these little personal touches, these gestures towards the fanbase that make it so incredibly easy to obsess about bands and want to spread their music to as many people as possible. Dick told me that one of the key things for the band was that they treat being in a band as their job, and this approach seems to me to be the obvious way to go. The more you do for your fanbase, the more they are likely to do for you.

Electric Six have a job. The fans, the crazies, are the people they work for. The crazies help pay the bills. Electric Six's job is to get the crazies to pay the bills. Maintaining the craziness of the crazies is fundamental to this. All bands should understand that one album every two years only keeps a crazy person at a certain level of craziness. Work for the crazies, not just the labels. The labels can turn on you. The label turned on Electric Six. Electric Six turned to the crazies. Electric Six released and toured a new album every year from 2005 to 2011. This kept us crazies pretty damn crazy. The crazies paid the band in both love and money, Eros and Thanatos. Them guys worked hard. They got me wanting to work hard. They got me worshipping them as heroes.

Meeting your heroes can be a very good thing indeed.

Supermarket - Aisle 2

Holding up a mirror towards the throne
Shows vulnerability of metronome

Inside this packed vacuum
A cold call to prayer is answered,
Man's cage estate
Is ruled by spectral council.
It states that a monochrome spectrum be
Painted on its spiderous avenues.
Oh! Unhygienic Archimedes &
His chronic ill logic,
They feed the drip -
A drip caught short,
Excising poetry from calendars,
Janus, Juno et al jilted,
Welcomed into hyperpurgatory,
That cold custody for the inverted.

Turn off the stars for there is no more space
For constellations left within this place.

Hot Tub Cocktail Party

I didn't know where to look. Eventually, I decided to focus on the safe, unassuming tiles. The non-reflective tiles that refused to heave, quiver or sway. Carefully manufactured, the porcelain tiles of the hot-tub had each been individually selected and positioned artfully so as to create a pattern at once so delicate and so dynamic that the casual observer might not even notice that it was there at all. The tiles were of four different colours: a rich ocean-deep cerulean; a vital green that glowed as if alive; a wicked scarlet that drew in the eyes seductively and a noble pearl, pure and chaste, unblemished by the other colours that danced and splashed so provocatively about it. These non-reflective tiles were fixed; they refused to heave, quiver or sway. A quick look up around the hot-tub confirmed this. No, these definitely non-reflective tiles definitely refused to heave, quiver or sway.

Violent Metempsychoses pt. 3

THE WAITING ROOM

“Another failed sacrifice,” intoned that now familiar voice. I could see the furry shape in front of myself, shielded by the mists. I could feel a vague sense of shame for having returned to this room so swiftly.

“A father and a partner. I would have thought you would have been happy with the chance you had been given.” I could definitely sense something else at work behind its calm words.

“You should have seen what was at work behind the situations you placed yourself within.” I could definitely detect a new edge to the voice. Mmmmm. “I told you previously that everything has a story. You have not been heeding this.” Mmmmm, I certainly had not, forgot about that, caught in the moment each time. I could feel judgement again.

“What are you?” I blurted out, out of the blue. I had no idea why I asked it, nor where these words came from.

“I am a different story to you. I am the one that is here in this room and does not have to make the choice of going through that door one more time, or staying put, learning to be at ease with the endings of stories past.”

Is that all it came down to? Being content with how my story ended? But don't we write our own stories? Could I not rewrite it in a much better way? Of course it wasn't just about my story, but about Sarah's as well. And Josh's. Illiterate worm. I could do this. I would do this, it was the correct thing to do.

“I see that you have made your decision. It does not come as a surprise to me. I wish you the best of luck, and that I hope you can do what is best for all.”

The yellow eyes were staring straight at me, with all the fervour of a crowd. They were inside of me, probing my thoughts, a thousand hands feeling out what I was thinking. It wasn't just this furry thing in front of me, it felt like the hands of history were doing this, appraising me like an omniscient auditor. I couldn't hold its gaze. I flew for the door, eager for the trial to be over.

