Halloween

[Dit bericht is gewijzigd door Seborik op 31-10-2002 09:13]

Halloween is een feest wat gevierd werd bij de oude Keltische natuurgodsdiensten. Het is nu een feest wat eigenlijk door veel Satanisten en Heksen gevierd wordt, het is een van hen vier hoofdfeestdagen in het jaar.

Tja in Amerika maken ze overal iets leuks en grappigs van

Bauhaus - Bela Lugosi's dead
Sisters of Mercy - This corrosion
Death in June - Little black angel
Death in June - Of runes and men
Death in June - Brown book
Von Thronstahl - Heimaterde, Mutterboden, Vaterland
Of The Wand And The Moon - My devotion will never fade
Backworld - Hands of ash
Backworld - Come with joy
Stalingrad - The road on which you die (reprise)
Kirlian Camera - The unreachable one
The Cure - A forrest (tree mix)
In The Nursery - Love will tear us apart
Human League - All I ever wanted
Killing Miranda - Discotheque Necronomicon
Leaether Strip - Are we the sinners (Controlled fusion mix)
VNV Nation - Beloved
Apoptygma Berzerk - Love never dies part 2
Der Blutharsch - Track 3 (of 4) van "Der Sieg des Lichtens ist das Lebendes Heil
Der Blutharsch - Track 1 van "Der Blutharsch"
Helium Vola - Selig
Qntal - Ad mortem festiamus
Deine Lakaien - Where you are
Front Line Assembly - Providence
Collection D'Arnell-Andrea - Kergal
Haus Arafna - And justice for all
Gae Bolg - La marche des mortes
OST The Crow 1
Blood Axis - Reign I forever

Eigenlijk past rockmuziek het best bij Halloween, maakt eigenlijk niet uit wat. Op de Britse muziekzender VH1 hebben ze elk jaar een Halloween rockprogramma

*bonk bonk bonk*

Goh, dat ik daar nog niet eerder op ben gekomen zeg

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Op donderdag 31 oktober 2002 00:53 schreef Zander het volgende:
Da's toch zo'n commercieel Amerikaans feest? Ik vier dat eigenlijk nooit..

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Op donderdag 31 oktober 2002 15:25 schreef postinggirl het volgende:

[..]

Vergeet de nieuwste van de M-Kids niet.

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It's Halloween, and you know what that means: parents carefully inspecting Oh Henry! bars for razorblades, the best television of the year, and horrible sounds emanating from the neighbors' houses. But is that really enough? Doesn't it suck that kids could be going around with bloody hatchets and fake stab wounds instead of parading as Elmo and firemen? Where's the terror? Where the fuck is the goddamn fear??

That's what we were wondering, until we took a good look at our record collections. Since everything comes back to the beautiful strains of music for us Pitchdorks, we decided we'd share some of the more scarifying sounds we've had the great discomfort of being exposed to. Speakers come alive to these records and bite you. Headphones suck brains. Turntable needles sink under your fingernails. And remember: if the volume's high enough, no one can hear you scream.

Bad Boy Butch Batson: Twisted & Bent [X]
This one's hard to find, but MP3s pop up every now and then. Earl "Bad Boy Butch" Batson, posed in wrestling boots on the front cover, is a maniac with absolutely no musical ability. "Once upon a Dream" is one of the strangest things I have ever heard, as Batson keeps hitting a broken guitar string while recounting his nightmares: "Once upon a dream I had a dream I was driving a delivery truck and I turned a corner and I was in hell and charcoal-flaming broiled burnt people were jumping out of my way." "Once upon a dream I had a dream I was being chased by a rat with a Doberman-pinching body and it got on top of me and ate my face off." On other songs he squeals to "Star Trek"'s "Green Girl" theme, or switches voices from obtuse blurts to Chipmunk falsettos to barking. A really uncomfortable call to a waitress with whom Batson was obsessed is included, during which he calls himself Jim Bowie and repeatedly asks if the waitress still loves him and is still his baby. On later recordings, Batson would sing about peeping in windows. Eerie in a behind-you-at-the-grocery-store way. --William Bowers

The Bad Luck 13 Riot Extravaganza: Bats on the Dance Floor [Resurrection A.D.; 2000]
Undoubtedly Philly's sickest children, the Bad Luck 13 crew would like nothing more than to stomp your skull and make punch with the pulp. "Big Red Van" mixes drunken, sloppy riffs with vocals that could easily have been recorded in a vomitorium, acidic bile drenching the microphone. The Crew are banned from a slew of Philly venues, their notorious live shows almost always shut down mid-clusterfuck by angry owners or the cops. No one is at once as menacing and balls-to-the wall rockin' as Bad Luck 13. Hide your mom's Precious Moments collection, put the cat outside. When this disc is on, shit's gonna get trashed like Frankenstein on a slam-dancing bender. --Mark Martelli

