London metalhead

0

2011-07-21T08:05:00.000-07:00

More than a week ago there was a countdown on this blog but by now it may seem that it was a countdown to...zero. Zero being nothing at all. Well, that isn't the case, we actually made it to the festival and we managed to experience a genuine British event. We saw how the pubs were outnumbered by the eating places, we learnt how pleasant is to wait for a bus that is a couple of meters away - or three couple of feet - but never comes while rain clouds are standing by as well, just in case. We witnessed the queues for drinks or for an opportunity to let that out in a toilet, even the queues to get in the queue.

On the bright side: the big four was there, big four with benefits as in the smallest of the big thrash bands had a guitar player from the biggest "small" thrash band. To make this clear: replacing Anthrax's emblematic Scott Ian - who is on a pregnancy leave - was Andreas Kisser of Sepultura fame. The sound was incredible and the bands played really good as well, even Megadave showed signs of maturity. About time for that. Hats off for every performance, sadly it wasn't mind-blowing for me, no shivers down my back, no inexplicable flood of tears, in short, no catharsis. Maybe catharsis is something that most people think is reserved for theatre or opera or any other posh art but for me it only comes on metal concerts. Purify! While we crawled our ways outwards through a sea of people time flew by and by the time we've got back to London it was already dawn. So we didn't bother to go back for Saturday, so instead of three quarters of the old Sepultura we only saw one. We'll catch them later, when they decide there is time for a reunion. Anyway, on the sixth day we rested and went back on the rest day for some more rock'n'roll and we received exactly that from an aging but nevertheless energetic Motörhead. Before that we witnessed the wake-up call of Arch Enemy with a shamefully short set, only six songs, but hey, if 6 is a good start for the number of the beast who am I to complain. We witnessed the 2 minutes semi-silence for Paul Grady but that was all we’ve got from Slipknot, by the time everyone was poking his eyes and jumping the fuck up we where home watching the live stream over the internet.

Everything passes, that’s another dumb cliché that is true so here I am, more then a week later on my favourite night ship with the same religious fanatics surrounding me.

Maybe they saw some interest from my behalf, I don't know but the guy that's sitting next to me has an English book, this well could be an attempt to lure me in. They should print the book with larger fonts, as the only thing I can read is "Communion with God" and that's not enough. Not that it matters, it seems that nothing matters, I don't really understand the meaning of this blog either so I guess I'll do as the aforementioned Slipknot and go on a hiatus. Well, not exactly like them, they actually did something before they went on doing nothing. London doesn't stop here nor does metal, only the blabbering.

Until I see you again: good bye and don't forget:

Long live r'n'r from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

The fourth day of advent

2011-07-07T13:23:00.000-07:00

and you are right: the last one too.

It was really long, the seconds were like snails, but finally it's coming to an end. Tomorrow will be a great day, unless...No, it can't be the day that never comes.

metallica

The third day of advent

2011-07-06T09:40:00.000-07:00

Still waiting. Still dreading. Not sure way. The waiting, not the dreading. I should now better. Hell awaits.

The second day of advent

2011-07-05T11:11:00.000-07:00

During this weekend half of the old Sepultura will be there as well. The better half if you ask me, not that I disapprove the current line up of the band but this old one, with the Cavalera brothers in it was better. We're one day closer to the event but I'm still dreading it, I must be strong and keep this evil thoughts out of my mind, I must Refuse/Resist.

The first day of advent

2011-07-04T11:03:00.000-07:00

Despite of what I've said yesterday about Sonisphere I am actually going nuts with excitement. There will be some bands there that I know and I love for 20 years. Back then it never crossed my mind that I would have the possibility to see them live.

I didn't know much about the bands, sometimes just the name, sometimes I didn't even know that. There was no additional layer like fame, money, collective appraisal to blur my ears; it was only the music. Come to think of it, this is the best way to approach music, I mean, how many people would have bought the St.Anger album if it wasn't for the Metallica name on it? Anyway, back then I thought that Metallica was a German band because of Lars's name, when I've found out his name that is. All the albums were pirated, there were no original tapes available. Sometimes they left out a couple of songs from the record - in a lack of space I presume. In other cases, when an album was too short they completed it with something else. This way my Master of puppets copy contained a Judas Priest song and the Ride the lightning a Megadeth song. Can you imagine it, Megadave on the same tape with Hetfield and the other guys. I know that nowadays there is a - seemingly - great friendship between them but back then there wasn't much love lost between them.

And at the end of this week they all are going to line up nicely for us to enjoy. Besides these old favourites there will be some new titans as well so I am really looking forward to these three days. Actually I'm dreading it, we have a history of missing out from this sort of events, I can only hope that yesterday is dead and gone.