*   *   *

I, AT THE CENTRE OF THE AIR.

Hanging, suspended within structures crystalline

                                                  Waiting. I am hungry.

                                                  Waiting.

                                                  Taut, silent, hungry

At the corner of the infinite periphery astride air

                                                  Waiting. I am hungry.

                                                  Waiting.

                                                  Forming a path

From abyss to abyss, hungry and patient weaver

                                                  Of text whilst waiting

                                                  Waiting.

                                                  For characters to come

Enter this story, add their words to the ghostly structure

                                                  Floating in the void

                                                  Waiting.

                                                  Hungry for a conclusion

For the lines to quiver and tremble at approaching agency

                                                  Eager for an end to such

                                                  Waiting.

                                                  The woven strands shake

Sending orders to issue forth, intercept, retrieve, absorb

                                                  Surround in words

                                                  Wrapped and captive

                                                  Until the subject is the one

                                                  Waiting.

                                                  The strands deceive

The structure is hewn and falls softly to a silent rest

So silent silence skirts the periphery and scales the real

Alien superstructure the strands of fate adhere to

No longer able to wait patiently when impatience has torn

The woven fabric of the wait, a story built and finished

                                                  By one unable to read

                                                  As a weaver reads vibrations

In the text, in the patterns and the strands of the asking

This agent could not read and was afraid of what he knew not

So from the periphery an exodus to alienation and further

Away from pursuit and heavy judgement from above

Amidst broken frames of fallen structure, to be rebuilt anew

                                                  In a different, freer land

                                                  Away from this illiterate

And this land that had proven to be barren since text-birth

So I, at the centre of the air, ascend contrary to gravity

And stand instead upon the inverse surface, reversed horizon

Eyes appraising the foundations for which the woven path
May be retrod once more, after the vibrations have departed

                                                  I feel the illiterate beneath

                                                  Sending tremors into the ether

Trembling and anxious, and I have this mad compulsion

An instinctive blurting, far from erudite, irrational

And I must weave downwards, descend, fall, go down

Dropping like a weight enacting gravity's ritual towards

This illiterate, as though I have a story to weave for them

                                                  And the impatient illiterate

                                                  Can no longer be kept

                                                  Waiting.

                                                  The new crystalline silk

                                                  Liquid weave unwavering

Permits my going down, the woven text suffers for it

This is not part of a natural structure but an alien one

Feeling forced upon myself, bent over backwards

And enveloped fast within my own ghostly coccoon

Though I can see through spectral structure I am stuck

                                                  And compelled onwards

                                                  Tied to descending hungrily

The vibrations in the air are fearful and terrible

Though the agent has perceived the intent behind the weave

Followed the pattern of the structure and traced the lines

Of silken glass connecting one story to another

And the illiterate has fallen, gone down far faster than gravity

                                                  His structure has toppled

                                                  Fall finally ending all this

                                                  Waiting.

                                                  My hungry impatient waiting

                                                  And now the threads tell me

That this illiterate has fallen from its ladder through fear

At seeing a fellow weaver go down to it against its will

And in trying to evade fell too far, too much and too hard

And the tremors send cracks through the air shaking the lines

And make a noise that summons the illiterate's partner

And she, for she is a she, a she that would consume the story

And would envelope the male for that is as she is want to do

And she comes and sees I at the centre of the air

And she encases me within a glass coccoon of her own

And I know that she is a story teller as well

And I know that the structure she is imposing is a story

                                                  That I have heard before

And her tears are ones that I have heard before

                                                  In another story entirely

And the tears to my silken structure

And the tears for her fallen partner

I feel them as shiverings of the same story

And I am caught in the middle of this snare

And before I am thrown to a cold, wet end

I wonder why this has been chosen as the end

Of our stories.

Violent Metempsychoses pt. 2

THE WAITING ROOM

“That didn't go so well, did it?”

I'm back in the white room again. The furry thing is sat in front of me, eyes trained on the floor. I tried to detect whether there was some malice in its voice but couldn't perceive anything. It was just as calm and comforting as before.