Bauhaus: Mask [Beggars Banquet; 1981]
"The passion of lovers is for death," said Bauhaus, and they were embraced by Plath-reading ankh-wearers everywhere as the soundtrack to those loving suicide pacts. Many too-quickly dismiss Bauhaus as prototypical Goth poseurs-- there's nothing scary about clove cigarettes and black trenchcoats. But when they chose to be, Bauhaus could be plenty damn scary. Don't believe me? Check Mask. More theater than music, Mask is a twisted cabaret of weird fiction, hidden agendas, and plaintive, hopeless emotion. It edges on being over-the-top, but Murphy's controlled vocal histrionics combine the leering showmanship of a carnival barker with a nearly unmatched flare for drama. Listen to his cries of, "I have seen too much/ Wipe away my eyes," on the "Man with the X-Ray Eyes", and by the end, you may feel the same way. --Eric Carr

Arthur Brown: The Crazy World of Arthur Brown [Atlantic; 1968]
I've been taken with music since birth, and was hoarding records of my own by the age of two. At four, my grandmother gave me a crate of the records my uncle owned in his early 20s. It became immediately clear to me that my uncle was not like the rest of the family. Even amongst the other strange 60s oddities, this one stood out: when I flipped past CCR to Arthur Brown, my heart skipped, I quickly flipped to the next record in a panic, and then slowly flipped back. The huge, scary, monstrous face on the cover was only the beginning. The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, which I had dared myself to put on the bedroom turntable and now sat listening to overcome with nervousness and wracked with excitement, begins with a series of acid-trip recollections set to music, all concerning being trapped in fire. Arthur Brown's demonic wail writhes in passages like, "I was falling, falling, falling! I was falling into the flames! And I knew that I was gonna burn! I was gonna burn! Oh, it's so hot in here! Let me out, PLEASE!!!" and "Eyes glaring!! Voices blaring! WAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" followed by unintelligible screaming, maniacal laughter and massive horns. Unaware of drugs at this point, I could only equate it with Satan. It was, without question, the most terrifying experience of my life to that point. I had nightmares for weeks, yet couldn't resist playing it again and again-- I had never heard anything like it, and it was so catchy. My parents finally took it away. I found it last year in a used bin for $5. As it turns out, it's something of a psych rarity-- co-produced by Pete Townshend, no less. Darkly brilliant, and funny, too. --Ryan Schreiber

Coil: Time Machines [Eskaton; 1998]
In absence of light, a few moments' exposure to Time Machines slowly dissolves all other stimulus. Tremulant sine waves and ominous hiss cause the walls to recede, separate mind from body, and resonate within. The hypnotic rise and fall of the cascading drones slowly pulls you farther and farther away from the origin of this journey; by the time you realize the absolute isolation, you are swept away, led into a torpid waking sleep, and no longer in control of your destination. Coil understands that less is more-- underneath the sparse, soothing whole tones, Time Machines possesses the otherworldly transportive powers of its namesake and a genuine sense of malevolence. And this is only the trip. Getting there may be half the fun, but when the implied ends are this fearful, it can only be a relief that Coil drops you off moments before they finally arrive. --Eric Carr

Combatwoundedveteran: I Know a Girl Who Develops Crime Scene Photos [No Idea; 2000]
Grindcore for serial killers. Ballroom dancing for paranoid schizophrenics. Combatwoundedveteran are master noisehounds, their rabid dual guitar assault forming a dense wall of hellish static and intestine splitting, rumbling grooves. Dan and Chris' vocals are inscrutable and bone-chilling, the howls and groans of a whole ward of violent psychotics confessing their sins. No doubt Dante had this in his Discman while he toured the levels of Hell. Song titles like "My Spine! My Spine! My Spine!" and "Let the Surgical Strike Begin" only hint at the madness to be found on I Know a Girl. Mix all that with the accompanying artwork, a bloody collage of amputees and mutilated corpses and burn victims, and you have a record too vicious to deny. --Mark Martelli

Johnny Dowd: Wrong Side of Memphis [Koch Int'l; 1998]
The gothic gets marinated a little thick here, but it's effective. "Murder" and "Wages of Sin" are blatant. "Welcome Jesus" and "I Don't Exist" are simply long gone. "First There Was" is a sick singalong-chronicle of pointless homicides and vengeful hangings. The music is tinny and scraping, and the "singing" is a voice from wherever they bury the unidentifiable. Some of the speakers (let's hope these remorseless monsters, sex offenders and suicides aren't Dowd) say hollowly that they can only relate to movies; others warn over a prickly lick, "Be content with your life/ It might not get any better." So monotonously depraved, you'll turn it off. --William Bowers

