minister of the parliament of monsters

I remember my first taste of ‘little arithmetics’, it didn’t make sense - and like many things that lead us to confusion, we persist with the feeling till we understand. It’s taken me almost ten years to get this close, and tonight I want the answers.

‘Magdalena’ you start slow and steady till you are comfortable with the road, and happy with this volume, you pick up speed. You keep pushing the comfort barrier till you realise your foot is hard-nailed to the floor, and the only thing holding you down, is gravity fighting to keep you on the reign, and the luck you are pushing as you heart races in the hand of fear. The bass is hot rubber on the road, and the drums are the flashes of our headlights on the trees we speed past. Out of control now, we fly out of control, and I’m not sure if I am feeling uncertainty, excitement, or an anxiety that this initial sensation might not sustain the show. If this is a false sense of security then I close my eyes to the real world from this moment on, as I have never felt a fear like this; the fear of living without this sound for the rest of my life. But if I feel it change at all, it only grows, and I slip into the crowd to seek the centre of the blast.

‘Instant Street’ holds the accelerator to its limit, and if this song doesn’t break soon, it will take off – if it doesn’t explode first. How high can we go with our feet still on the ground?

This is the feeling of falling in love, fearlessly wanting to give in and do everything here, and now. “Let’s do it serpentine any time, lets do it right here”. So rarely in a lifetime will you feel it, and never before have I felt like this for something I couldn’t touch. The sensation makes me tingle so much I laugh, the lights are beautiful, this could be a dream - I close my eyes and the circus comes to town. So thank you for the roses - the earth they grew in, the sunlight that warmed them, the rainfall that quenched their thirst, the beginning, the middle, and the end.

The sound defines my idea of perfection, and even though I hear you say “I’m not that handsome anyway”, I watch the freaks up front, so ugly-beautiful, take off their masks and stand naked before their martyrs of choice. You should be our saviour, but you must be god, because tonight I found my new religion, and felt myself turn and fall, becoming a true fan. I change my gaze, from the crowd to the stage, as I join the devoted, the faceless and the hungry, and expect with the rest, my pound of flesh. I can only justify these feelings on the decision that it’s the least I deserve, as you leave the stage with my heavily ransomed heart.

This is it. This is my death by tiger; over the cliffs and into the waves, dispersed over the water, never to recover, the pieces, my finger nails pushed back full of sand, my lungs full of sea, gulping back the life I panic to live without this new found wonder – because this is the sound of me meeting my maker.

And before you go, forgive me, doesn’t everyone look to god for answers? I’m hoping that you can explain... little arithmetics.

You’re voice is ghosts of animals echoing through caves, infidel or angel, no one is safe here. I turn to run but the shadows scare me more and you are all around, galloping, a dusty black colt closing in, and I am trampled by the sound. Murder I hear you whisper, though I think I am mistaken. I fall in love with whatever it is you feel and I want to drink it as my own, the vein beneath your knee, and I would crawl like a slave to be at your feet. Now I am in the battlefield losing the fight, surely you are more than just one man, the screaming of angst-ridden artists before you, walking a splinter of a wire - you try to balance but a knowing look says it all; the fall is so much more alluring. This is the biggest trigger I’ve known without seeing blood, so do I pull? I reach out and take it in my hand, ready to flow, I am ready to flow. A bang of drums and I am gone, to a depth too severe a drop for any light to permeate, and I feel a new kind of panic; I am drowning, the water is far too deep for me – with no likelihood of rescue I return a smile as I go under.

a review of the 'parliament of monsters' gig at 93 feet east will be in the next Bubblegum Slut fanzine!

Unsure of what to expect from tonight’s performance, and even less sure of how to cope with this consuming anticipation, I am convinced I will need a stiff drink to get through the evening without passing out. As we near the Astoria my body begins to tingle and by the time I have handed over my ticket I feel a little light-headed.

I’m anxious. This is never going to be enough, because the standards were set ludicrously high, and the road sternly closed behind them. For months after the release of “the downward spiral” there was little else I cared about hearing, it was the only thing that reached me at my lowest point; ‘the wall’ for my own generation, it mapped the journey down and only stopped once it had reached the very bottom. Anger, running into despair, running headlong into the end, and how do you follow the end without a new beginning - what’s more, who wants a new beginning after such perfect closure?
The definitive artists faux pas; write the perfect album less than half way through your budding career.