“I wasn't ready for that.”

“We're all different. You'll need to think about that next time. That is, if you want to try again?”

“Definitely.”

“Even after sacrificing the life of an innocent?”

This was a good point. Poor old Barry, I could distinctly remember his concerns and feelings. He hadn't deserved that end, that was for sure, but then after all didn't it serve Josh right? He took from me the one I loved and now I had just done the same to him.

“So you can rationalise it then. Very well. Just remember though that the reawakening process will be more difficult this time.”

I nod. This time I would be ready. I wouldn't rush into anything. I would have my revenge and be done with it, so that I could take some time to experience the world again. Perhaps I could visit Sarah, see how she was doing? Buoyed by these thoughts, I pad my way over to the door again.

*   *   *

CHOOKI AND THE AWAKENING

This     day     is     enjoyable.     I     have     scared     away     another     from     my     territory     when     the     light     was     low     in     the     sky     and     found     several     large     worms     shortly     after     to     give     to     my     mate     and     the     young.     They     are     delighted     with     the     food     I     have     provided     for     them.

I     am     still     hungry     though,     so     I     am     currently     scanning     the     grasses     for     more.     I     can     see     some     berries     down     by     the     bottom     of     the    leaf     hedge     so     I     wheel     around.     I     scan     for     big     beasts     but     cannot     see     any.     I     swoop     down     and     land. I give out a pook-pook-pook and hop over to the berries.

The berries are red and I eat four berries straight away. The berries are soft and sweet, like worm flesh but moister. I can see some old crumbly leaves at the bottom of the leaf hedge and so I am going to have a look and see if there are any crunchies hidden inside. I find a small crunchy straight away. It tries to scuttle past me but my beak is down straight-away and I have eaten another delicious morsel. I can see another crunchy, one of the ones that curls up like a stone. My beak is down and I have eaten another one. I am trying to find some more of these crunchies as I enjoy them the most, but there aren't any.

I hear a rustle from further along the leaf hedge but I can't see anything. I hop away from the leaf hedge into the open grass and have a look around. I cannot see anything. I hear a pook-pook-pook from behind me, and there is the other that I scared away from our territory perched on a tree branch. He has seen a big beast but I cannot see one. I hear a rustle from the leaf hedge and turn to see one of the long claws creeping out from behind a large pile of crumbly leaves. I hop, hop, hop away and take to the air again,     away     from     the     long     claws     and     alight upon the same tree as the other that I scared away earlier.

I don't know why he came back to my territory after I scared him away earlier, but if he hadn't then the long claws might have gotten me. I really dislike the long claws. They are the worst of all the big beasts. I am thinking about how they are like this other that I scared away earlier. They don't care about who the territory belongs to. They are always stalking around the nests of the giant worms, the ones that use all the tools. The tool worms don't seem to mind though. It is as though they think the long claws are just another tool of theirs. The long claws are not just another tool of theirs. The long claws don't care about anyone but themselves. I don't see long claws hunting for worms and berries and crunchies to take back for the mates and young.

The other that I scared away earlier gives out a chink-chook-chook and takes to the air. The other that I scared away earlier has confused me. I gave out a pook-pook-pook to keep others away from the food. The other that I scared away gave out a pook-pook-pook to warn me about the long claws. This is long claws thinking. Or tool worm thinking.

I don't think I am feeling well so I decided to return to the nest.     I     have     become     airbourne.     The     thermals     take     me     above     the     tree     and     I     soar     over     the     other     trees     and     leaf     hedges     and     tool     worm     nests     towards     my     own     nest     in     my     own     tree.     The     tool     worm     nests     always     impress     me.     They     are     like     bigger     versions     of     the     tiny     crawler     nests,     but     very     few     tool     worms     live     in     them.     More     different     creatures     live     in     them,     like     crunchies,     web     scuttlers,     long     claws,     loud     jaws,     even     others     that     I've     scared     away     build     their     nests     in     them.     We     are     all     cuckookoos     where     the     tool     worms     are     concerned.