Alec Empire + Techno Animal: Curse of the Golden Vampire [Digital Hardcore; 1998]
Someone better bust out a few thousand pounds of garlic for this one. There are no nice, neat puncture wounds here: Curse of the Golden Vampire rips out your throat and chews on your larynx instead. Distorted beats and harsh, rusty guitar mix with air raid sirens, white noise, and field recordings of the Zombie apocalypse. Empire and Techno Animal know how to celebrate the dawn of the dead. If your Halloween sound effects records were melted in the oven and played with a broken needle, it still wouldn't be this abrasive. Electro breaks ("Caucasian Deathmask"), digital hardcore, sleep-walking hip-hop ("Substance X")... a vampire swingers ball, no doubt. --Mark Martelli

Fantômas: The Director's Cut [Ipecac; 2001]
Mike Patton's done some pretty fucked up shit, but this one, a collection of film music covers, is the ultimate Halloween record, the one Gwar puts on at their kids' birthday parties. "Time for Pin-The-Tail-On-Our-Dark-Lord, girls!" "Oh no, the giant worm ate all the Cheez Doodles!" "Hey, is that Henry Mancini?" Yup. Patton's truly terrifying vocal contortions (his imitation of Rosemary's Baby tops the list) and interpretations of Mr Pink Panther make for some of the creepiest moments on the album. Theremins, epic skin-pounding by Slayer's Dave Lombardo, and "Spider Baby" (the best horror-movie roll call since "Monster Mash"): so scary it's funny, and so funny it's scary. What more could you ask for? --Brendan Reid

Morton Feldman, Piano and String Quartet, perf. Kronos Quartet with Aki Takahashi [Nonesuch, 1993]:
This piece by Feldman moves so gently but deliberately that it doesn't feel pensive so much as opaque: Takahashi's stately gestures, the tremulous strings and the edgeless silences take hold for eighty minutes to make a sublime piece of minimalism that's also the eeriest scare flick soundtrack never used in a film. The recording's void-like ambience-- engineered at George Lucas' Skywalker Sound facilities-- makes it even more impenetrable: when it gets in your head, it's like the shape in the corner of your bedroom that won't go away no matter how still you lie. --Chris Dahlen

Daniel Johnston: 1990 [Shimmy-Disc; 1990]
The cover art was a clue that all was not well; a disturbed Daniel is flanking his painting of a stormy flower. In interviews, Johnston says they won't let him listen to this one when he's institutionalized. Who can blame them? The album boasts a chilling ballad about living in a "Devil Town", and the way-more-frightening-than-Robert-Johnson blues of "Don't Play Cards with Satan", during which Johnston just starts howling in fear/celebration, "Satansatansatan!" Johnston breaks down into moans and tears during the hymn "Careless Souls", and joins a church congregation in a zombie-ish "Softly and Tenderly". When the audience laughs at him during the live version of "Funeral Home", his trembling alienation is unbearable. Kramer's icy reverb adds to the jeebies. Anyone afraid of losing their mind should steer clear of this portrait's slippery slope. --William Bowers

Lard Free: III/Spirale Malax [Spalax; 1977]
Terrible name, vastly underrated band. France's Lard Free, led by multi-instrumentalist Gilbert Artman, specialized in a kind of epic acid-trance. Imagine the murky synth sound of Suicide's first record combined with krautrock pulse and psyche flashbacks, and you're almost ready for the horrific experience of this album. The oozing rhythms and barely-in-focus mix transform what might have been free jazz in another era into electronic madness. For all of today's lauding of German bands from the 70s, it was truly the French who had the power to give you nightmares. --Dominique Leone

Nurse with Wound: Homotopy to Marie [United Dairies; 1982]
I've thought long and hard about it, and decided: this is what I'm blaring from my windows tonight. Arthur Brown might be more immediate, but Homotopy to Marie moves like a slug, and then lashes out venomously at its unsuspecting prey. On the 20-minute title track, pitch-black bouts of silence, gongs and ominous metal scrapes cause stomach-turning tension, suddenly reversing in dense, sucking clouds. A small British girl makes matter-of-fact statements suggesting impending misfortune and overtones of kidnapping and ritual sacrifice (or worse), as a stern mother retorts, "Don't be naïve, darling!" This finally erodes into distorted grunts and moans, high-pitched tones, and thick collages of frantic female whimpers and panicked panting, spliced into millisecond-long fragments and piled atop each other in blasts of raw horror. Sick, blistered gore, pulsating tremors, brutal snuff flick in sparkling audio. --Ryan Schreiber

