Monday, June 20, 2005

One

Dave Blunkett tore open yet another letter addressed to NAZI SEX MURDER RECORDS, 14 THE LARCHES TORQUAY. Another loser wanting The COCKSUCKER compilation tape held released, and enclosing their grubby little cheque for a pitiful £3.50. He threw the letter aside, telling himself held get round to it eventually, and put the cheque in his wallet for when he’d be in the bank later.

He sighed heavily. Things in the Power Electronics movement weren’t all they'd been cracked up to be. Since held founded his record label, and simultaneously his band Hitler Rally six months ago in the last few hours of 1982 at his local pub - it had seemed a pretty good idea at the time - he felt he’d not done much to impress his uniquely nasty ideas on the world. Hitler Rally had played two poorly-attended gigs, both in Devon, and although the record label had a steady stream of customers, they hadn't released any vinyl yet and the people who wrote to him seemed a boring bunch of Fuckers. They all reeked of middle-class neurosis, From their names to their primarily cosy Home Counties addresses. He’d wanted to reach dangerous people: convicts, psychos, right-wing loonies and maybe some crazy horny bitches into blood rituals and the like!

Blunkett reached for the telephone and dialled a very familiar number - that of his main collaborator in Hitler Rally, Mike Read. Mike was a lovely guy he’d known for years, and he was an invaluable aid when it came to the music, but his heart wasn't into the extreme image and presentation that a power electronics band really needed to make the grade. He’d complain about the tape covers of KKK lynchings and disembowelled kids which Blunkett insisted on for N.S.M. releases. He spent too much time reading the fucking Guardian, thought Blunkett grimly as Mike answered the blower.

"Alright mate,listen we really need to talk about what we’re gonna do for this London gig, Mikey. It's only two weeks off now and it's our big chance to really prove ourselves"

Mike made an apologetic cough before speaking "Er, well Dave. There was something I wanted to ask you actually ... d’you think you could leave my address off the tape covers? 'Cause you do all the actual mail order stuff and anyway ..."
"Christ, spit it out," thought Blunkett.

"... my Mum goes mad at letters addressed to Nazi Sex Murder or whatever. I mean it's a bit much itinit mate?" The poor little Fucking wimp! Blunkett grinned with wry amusement. He himself had left his parents two years ago and although at 23 he was Mike's senior by two years, sometimes it seemed a much bigger gap. "OK Mikey say no more. It's as good as done. Now,about this gig. I told you about my idea for six-foot rotating swastikas onstage, didn't I?" Mike had to stifle a laugh. Dave’s ideas were brilliantly over the top sometimes, although lately he seemed to be going a bit too far for comfort sometimes. "Yeah, I remember"

"Well get this - a bloke at work's actually already made 'em for us. He's a bit of an amateur engineer. So we'll have them, and I’ll slap the audience round a bit and we're sorted. I sussed out a setlist today - what d'you think of this?"
"Go on" sighed Mike.
"We start off with Lords Of Rape, then a really long version of Kidsnuff -while I start off the aggro. Then we go into Aryan Supremacy and we set the swastikas rotating. After that we finish them off with Death Fuck Labotomiser and I set fire to the swastikas and really smash some heads in."

"...Fuckin' hell Dave ... "

"And there's something else I've got planned. I've asked Neil Spencer to help out with us"
"Christ Dave, no! He's fucking mental!"

"Listen Mikey - it just looks too weedy if there's only me on the mike and you on the noise onstage. All the top power electronic bands have got three members. It's how it works. He can just stand in front of a keyboard and pretend to play it if that makes you feel any better. God knows he probably wouldn't know how to plug it in anyway - he just looks the part. Anyway I've made my decision and that's final. Cheers mate, seeya"

The line went dead and Mike Read felt a sick wave of horror crawl over him. Neil Spencer was 29 years old and well-known as a complete and utter psychopath around the Torquay area. He was covered in insane-looking, self-inflicted tattoos - souvenirs of his not infrequent stays in prison, and Borstal before that. He had
horrible scar tissue around his neck from trying to hang himself at some stage, and he had a steady stream of different girlfriends - most of whom tended to be smackheads or psychiatric out-patients. Spencer originally hailed from some godforsaken suburb of Manchester, and he’d knife you as soon as look at
you. Blunkett had met him down a dubious pub called the Cock and Spanner, and had been trying to get him involved with Hitler Rally for a couple of months now.

Mike tried to look on the bright side. At least if we cause a stir at the London gig we might get a bit more recognition, he thought. Maybe even a chance to get some proper records out.

They were due to play at an all-day power electronic- show called the Deathcamp Festival. All the top acts in the country were on the bill, and it really was Hitler Rally's big chance at infamy. Mike resigned himself to the fact that the experimental, musical side of things, to which he genuinely applied himself with some seriousness, would be taking second place to the outrage and extremity factor which seemed to be Blunkett's forte.