I     can     see     my     nest.     My     mate     and     my     young     are     inside     it.     I     can     also     see     that     other     that     I     have     scared     away     perched     on     the     branch     next     to     the     nest.     I      am     angry.     He     is     bowing     his     head.     My     mate     is     motionless     and     her     tail     is     down.     Good.     Keep     it     down.     I     am     angry.     I     cannot     believe     that     this     other     that     I     have     scared     away     is     attempting     to     cuckookoo     my     mate.     I     cannot     think     of     ever     seeing     such     a     thing     before.     Although,     maybe,     perhaps,     once,     I     did?

I can remember.

I land on a nearby branch and remember, a time when I flew once before, uncontrolled, the wind rising up at me from below, featherless, wings not catching the air currents. I can remember falling out of the nest, pushed by another who wanted to be with my mate.

Josh. Worm. I am going to have vengeance. This time, I am. I am pausing to think about things this time. I need to find out where I am, then find out where Josh is. Then, I am not sure. Perhaps I can divebomb him, or drop something onto him, or cause him to fall. I can work it out when I see him. My mate is still motionless with her tail down, though she is looking at me now. I will be back for her, and our young, I just have to deal with Josh first. I hop off the branch and take to the sky once more.     As     I     do     so     I     take     one     last     look     at     my     mate.     She     has     raised     her     tail     and     is     moving     now.

I      am     soaring     over     the     tool     worm     nests,     racking     my     brain     to     try     and     work     out     which     one     might     be     Josh's.     I     can     do     it,     I     know,     but     it     is     difficult,     trying     to     apply     my     tool     worm     memories     to     this     new     point     of     view.     If     I     was     to     go     lower     then     I     would     be     at     risk     from     big     beasts.     It     comes     to     me     though,     the     gutters     of     Josh's     nest.     They     were     full     of     leaves.     That     was     why     I     was     climbing     the     ladder,     to     remove     the     leaves     for     him.     Yes!     I     give     out     a     cheerful     seeeeeeeeeeeee     and     wheel     around,     scanning     for     his     untidy     nest.     I     know     it     is     nearby,     I     can     feel     it.     I     can     recognise     the     curving     roads     and     trees     and     leaf     hedges     that     divided     the     neighbourhood.     And     there,     I     can     see     it!

I stoop down and land on a wooden platform in Josh's back-garden. There are some seeds scattered on it and I can eat several of them whilst I devise my plan of attack. I am pleased that these are here. Looking at his nest, I can see that this side of the house is opened up. He must be finding it hot. This means he will be here as well. He wouldn't leave his nest open if he wasn't at home. And yes! I can see, directly in front of me, him! Bastard tool worm. He sits on his chair. There is someone else next to him, who I cannot see in the light. That's it. Just from seeing him, I know I can finish him now. I can fly into him, as fast as I can, and my beak can go through his eye and into his brain. Yes! I'm coming you bastard.

I hop off this food platform and take to the air once more, circling around so that I can generate enough speed to do some damage. Before I make my flight, I locate some excrement in the grasses beside his nest. This was from his loud jaw. I stab my beak into it. If I don't kill him then I can make any wound a dirty one.

I     am     in     sky     again     before     any     long     claws     can     hear     me.     I     can     circle     around     the     nest     three     times     and     generate     enough     speed     to     do     the     damage.     I     make     my     rapid     descent.     My     feathers     are     strong     and     I     fly     like     divine     wind.     Closer.     Closer.     I     can     almost     feel     it.

I feel an intense pain. My beak is forced backwards into my head as I am halted mid-flight. My head. Everything spins. I cannot. I cannot feel. What? Everything is flashing colours. The window. Of course, it was a window. He never opens his windows. He is afraid that web scuttlers will get in his nest. He hates climbing ladders in case he climbs into one dangling in the air. Everything is loud pain. I cannot move. My beak isn't working. Everything is loud pain, apart from the sound of rustling from the leaf hedge, and the warning cry of a chook-chook-chook, from another who has just seen one of the long claws.

*   *   *