Shub-Niggurath: Les Morts Vont Vite [Musea; 1986]
Shub-Niggurath is an obscure French band named after an H.P. Lovecraft fertility demon, and if the namesake isn't creepy enough, their sound certainly is: female soprano vocal alternates between disembodied clarity and terrible shriek; an explosive, overdriven bass sound rattles your deepest, dark areas; percussion and guitars ring so restless and sprawling as to verge on chaos without ever breaking free. The music is extreme, but not in a noisy way; it's more like a brief visit inside the mind of monster, as dirge-beats are pounded without remorse and guitars wail like wolves. Shub-Niggurath were masters of the indecent macabre, and this record is not only one of the best of its kind, but one of the most engaging of the 80s. --Dominique Leone

Throbbing Gristle: The First Annual Report of Throbbing Gristle [Thirsty Ear; 1975; r:2001]
Though nothing can quite top "Hamburger Lady" from 1978's DOA: The Third and Final Report of Throbbing Gristle for shear frightfulness, the group never recorded another album that was as intensely freaky as this from front to back. From the 18-minute, noise-slashed brutality of murder monologue "Very Friendly" to the aptly named tape apocalypse of "Whorle of Sound", Throbbing Gristle set out to splatter your brains all over everything (and would've gotten away with it if it hadn't been for those meddling kids). Want to up the scare factor for young trick-or-treaters? Turn this one up to ten on All Hallow's Eve and the kiddies won't even come near your place. --Joe Tangari

Univers Zero: Heresie [Cuneiform; 1979]
An exercise in extreme dissonance, Heresie groans, throbs and chants its way up your spine and extends withered fingers directly into your fear cortex. This album is leafless trees in a foggy forest when you're being chased by a serial mangler. Bassoons, oboes, church organs, violin, viola, percussion and bass collide at all the wrong intervals, hurling up a terrifying racket. I dare you to try to listen to it in a dark attic. You won't last long. --Joe Tangari

Igor Wakhevitch: Donc. [Fractal; 1998]
Fractal's box-set reissue of Wakhevitch's six LPs from the 70s stands as a landmark for anyone unafraid of the outer limits. Beginning with 1970's Logos, all the way through 1979's Let's Start, Wakhevitch forgoes the tried-and-true for the disturbing-and-surreal. The early stuff is closest to rock, utilizing heavy drums and rambling bass to underscore the skewed orchestral and choral overtures. The later material is quite firmly on the edge of contemporary electronic music, with an idiosyncratic touch that might be approachable to some, disgusting to others. Throughout is an unhealthy attention to studio detail and detached spoken word proclamations. By turns thrilling, absurd and near-genius-- $90 (the going price for the set) says you can't make it though with the lights out. --Dominique Leone

Various Artists: Electric Ladyland VI [Mille Plateaux; 1998]
The dank industrial corner of Mille Plateaux, piled with trash can drums and undisciplined noise, will be forgotten eventually as the label is remembered for perfecting the clicks + cuts "glitch" aesthetic. But the raw, dark sonics were in full effect on the Electric Ladyland series. Tracks here by artists like Techno Animal and Biochip C. are thick with black energy, but Panacea's "The New Style" (as well as the fact that it was released on October 30th, 1998) makes it a particularly noteworthy inclusion on this list. The sampled voice can only be described as coming from hell, with a mouth too twisted and thick with saliva and blood to approach comprehensibility. Pain and rage are mixed in equal measure, and when I hear it at a decent volume I usually stop breathing. --Mark Richardson

Various Artists: The Shining OST [Warner Bros; 1980]
Nobody recognizes that Wendy Carlos is responsible for the wonderfully ominous Main Title from The Shining. The soundtrack pairs it with its sequel, "Rocky Mountains". Dense analog keyboard blurts like electronic tuba, skittering noises and subtle, manipulated laughter and howls rise from a ghostly abyss, then a pause (really just silence between tracks, but actually a quite accidentally tense moment), and the pitchshifted hums arch, reach harmony, and swerve into discordance. This soundtrack is the essence of the film, distilled to archaic terror, which culminates in the bone-curdling orchestral damnation of Penderecki's "Polymorphia". Bela Bartok's "Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta" defies its Ferrante & Teicher title to build serenely toward the fear-blast you hate to anticipate. Of course, the record closes out with the early-1930s recordings of Ray Noble and Henry Hall, but these are pretty nice to unwind to after the stop-motion fright that precedes them. Plus, "Midnight, The Stars & You" is so badass. --Ryan Schreiber

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