Just one more thing

2011-07-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

There used to be one more thing, but sadly no more as the champion of controlled clumsiness died last week.

Such a pity, who would solve now the great mysteries of metal?

For example: why do Megadave and Megadeth stop before reaching perfection? They are almost there, but never quite make it all the way. Where is the creativity lost from Children of Bodom since 2008? Or what’s the story with Dream Theater? I mean, back in ’94 they awoke us in a sea of grunge, then with the mandatory entrapment of the studio executives and their own vanity they were falling into disgrace, but luckily, quickly came back with the brilliant, flawless perfect scene for a memory. Knowing that they can't top that album they followed that with six degrees of inner melody and then the train of heaviness and then they united these two in one, fresh meldavarium. But then something happened. They got stuck and ever since 2003 they are releasing the same album over and over again, an album called Octavariumsystematicchaosblackcloudsandsilverlinings. I managed to hear a sample from the new album -link- and it still is the same. We know that it's not the drummer, they swapped one Mike with another, so what could be it. Surely this would be a great case for the great grey raincoat wearer. Maybe in the process he could find out why do the other band members like James LaBrie’s voice so much, because sure as hell no one else seems to.

I left the most urgent matter last. Somebody should go down to Knebworth or Kilimanjaro or wherever the Sonisphere organisers are. They published – finally – the time table for the festival and it seems they are worshiping Taiyang Shen, Ri Gong Ri Guang Pu Sa, Tonatiuh or some other kind of a Sun god. Or maybe The Sun – or, as it is known in Liverpool, The Scum – is a sponsor here.

All the main acts are during the day, by the time the Sun sets silence will set on the Apollo and Saturn stages as well. And when I say during the day I say – for example – 12:15 for Arch Enemy. PM that is. Maybe they love staying out in the heat of the sun but I sure don't. I think not many people love attending a concert in these circumstances when you can't look at the stage without going blind because of the Sun. I remember a small band playing at a festival back home around 18 o'clock. There weren't too many people but they only occupied half of the space in front of the stage, the shady half.

The guys from Sonisphere must love it though, they even bragged about how in Italy Sonisphere crowds moshed in the scorching sun whilst in Glastonbury people battled the mud, Woodstock style. No festival should brag with its weather, nor bash other festivals for their bad weather. Anyways, I'm not saying that I prefer a muddy festival for a sunny one but I sure would prefer a sunny day followed by a starry night, during which we could rock out till the break of dawn whilst brother moon would provide enough light to take a pis in the bushes. Night and metal go hand in hand. Besides, what use there will be for all the stage lights? Totally useless.

Sorry guys, not here

Pyrotechnics will be dim as well, if there will be any, but that's not the point. Or that peachy lighter waving during the ballads, which nowadays is replaced by mobile phone waving. Not that I am a fan of that.

I understand that due to the large number of acts some of them must perform during the day but I don't understand how could everything end at 22:30. I've been in many festivals and saw the time schedule - daydreaming - of many more but the concerts went on way deep in the night. The reasons for this are incomprehensible for me and it may require some deep digging to the roots of the British way and who knows what else. Sadly, the only man up to the task is gone now, so we may never know. I guess the only thing to do is to go to the festival, battle the sunshine and sample as many as possible from the kaleidoscope of bands and hope that in the years to come will be able to see them one by one in more...darker condition. Darker in a good way.

Erm, just on more thing: do fictional characters go to Heaven as well? 'Cause if they do they may be some hope, Dio helps.

Brother moon from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

A change of seasons

2011-06-26T09:38:00.000-07:00

A great song. I guess this is what you call an epic song. From the time Mike Portnoy didn't overgrow Dream Theater, he was just all over it in a good way. It's right at the end of this post, as usual, so could you please scroll down and push play. It's worth the effort, don't be afraid, it's a beautiful piece, one that can be enjoyed by everyone regardless of your musical taste. Of course, first you’ll have to…

It's a long song, almost 23 minutes; it will accompany me for a good part of this night stroll. On the tube it would last long enough to take me under central London. Close my eyes and I can picture myself on the seashore just like little Mike with his dad. Or I can recall the countless times I've listened to it on my headphones in my cosy, dark room. I'm not on the tube though. This night ship is slower, but it's got a view, a nice view for that matter, a view that only got better as the dawns became brighter as the days got longer. London is a beautiful town. Sometimes it's a bitch living here but this bastard is stunning even then.

