The Church Of Me
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Kissing in the churchyard, I know a righteous woman

Tuesday, March 04, 2003
WHITEHOUSE

YOU CUNT YOU FUCKING CUNT WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE 40 years or are those 41 shout your rage at 41ness don’t blink what do you know 23 years at this game your entire adult life making Throbbing Gristle sound like Psychic TV waters less certain in their flow CUNT’S NOTHING is that why Peter Sotos left is he really that misogynist and why in that case although departed there were arguments does he contribute the centrepiece to the new Whitehouse album Bird Seed yell at me easier than yelling with me far simpler than yelling for me isn’t it William Bennett the Whitehouse man it’s his idea it’s his mind you’re accessing and this album is more fucking accessible than anything he’s ever done before dislocate your mind expecting outrage and by God you get outrage but this outrage it is righteous six six six tracks the ideal length put it on the other side of your C90 to Atari Teenage Riot Live At Brixton Academy fuck fuck fuck this goes beyond that but then they always did Whitehouse and now they veer suddenly towards their audience their misunderstanding assaulting audiences most recently at the Red Rose Club you think Bill Hicks had definitive word on slaughtering audiences well just have a listen to “Why You Never Became A Dancer” and what does it do it does for LIE ABOUT CHILD-MOLESTING GROPES AND AND AND VERBAL ABUSE AND BATHROOM RAPES I DON’T KNOW HOW WELL YOU CAN REMEMBER YOUR OWN POINTLESS GLUE-SNIFFING ADOLESCENCE soundtracked by Alec Empire produced by Alex Harvey or should that be Alex von Schlippenbach more overt activity and get that groove you can get that groove if you try to cut through EVERY OTHER FUCKING ADIDAS-CLICHÉD CRINGE because it’s about eggered-on liars who get off on non-existence adolescent grindstones of grief and misery and abuse AND THAT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ME I’LL OPEN THE PACKAGE I’LL WATCH THE SHOW I’LL ENJOY PERFECTLY WELL-MADE ART and the subject ends up the abuser he cannot justify so I’LL GIVE THE YOU SOMETHING EVEN MORE INTERESTING THAN THE LAST ONE I’ll Show You Now Kevin Rowland but of fucking course and William Bennett 40 or 41 bespectacled thinning conservative shirt where’s that capital C gone could pass for a Home Counties shock jock makes Jon Gaunt sound like Desmond Carrington but this is something to which you are nailed like Dali’s Christ so smugly wasn’t “Wriggle Like A Fucking Eel” well you want self-destruction I can only but help you I DON’T KNOW WHY BOY’S PROUD OF A NICOTINE HACK WHAT’S SO FUCKING CLEVER ABOUT THAT? you wanna drown why CAN YOU DO THE CHLORING GARGOYLE and this is a far more discernible groove could be Suicide they are a Brit Suicide more so than an even more distended Throb Gris but see how the bassline Philip Best stupid not to acknowledge he wants you to reach the music see how the subtle improv touches touch and touchspin powdering rage because Bennett is screaming he screams at dumbed first-time callers Southgate or was that Southfields but you know you could dance to this even if it’s the CHICKENSKIN SWIM and you think you’re drowning or made to drown but your foot connects with a trapdoor in through to the office beneath the drains and that raging voice becomes a bitter basso profundo intonation “Philosophy” and why does he go on about the door music a door slamming again and again a drumbeat a heartbeat one precise rhythm spun out like ostinatos ripped from Fassbinder’s notebooks WHAT SORT OF EXAMPLE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE SETTING and moreover CUNT’S GONNA SAY SORRY because REMEMBER YOU’RE FAT REMEMBER YOU’RE STUPID REMEMBER YOU’RE UGLY pronounced like Valentine Dyall IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY this not that so not the fucking Blow Monkeys CUNT’S FUCKING DECORUM and then threats