I want to get closer, and I would, but the intensity of the crowd maintains my distance for me. At last, flesh, just like the video, right here in front of me. Regulation studio tan, freshly cut black hair, and “none more black” clothes - the new uniform. But just how deep do you believe? If we carve into your souls are you as dark at the core? Something in the way the band look as though they would be checking their watch (if they were allowed to wear it on stage) says no, but at least one person up there sincerely means it.

Still trying to absorb this spectacle I’m unsure how this adds up, so when in doubt, look at everyone else! This may have been my biggest surprise of the evening. Who is supposed to be living up to whose expectations now? It doesn’t look as though many of the aging fans have the determination to “chew until it bleeds”, though I couldn’t keep still if I wanted to, a heart full of hate ready to bite, so how deep do you want me to believe because this goes beyond devotion. But alas, not even the ‘best of’ set performed tonight - with every word meaning as much, if not right now more, than it always has - is enough to totally consume me. Too many of this unruffled audience, using their state of the art mobile phones, or telling the person next to them that this is their favourite song (without actually looking like they give a rats arse about it), see to it that it’s my concentration rather than my heart that’s broken.

Gloomily, resigned to the fact I may have reached the point in a relationship where you doubt you will ever feel that spark again, I watch the band leave the stage - all except Reznor.
And there it is, the last jolt before you give in and really feel. Totally consumed, you forget about audience and their mobile phones, the cigarette burns, the sweat dripping on you from god knows where, because there is nothing in this space between you and the most stirring portrayal of despair anyone has seen in the last 10 years. All of a sudden my perspective changes, perhaps the challenge for me here isn’t just containing the thrill about being faced with an artist I love, but being faced with my dream, the point it touches reality and, what lies just beneath that point, the fear of failure. Indeed the line does begin to blur. If 'hurt' had been the only song I managed to see performed tonight it would have been worth waiting years. Wrapped up in awe, in my abandon, I could have walked outside fearless; after all, no one can hurt me as much as I hurt myself.

At some point between the venue and the tube station I started to cry, I don’t know when, but I was sobbing on the platform like an emotionally vulnerable, hyperactive child. Have I really just come in a 15-year circle, or did the slowing heartbeat of nostalgia spin me to the bottom of my favourite spiral? If my trembling hands can operate my I-pod I will soothe myself with the delicate sound of “comfortably numb” – anymore NIN would soften the blow.
Now I feel a little tender, I’m not sure if its from crying or lack of sleep, but it’s not lack of feeling, and after all the emotion (and non emotion), tonight’s diamond in the rough was with teeth, and I was chewed up, spat out, and the door was locked!

BOY am I drunk!  I needed to cut loose and I am free floating I am so bloody loose! Leisur Hive supported cinema strange tonight and I am glad to say thay were like a freak on a lead trying to break free.  I love to hear the bass drive into you so hard your neck clicks. Cinema Strange were good too but by that time I was so drunk I didn't have a clue what was going on.  I even sat outside in the garden listening to Jazz (now that means I was REALLY drunk!).

Bush Hall is one of the hottest venues I have ever been in.
Giant Sand.  Brutally gorgeous!  Howe Gelb is a god.
Such fatal chord changes I collapsed from inside, but it's the most tragically beautiful soundscape to fall apart to.  I need this escape from my life, driving through the moon lit desert without the lights on?
I'll be there.

Regina Spektor is tripping over people’s heads with clumsy toes, they glance smiling upwards, and she comes crashing into my heart.  I too would fuck to one of her songs but for now I'm still reeling from the impact. 
and drying my eyes.

You walk on stage dressed as a priest to your own confession, you might have forgiven Jesus but how can Jesus forgive you when every illuminated face is looking at you like you are god?
I swear the air conditioning just kicked in, or maybe someone opened the doors of this giant aircraft hanger, my skin shrink wrapped around me to the sound of 15,000 chant "Irish blood, English heart".
Another shirt is thrown from the stage. I never understood what charisma was but I think it's just been explained to me.
Am I so hung over this should make me cry, or is it because I know how it feels to dream that somebody loves you?
No harm, just another false alarm.

by the time I realise the weather is changing, the lifeboats have already gone overboard and all we can do is hang on, cause there's nowhere else to go. This didn't seem so dangerous when it started but the waves are clinging to me and dragging me under, the challenge is to fight, they're telling me it's winter. I must endure this, even if I am drawn to the calm which lies beneath. then it's gone. it's in the air and I can't tear myself away. Retreat! Retreat! you say, but I wont let go - even if it kills me. and if it does, then at least I discovered one thing, my favorite sound, as winter kills this fading year.