Don’t let the title fool you; today’s spooky selection has nothing to do with Johnny Cash. This particular “I Walk the Line” is a galloping, off-kilter celebration of moral ambivalence courtesy of the legendary UK goth/electronic/rock act, Alien Sex Fiend. I’ve previously lamented the bland metallic direction goth music took after shedding itself of its early post-punk influences. Exceptions to that boring trend, Nik and Mrs. Fiend (and friends) have been tinkering with and exploring the genre’s boundaries for nearly twenty-five years now.
While the results of their sonic experimentation have been mixed, yielding around one killer track for every three or four recorded, I appreciate that the Fiends have been willing to try something new, and not merely record the same song over and over again with different lyrics.
When my wife was working as a desk clerk at a local hotel, she got the opportunity to meet Nik Fiend, who was staying there while on tour with the band. She remembered he sounded like Dracula, and he kissed her hand during checkout. All the cool stuff happens to my wife….
Alien Sex Fiend – I Walk the Line (from a 1986 single, comped on Drive My Rocket, 1994)
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Halloween Countdown: October 17 – this apple’s rotten, rotten to the core
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4 comments:
Tracks from Alien Sex Fiend, Suicide and UK Decay, and all in one week. I must be dreaming. You make life much better. Greetings from North of the arctic circle, Norway.
Thanks for the kind words! Now I don't feel so guilty about going heavy on the gothic stuff lately.
Man, the closest I ever came to kissing fame was Dakota Williams (North of 60) who, "upon recognition", bowed down and kissed the back of my hand (apparently he didn't care that I had PERSONAL SPACE ISSUES) as I was working the counter at this old cafe back in college. The thing is, I didn't even know who the guy was. I was just asking for a shy coworker. Serves me right, I guess!
And hey, if you're getting bored of going a little heavy on the whole 80s goth scene - consider The Pogues? I've been on a real kick lately and Down in the Ground Where the Dead Men Go has a wonderful 30-second harmonic of pure screaming, if you remember, which is surprisingly not as hard on the ears as you might think.
The wife has had many encounters with the cool and famous: tea with Depeche Mode at the Parker House, a compliment from Ian McCulloch, drinking Pepsi backstage with Suicidal Tendencies, hanging out with the Damned post-show.
The closest I ever got was the time I asked that one guy from Suede if I could get past him to look at a store display.
The Pogues are much loved in our house. The wife and I caught one of their Boston reunion dates last March. Shane may be incomprehensible these days, but the old spark of genius is still there.
There a a couple of Pogues songs I've been considering, "Down in the Ground Where the Dead Men Go," being one of them.
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