recede replaced by the question IF I WALKED OUT THAT FUCKING DOOR and NO MATTER WHAT YOU FUCKING DID YOU COULD NOT OPEN THE DOOR AND YOU KNEW YOU COULD NEVER LOOK INTO MY EYES AGAIN HEAR MY VOICE AGAIN FEEL MY TOUCH AGAIN you want vulgar punctum how about MY FRIEND WAS STABBED IN THE STREET BY SOME DRUNK DEAD BEFORE HE ARRIVED AT THE HOSPITAL oh my fucking God he’s talking to himself this Bennett is he talking to himself he couldn’t protect his friend from being killed and it’s ended ALL THAT FUN WE HAD TOGETHER he hates himself loathes himself and he will serve his own self-pronounced sentence because his life is over you fucking hear me it’s over it’s ended CUNTCANTYOUSEETHATFUCKINGDOOR and then it’s the centrepiece “Bird Seed” assembled by Sotos and wouldn’t he know it Steve Albini in Chicago trust him to get involved and for 15 minutes it’s this collage of tearful emotional women victims mothers of victims talking about child abuse about rape about child abuse rape and murder and what are we supposed to make of it and or the discreet keyboard accompaniments which wander in and out of middleground what is Sotos doing is he admonishing or documenting or attacking what does he mean by doing this why significance of these 15 minutes taking a slice out of the 43 minutes in total and you listen nail yourself to carpet or wall listen and wonder if you paddle in others’ grief you swim luxuriate but you can’t get off on it wouldn’t get off on anything after listening to 15 minutes of this fuck fuck fuck why’s he telling me all this Jesus only by a margin “Cut Hands Has The Solution” tells the subject to proceed with suicide numbed wrecked by own mediocrity yet unknowledgeable of anything to do with real pain I KNOW ABOUT SHITBAGS AND SHAME so go on and cut mutilate see if I care AND YOUR TOTALLY DISGUSTINGLY DISEASED UNKEMPT DISGUSTING EXCUSE OF A BODY it’s a luxury actually there is nothing in these Whitehouse lyrics with which the Daily Mail could not disagree but it is of course all to do with the perspective musically more cautious yet scarcely less minimal HOW WELL YOU CAN IMAGINE HOW SOON CHEAP TEARS ARE FORGOTTEN BECAUSE THERE’S NO WASTED KLEENEX OR SYMPATHY NOBODY WOULD GIVE A FUCKING TOSS FOR THE QUASI-GLAMOUR OF YOUR SYMPTOMS so I will plunge you into proper horror I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT IT’S LIKE NOT TO HAVE HANDS and I’LL SHOW YOU HOW TO PISS ON YOUR OWN BEDCLOTHES plus YOU’LL LEARN TO SWEAT WHILE UNCONSCIOUS because TRANSFERRING PEOPLE IS A FUCKING DEGRADING THING TO DO TO THEM and yet YOU’RE DOING THE RIGHT THING killing yourself because you think you know pain and these are MY CAPITALS NOW YOU ARROGANT FUCKER YOU WEREN’T THE ONE WHO HAD THE CANCER YOU SAT AND WATCHED YOU TRIED AND FAILED YOU CANNOT FUCKING KNOW AND THAT’S WHY YOU WANTED TO DESTROY YOURSELF well why do you need capitals you know all this by now and you had the sense to come back because this is what Whitehouse are trying to tell us you me them they are the most MORAL GROUP imaginable because they are telling you and what they are telling you is that you must LIVE even if you owe it to no one except yourself and sometimes it has to be shouted and screeched oh yes fuck that’s it yes as I knew all along well tell me I’ve been told peel away the protective sandpaper of these rants and it’s a plea it’s a prayer and as if to acknowledge that to confirm that the sixth and final track Bennett invents a language “Munkisi Munkondi” because the language has been exhausted you’ve been told so you have to step through the tiny but discernible gap in that door and what you are told is that life sustains beyond language and those pleasures the greatest pleasures the brightest joys are there for fuck’s sake all you need to do is take the blindfold off and there it is the world there for you because you never stopped loving it i love you i love you forever you know that i CAN be found


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