I always thought that the people living and working in London are all interested in these landmarks and everything this city has to offer besides a job that pays well. Sadly it seems that they are not, they don't care and they aren't even aware of them. They know their chicken shop, their beauty salon, all the local buses and the cheapest way to use them. Let's take one of my wife's colleagues. When she was telling one of her colleagues about our day at the Tower she said: what tower? Which of the tall buildings is that? She's in her 4th year as a Londoner. In her defence I might add that she was interested in one place: Elephant and Castle. So when she had an opportunity she took a map and went on a great adventure: from North London to Elephant and Castle and back. There and back again. To her horror, the elephant was a pink statue with a bastion on its back, it wasn’t alive and the castle was nowhere to be seen. Understandably, after such a disillusion she would never embark on a trip in this deceiving city.

Or we can take one of my colleagues, an Indian guy from a town with a name that I keep forgetting. He is one of the few Asian people I know who actually listens to you and doesn't ask a question because he wants to answer it: where were you? – I was at – you start, but they interrupt you; – yeah that's nice I was away as well, at my sister's with my brother cause my cousin's mother went to my uncle and she sent my aunt back with my father so my other sister with her husband’s brother..

He is not like that at all; he is a really good guy who gives me day by day a much wanted insight in the Indian way of life. Besides this insight, he does drop the occasional odd questions as well. The other day he asked me: have you been conquered by the British as well? He says this like it would be the most natural thing in the world. Come to think of it, on many parts of the world it is, as the British did conquered whatever they could, as proved by a visit to the British Museum. Maybe this current wave of immigrants from those conquered places is just a natural counterattack. For every action there is an equal and opposite action. A famous Brit formulated this law. They are doing it peacefully though – the Gandhi way; – and "slowly, slowly" – the (south) Asian way. However, this logical question still surprises me. – No, I answer with a smile, the Germans and the French stood between us, but we've sure would gave them a run for their money. The next question of his seems as logical as the first: who conquered you then? Seemingly, being conquered is a must. – The Ottoman Turkish Empire did, and then the Austrians. They conquered us by force and eventually we drove them away Meantime all of the neighbours of Hungary crept over the borders and eventually managed to conquer and to asses most of Hungary. That's why I am not a Hungarian citizen now. He isn't surprised; he just nods approvingly and walks away. It's not a big thing. Being conquered that is. On another occasion he asks me about Taj Mahal: did you hear about this building? – Yes I have, it's a tomb of a brod. – But did you know that all the builders had their hands cut off after they finished? I did hear about this legend, so I say: yeah, they did that so they can't be able to build something that beautiful never again. Then I add jokingly: it's a good idea! But he doesn't see the humour in it: no man, it's bad man, it's no good. And he walks away while he shakes his had. Being conquered is all right, you can continue living, - working, eating, breeding. Who owns a country anyway? The leaders or the inhabitants? Without hands on the other hand you can't do any of this. Well, you can breed but you can't jerk off.

This isn't what I wanted to share with you about this guy. Another question of his was: do you know London Bridge? I say yes although I don't actually know it, as we were never introduced. And do you know – he follows up, – the building that is near to it, the Tower? Of course I know the Tower although it surprises me that he didn't say instead of London Bridge Tower Bridge. Its name is a dead give away. Anyway, when I answer that I know it, he asks: do you know what's inside? Another damn good question and I'll take my time with the answer as I try to synthesize it in a couple of short sentences. He sees that I am struggling so he narrows his field of interest: did they kill anyone in there? Oh yes, they killed many people there, they have a memorial on the place they used to chop the heads off.

Again, he is shaking his head - I heard about that too, I saw the entrance with all the blood, the torture, the horror. Then it struck me: he didn't mess up the bridges after all, as he is talking about the London Dungeon which is near the London Bridge and right next to the station with the same name. Sadly he does not know the difference between it and the Tower. And why should he? He's got all his needs fulfilled and that's what counts. The pursuit of happiness. Besides, what would happen if all the masses of London queued up at the Tower? Or any other famous - or not - landmark?

Besides, many people go to these places – not just in London – like you go to a funeral. You don't care about the deceased; you don't feel for the mourning family, you are there just for the record. All the kiss ass colleagues went to the funeral of the bosses father, so you couldn't stay away either. These people go to these landmarks for a similar reason as well, they don't know anything about it and they don't want to know anything. They just want their picture taken with most of the buildings that appear on their cheap tourist map but they walk past other beauties like this one.

