I’m finally coming down from the past fortnight of shows, knocked sideways by a cold that threatened throughout the tour and bruised as a motherfucker from shielding my bass from certain harm during my many forays into the audience. However, such wounds are as nothing if it means I can still come face to face with the beautiful ladies in the front row, and the cordless radio set came into its own at the London show, where I was able to play and sing ‘Spacehopper’ all the way into the balcony.
Brothers’n’sisters, I gots to say a big thank you for the excellent response to these shows. We were determined to play a lot from DARK ORGASM, but also felt sure that much of my old stuff would cut it as performed by the power trio. Doggen was a doll and guitar genius as always, but Mr E truly surpassed himself as my favourite ever drummer – his personal fanbase grows ever larger as we speak. I also have to say that choosing a different support band for each show gave each one a delightfully different air. Most impressive were the performances of Ramesses (in Brighton), Suitable Case For Treatment (in Wolverhampton) and Marzuraan (in Newcastle), but everyone gave their all and I gotta thank Lucy Brownhills for her awesome rendering of “Beyond the Valley of Look At The Fool” at Nottingham’s Rescue Rooms.
After the Glasgow show, one gentleman noted that screaming “Fuck The Pope” had a far more negative effect on the Catholics in the audience than I could ever have imagined. I don’t know about that, brothers’n’sisters. I’m a heathen and I don’t really care. After the Manchester show, a few people asked what I meant during ‘Reynard the Fox’ when I described Islam as being ‘The New Emo’. You probably missed my words in the chaos of the sound, but all I did was compare suicide bombers to 15-year-old My Chemical Romance fans, being similarly self-pitying, self-obsessed, solipsistic and misunderstood:
“Oh you just don’t take my God seriously, I’m gonna kill myself and take you all with me!”
Bye bye, damned motherfuckers. It ain’t me and my kind that’s gonna get roasted come Doomsday – it’s you woman-hating wimp wankers. So fuck you if you can’t take a joke. And after seeing the whimsical cartoons that caused so much offense in the European press, you gotta wonder how this half-baked creed galumphed along for so long, sagging under the weight of its own self-righteousness. I’d guess they’ll be similarly anguished by my forthcoming sound poem “10,000 Agonising Clitoridectomies”, but that won’t make the work any less true. Maybe we in the West – being separate from the revelations of the so-called Holy Land – have a very specific and totally incorrect idea of what a prophet must be. I was certainly shocked to note that William Woodruff’s A CONCISE HISTORY OF THE MODERN WORLD has now reached its sixth edition without one editor noting the incorrectness of this particular statement:
“”Christ, Mohammed, Luther and Marx led no armies, owned no banks, yet their ideas changed history.”
Wrong Mr Woodruff, and very very wrong. Mohammed led many armies and created his Islam entirely out of warmongering, threats and the violent deaths of local populations who dared to disagree, which is why modern Muslims try so very hard to hide that violent past from our Western eyes. I’ve been so anti religion for so very long that I was even surprised to hear myself singing – during the middle 8 to “Robert Mitchum” – “religion please be gone”. Religion is an excuse for morons to extend tribal vendettas over large swathes of land, and it taints every culture willing to employ such sleight of hand. As I sung in “She’s Got A Ring On Her Finger & Another One Through Her Nose”:
“Welcome to dar al-Harb, sister, Where the priests wear dresses and the God is gay.”
According to the laws of Islam, we live in dar al-Harb - the hostile lands, the lands of war, outside the realm of Allah. And if the prophet himself had been down the front at one of my shows these past two weeks, he would have quickly realized that our Western women are fertile, blazingly conscious, sexually driven and clit-aware, ferociously equal and they’re just too damned educated and full of nowse to put up with religious sophistry and go quietly into the burkha.
Nuff Said, motherfuckers,
JULIAN (Lord Yatesbury)