Some say it’s the most wonderful station in the world. Surely you would disagree seeing these pictures that were taken through a night ship's window, I’m not sure what would you say if you were to see it live…

Take the picture, go home and brag with it. And for the rest of their life whenever someone mentions London they can break the conversation: Oh my! I was there! What a wonderful city, such lovely people, nice and warm, just like the weather. We stayed in a really cosy hotel, with air-conditioning, they had the prettiest towels and the sheets were really clean. Well, in the afternoon that is, but till morning came...you know, we were young back than. At this point comes the friendly pad on the shoulder, which in some cultures can be considered physical harassment. Anyway – they resume while still smiling about their previous statement, the food was really great but they were serving the breakfast way to early and the supper to late. The public transport was great as well; they had these friendly little buses, two buses on top of each other. And the cab drivers were really honest, they never took you on the longest route around, they'll go straightforward to your location. We tipped them generously; you know how I always was a good tipper. Interestingly enough, these people always say the same thing about cabbies all across the globe, except their home country. Maybe they are lucky, every time they go abroad or maybe they just don't know that they are being taken on the longest possible route. Or maybe cab drivers only fuck with the locals, there is no point taking someone on the longer route if he doesn't know that. It's a question of principals in the end. But let's get back to our little story teller. Let's conclude this as they would: my oh my, what a wonderful city it is. It had some nice landmarks too, but I'm too old to remember all the details.

I guess the best option for these people is to stay in the Hilton hotel. This way they can spend a night in London and in the same time, if they are lucky, they can spend a night in Paris as well. And when they use the toilet they can admire some of the landmarks of London if they are not to absorbed by their own… erm… thing.

I’m not sure why is this picture here, but I guess if guys in uniform are your thing you can give it a shoot.

Maybe other places have similar settings for their toilets but I’m pretty sure that the super offer “staying in London while being in Paris” is only valid in the Hilton.

After listening to the song a couple of times - or maybe more, I wasn't counting - and writing a bunch of bullshit I've made it to my destination. The seasons didn't change, even the seasoning is the same as it was when I set off, the taste of India lingers on. Nothing has changed; just the blog got one more post. Maybe I should have written more about the song but I guess that it speaks for itself; you’ve got a link for the lyrics as well, so D.I.Y.

A change of seasons from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

23 32

2011-06-23T09:02:00.000-07:00

What a fine and dandy morning this is to rush to the bus station at 3:50. AM. The sky is just perfectly balanced between shades of light and darkness. If I could translate this vision in words – no matter what language – I’ll be a poet, although I’ve seen a man who, after writing poems for 15 years couldn’t find a metaphor for the starry night.

A pale replica of the original.

So I’ll stick to listening music and violating the laws of literature -or everything for that matter - in this blog. Although in the last couple of days I wasn’t really inspired with the music I chose it seems that today’s pick fits like a glove to the general mood. The first song – actually an intro – is fittingly entitled “The lights of dawn” and it evolves just as I pick up speed. Then the next song se-saws in my ear, it starts up nicely but by the time the melodic guitar solo crawls out my mind is already away. The title of it is 25 although they got fancy about it and called it a quarter of a century. I’m thinking: only 25, phew, that's nothing, even I lived more than that. I never liked 25 for an age anyway. I much preferred 32 and not because Jesus lived that many years on Earth. I never cared much about him and anyway, no one knows when he was born or in which year he died and whether he even existed for real or not. As I am writing this, a woman sits right next to me, a woman who every morning together with four other shiny happy people discuses about religion at 4 a clock in the morning on this back and forth bouncing night ship. I guess it's never to early for bullshit. I wonder what they would think about this statement.

I was interested in this 32 as an age because of a real God. A man who actually did get to live to this fine age, he even had a party at a coffee shop all by himself-himself. He never lived to see the follow up party at 33; he got run over by a freight train while he was on its way home to cut his wrists. But history granted him the "honour" of a suicide, labelling this train accident as a self inflicted death. Well it was only natural to say that, after all, he wasn't labelled insane for nothing. They changed that verdict posthumously –just like all the recognition, he received this consolation after his death as well, that is really helpful – from insane to BPD, borderline personality disorder.

Do you normal people honestly think that having a borderline disorder is better than being insane? Having an absent father and a hard working mother who either loves you to death or chokes you to death and you can't decide between the two so you altercate unknowingly between them for the whole of your life. You are offended by every bad opinion and always hunger after every good word but you can't cope with appraisal and always search for the hidden reason behind it: what is his game? What does she gain from saying that? I don't know about you but I'll take insanity over this borderline thing anytime, I’d rather chat with Napoleon while being tended by folks all dressed in white and after I'll beat the shit out of Einstein have a solitary party in a rubber room in my favourite straitjacket.

Not that I ever dared to compare myself to this man – well, except the insanity maybe – as he is inimitable. I mean, I opened my arms in a cross shape, hanged my head low like I was looking for something on the ground and there you were, everyone noticed the resemblance to the god of the poor and stupid. I had a long, matted hair as well to make the picture complete and for a couple of months I had a beard too. I would never manage to show any distinctive resemblance to the poet though; even if I would grow a moustache. I don't write poems but the posts I write are nothing like they should be. He's writing was – and is – the standard for me as I do consider him the most gifted man of words ever. There, now you can shake spears at me.

As a child I always thought 32 years would be plenty for me as well to realise my masterpiece. I must admit that now I don't feel the same as I haven't even achieved what should be given de facto at this age: being considered an adult. Not that I crave the acknowledgement but still, I would like to know what is that I lack? What should I do? Talk with gravity about boring daily routines, shake hands with all my body, always brag about every little puny achievement of mine like a new shirt or a serious fart. Treat my wife as shit in front of others then fuck her good for consolation when no one watches? Or even in front of others in this perky 21st century? Act as I know everything, every question and every answer? Having a did it all attitude? Hunting in Africa? Done that! Or was that Found raising for African wild life preservation? Well of course I meant that, what a barbarian is hunting animals in our days? You can hunt real people now in 3D.

Or maybe it's because the hair, the attitude, the music. I'll never forget how, a couple of weeks before my wedding, a woman said that now, with all this fuss about the wedding you'll surely cut your hair. And before I managed to reply she followed up this bright statement by saying that after the wedding I'll be considered a grown man so I must cut it. Naturally I obliged to the rules,...my rules that is, and left my hair as it was, maybe that's when I lost the manhood that marriage gave me. Isn’t that a bitch? Everyone is so sure that this is just a phase, I am going to outgrow this foolishness they say, even if I am well in my fourth decade and I've already outgrown all my clothes, my childhood ideas, my shoes and even my hometown now. The reason they are so confident: they've all outgrown they foolishness and started breeding like rabbits and forgot everything that doesn't involve making more money. And this confidence, this condescending attitude is the only thing that really annoys me. From time to time someone pops the question: when are you going to leave it all behind, be a grown up? I humbly answer: never. Then they don't say anything but display a smile that makes my blood boil. It's the smile of Napoleon when they warned him not to fuck with Russia. It's the smile of Hitler when they hinted that he shouldn't fuck with Russia. This will be the smile of God when the angels will beg him to leave Russia out on Judgement Day.

Why should I leave it behind? I sure as hell don't feel like it. It's not a question of age, age got nothing to do with it. It doesn't stop me from fullfilling my duties nor it makes me knocking from door to door preaching the one true faith. But let's get back to the song as my mind wondered and I slipped through the whole album - twice - and trough most of London as well. Travelling on the wings of music I might say but only to be in tone with the "forever metal" line from the song. Clichés are dumb but they sure sound nice. It's time to wrap up, possibly with another clische. I may have lived more than 25 years but my own memories strech back just about that much so I should be happy with it; another song about me. Not that it matters, not that anything makes sense at this hour as you may have noticed by now, if not...well...than I'm not a lost case. Enjoy the song!

25 from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

The death of the Mother Theresa syndrom

2011-06-19T05:38:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there were...us. We went far far away but there was no sign of Shrek nor Princess Fiona. As we later found out, the franchise closed, being considered burnt, meaning it couldn't raise any more money. Without money comes poverty, so instead of living a fairy tale of ours we submerged in poverty.

Not that we were forced, no, nothing of that sort. It was our choice, championing XXI century unselfishness, with a belief in the spiritual goodness of poverty we went on the path of Mother Teresa.

Not because of some deviant sort of religious fanaticism, we didn't want martyrdom, the stake wasn't at stake here. We were simple in it for the pleasure of doing it.

Cigarettes and alcohol were the first victims of our campaign, followed closely by any hint of tasty food. Founding flavourless food in the UK isn't hard, founding it cheap is a bit of a challenge. Now that we had bland food the next logical step was reducing our daily food intake, which wasn't that hard if we consider its taste, still, it shouldn't minimize our efforts. In order to make this even more realistic, we tried to replicate the surroundings too. While we failed to move into an Indian household we managed to secure the second best thing: a Bangladeshi home, in the vicinity of Banglatown. Our dear hosts did everything to make us feel at home, I mean make us feel like we are in their home country. They were relentless in their noble quest and they really put up a show, no matter day or night. I would restrain myself from any details, I don't want to end up being shifted in the same gear as Richard Hammond but trust me, it was as good as it gets. I must admit though, we couldn't stop from buying fizzy drinks, cheap fizzy drinks but that was like the sponge soaked in vinegar on Christ's lips: just a teaser, meant to keep us alive so we can enjoy more of this sweet suffering. Enjoyed we have the sweet feeling of poorness. We did all this of course without any income at all, not even from charity. Top that Mother Theresa. I know that she's dead and racing a dead woman is like racing a...dead woman, but still, it feels good writing it down.

Change was in the air from the day we went numb at the orange eating antics of an unknown man on a train. A mouthful of orange it was I tell you while we were coming home from the Home Office with a handful of workpermits. Now, having a couple of work permits doesn't really mean that you have to work, but we still thought an unspoken pressure to get a job. So I did get one, I was working on and off in a bakery, baking Christ's body on an industrial level so the masses all get a piece of Him. Still, we were living in poverty as money I made was barely enough for public transport. But then, disaster struck. I remember it clean as a whistle or a bell or I forgot what else: I was on the tube bound for home when I glanced something in the London Evening Standard. It was just for a fraction of a second so I wasn't sure what I saw. As luck turned out, there was no other newspaper laying around, I'm sure you all know that usually the whole place is full with them. As I got home I was determined to search over the internet for the ad I thought I saw, but as I entered our room there it was: a London Evening Standard on the bed. I jumped on it like a tiger - naturally a Bengali tiger from Banglatown - and started turning the pages. My wife said: did you saw it? And I was it is really that? Soon enough I've found it and there it was in all it's glory:

I’ve added the good nun as well, just for good measure

In a matter of minutes we searched the internet for details and we saw the price as well: over L300 for the both of us and this was the cheapest ticket available. Nevertheless we didn't thought about it too much, just started saving like crazy so we can buy it, we were afraid that by the time we gather all the money the festival will be sold out. Can you imagine that foolishness? A metal festival sold out in this metal forsaken country? Not bloody likely. We didn't know this back then though. It took us a month or more till we managed to get the money together, but we have bought it and last week, after a long long wait we received them. It surely took its time but what matters is that it arrived, so in three weeks...I dare not say it.

Sadly, spending this amount of money meant that our glorious MT syndrome was dead and gone, all we had left was a fairytale without Shrek or Fiona. Instead of them we had a dark prince, an old miser with a bent back, magical white cliffs, foxes, seagulls, squirrels and pigeons. All of them talking after the right amount of alcohol. Dragons are all over London,

but we’ve even managed to lure a monster in our tale. With the right soundtrack this fairy tale could go on – with a lack for better words – forever ever after.

Note: Now I know that there are many other historical figures from every religion – and not just – that would have been good to name this syndrome but I thought that she is the most popular from them all. Let’s take this bloke for example:

He is Saint Francis of Assisi, the founder of the Franciscan order between others, he was a champion of destitution as well, even married a fairer bride than any of you have ever seen: lady poverty. But even with his well known bride, I’m not sure you’ve all heard of him, if you had than good for you, if not...well…this is what I'm talking about.

The only constant is change from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Back to the...

2011-06-13T02:26:00.000-07:00

A great victory was achieved a couple of months ago by the feminist movement when they banned any kind of face covering in France. Or so they say. Now all those women who – arguably – were forced the wear the niqab are forced to take it off. I guess it’s easier to swap one mandatory thing with another instead of just giving individuals the choice to do what they’ll like.

They do have a choice though: to conform to their new obligation or to try and escape.

French Muslim women in hide, I mean Hyde Park.

Consequently Batman and all the ninjas are forced to show their true colours as well when climbing the Eiffel tower. But for all those feisty amazons who are liberating subjugated women all around the world this surely must be only the tip of the iceberg. As we all know it, it wasn’t the tip of the iceberg that brought down Titanic in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean, and almost a century later in the record books via James Cameron movie.

But hey, let’s take the train for now. I am in London, so let’s say…the Jubilee line. Let’s board a southbound train at Willesden Green. If I recall it correctly, the line is still over ground so you can admire the scenery. (if by any chance it’s not over ground and you are a sucker for starring out the windows you can board at Stanmore, that way you’ll get a glance of Wembley as well.) Or you can get in your train riding attitude and – in the lack of an Ipod or phone or newspaper – stare to the ground. Or, for a change, look around. You can see all kind of people but there is only one type I want to mention now. You see well dressed women, wearing a suit, sitting casually. Take a look at their shoes: horror!!! They wear trainers. Most of them didn’t even bother to wear trainers that are matching in colour with the suit although it’s up to you fashionistas to decide if that would make a difference. As we roll on and pass Westminster, Waterloo and London Bridge stations the number of these women doubles if not triples, especially during the morning peak hours. But then something happens as we leave London Bridge they pull out a plastic bag from their bag –which, naturally is assorted with their suit – which at a first glance seems empty. It’s not though, there is a pair of tiny shoes with heels the size of nails from Jesus’ cross, although these heels are actually real. They slowly take of their comfy trainers and squeeze their feet in these high healed monsters. Then, they leave the train at Canary Wharf. The same routine happens in New York, although the women there switch their sneakers to high healed shoes before exiting at Wall Street. Likewise in Paris, were they remove “le tennis” shortly before arriving in La Défense. These places are just the flag bearers for this phenomenon, but it’s the same everywhere, maybe in a lesser degree. Isn’t there a feisty fighter who could free them from their chains? Is there no one to help them? Or help all the tired women after they spend a hole day getting in-n-out shops in search of a normal bra but all they can find is bra’s that are padded like a bulletproof vest. Not to mention all those poor souls who are forced under the blade to make those happy wrinkles caused by a lifelong laughter disappear. Or those who receive two bags filled with a polymer gel attached to their breasts and there is nothing to hold them in place just a thin layer of skin. The sight of a million of small red dots on their legs after the nice and warm wax layer was ripped of stirs these kind of thoughts as well. I guess there is a cry for help from all those human beings as well who need to get up an hour earlier to make sure that their make up is perfect and to have time to make up their mind about the days outfit. It seems that every woman is forced in some kind of male chauvinism.

Even if they feel it’s their own choice, it’s something they are doing since the day they were brought home by their parents from the hospital in high heels, matching nappies and baby-size padded bras with a touch of make-up under their little eyes. It’s not their choice; it’s something that this male controlled society forced upon them. But now, the first step has been made and surely the fight will go on till the very end. This end can only be one thing: a return to the beginning.

Back to the fig leaf. Or even better, back to the pre-fig leaf period: the Adam and Eve suit. Surely the original sin is gone now and we can go back to being naked again. There is an ongoing battle between scholars whether the original sin was the apple-eating or a full bikini wax, hence the need for the fig leaf to cover not the genitals, but the scrappy work done by the surely inexperienced waxers. Whatever it was, God surely forgave us for that, he forgives sinners, he only hates idiots.

Lately the men lost control of their evil ways and they got suckered in as well, so maybe this fight will be joined by the other half of the world population, surely there is nothing stopping this movement now.

The wheels are in motion, salvation is on its way, so everyone should be brave and all those usurped souls that support this movement should remove one hair less from their eyebrow. This way they could recognize each other and provide support in any means they can. Girl power! Ooh, and of course, boy power! Heck, power all around!!

…and all those sexist lyrics…my oh my, there is so much to do…

Till the break of dawn from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Tanks in Camden

2011-06-06T18:17:00.000-07:00

I don't really have any lame or bombastic opening line so I'll just jump in the middle of it. Or, according to the good old Diabolus Dei tradition: in medias res. Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls yesternight Hungary's top r'n'r act paid a visit to the humble capital of the UK. Actually we paid for it, but who cares!

Sorry about the quality of the picture - Blackberry is a fruit and nowadays a phone but it's not a camera.

And when I say yesternight I mean like 4 hours ago. Maybe many from the people present at the gig are still at Dingwalls drinking and - according to noblest Hungarian tradition - are wining about the ye old good times when Tankcsapda was in town. Maybe the band is there getting wasted as well. I on the other hand am already on my favourite night bus after only a couple of hours of beauty sleep. This is one of the advantages of having a perfect radio face - you need less beauty sleep than all the TV stars.

There is a good chance that there are some drunk Hungarians in Camden town as the place was full of them, there were some 300-400 people present at the show with the overwhelming majority speaking the same language as us. "Sorry", "pardon", "excuse me" was shortly replaced by "bocsi", elnezest" and this transition happened so smoothly as if that would be as normal as changing the guard.

Again, the fruit and the camera.

Of course, not all of them came exclusively for the band, many of them came just to meet other Hungarians and to introduce themselves properly, last name first. I do believe though that all of them heard the name of the band as it is ubiquitous in Hungary as it became synonym with r'n'r. Before the show I was wondering what sort of songs they'll play 'cause according to the tendency of previous tank gigs from back home whenever they play on a festival - when not everyone attending their show is there because of them - they tend to play a set list featuring songs from their more popular catalogue, songs that were present on the TV or received heavy airplay. On the other hand when they are on a show on their own they tend to choose from all of their songs and do tend to play a handful of songs that are known only by the hardcore fans. This concert is an own show but still it resembles a festival because Hungarians living in London don't exactly have a wide range of Hungarian show to choose from so, as stated earlier they will attend this show in lack of a better –softer – show. All of my fears that we'll see a parade of hits are dissipated from the minute the guys step on the stage as they start with an old gem leaving much of the audience standing. Still the atmosphere is hot -literally: too hot if you ask me - and in the next hour and a half we party to a wide range of songs, spanning from their very first song from their 21 year old demo to songs from their album from last spring. Moshing went on from wall to wall – or should I say pogo? Which obviously is not a dance. I had lost my voice a bit and my ears are still a little deaf, WHAT? I SAID I’M DEAFFFF!!! but that’s all right, at least I can’t complain that it wasn’t loud enough. Because of the night’s proximity to Monday morning we were easy with the booze, which, looking back now, was a brilliant idea. And of course, it’s strike two on the list and things are shaping out nicely.

Here's a better picture, it's not mine though, you can find more here.

One of their songs states that: this is not India and this is not a sitar, I’m afraid that this morning only the sitar part is true because this is sure as hell Little India. So I might just put done the phone and start to do something serious. You gotta lose good times if you want good times.

Rock'n'roll-nak hívott from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

The path of the free spirit

2011-06-04T10:31:00.000-07:00

Speakers corner from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

The best opening this blog had!! So far…The continuation surely will prove disappointing again, but still, you might…

dig in. It's a short video taken almost three years ago on our first - and brief - trip to London. Obviously it was taken at Speaker's corner in Hyde Park.

There is an American - surely he must be - bloke giving everyone a piece of his mind. Maybe that’s why he doesn't have any: he gave it all away. Anyways, I don't care about him, I am more interested in the bearded man who calls God a lazy – and illiterate - bastard and who goes berserk every time he hears "will" and "free" in the same sentence. I know it’s obvious that will is free, we all saw it being freed in Free Willy then over and over again in Free Willy 2 and 3 and so on. I kind of liked that guy back then when we were shooting the video and every time I watched it since. I thought of him as a well taught man, a free spirit who has a well definite opinion about the world and he sticks by it with any means. A free spirit, a modern Don Quixote, who sometimes stops at the corner in his spare time to fight of the evil windmills that are twisting the minds of unsuspecting bystanders.

Three years passed and yesterday we run into the very same man, it took me one glance to recognize him and to see that he’s … a bit changed since the last time we saw him. It’s like he wears the same clothes since then and he presents all the signs of a genuine…bum. He still frequents the same places though, as this meeting occurred on Edgware Road, just minutes away from Hyde Park and the Speakers’ Corner. By the time he treats himself with a coffee left on a Starbucks table I remember that I have a phone with a camera so I yank it out and start shooting like a paparazzi.

The first shot is a little vague, I catch him in the shadow but I nail him as he checks out one phone boot after another searching for...I don't know what, coins maybe.

We don’t have time to follow him around any more but as we pull away in the opposite direction I can’t help but thinking: is this the path of everyone who had experienced will and freedom? Do all free spirits end up this way? Unable to fit, to conform, unable or – more likely – unwilling. Of course, he could easily be an eccentric artist or college professor who wants to assimilate to perfection this way of life, the life of a street philosopher. Or maybe he is just a big mouthed bum. Maybe I am a big mouthed bum as well. Maybe we all are. Damn

Metallica - Free speech for the from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Bread

2011-05-29T10:16:00.000-07:00

Shopping is good, shopping is fun. So far so good, just like a Megadeth record, although isn't that good of a start for a post in a supposedly metal oriented blog. There is not much metal in shopping, except for this maybe:

I better find a good phrase to follow this lame start.

How about: shopping is dangerous? I mean: shopping is dangerous. Especially Sunday, early in the afternoon. This is not something I read or heard, is something I saw just 30 minutes ago. It was a seed of a fight, nothing serious but it makes you think: what about if one of them had had a gun? Or both of them? What would you do if one of them pulled out a gun? Where could you hide? Then you start calculating your chances of running into a gunfight one day - or night - in this huge pile of people. Of course, this kind of thinking makes you go nuts and take a gun yourself and go berserk on the streets. I must admit something though. All these thoughts crossed my mind after I left the shop, while I was there and these two guys were doing some kind of wrestling that looked like some stupid dance I was having different thoughts. These guys were firmly holding each other, struggling to get rid of the other guy's grip so a punch would be delivered but with little success.

It might look like something else but this is real wrestling.

Meanwhile I was thinking come on, get one in already! And my mind was full with all the things that could go wrong, actually I was waiting for those to happen. I guess if this was some kind of a messenger chat I should paste a blushing emoticon, but it isn't :)). Maybe the animal in me is playing Hyde and seek, maybe it's the lack of TV - hence lack of violence served on a plate -, maybe the 3D from last week wasn't enough. Or maybe I'm only human and my subconscious is demanding its fare share of circus to go with the overwhelming quantities of bread I consume. You know, panem et circenses.

Lamb of God - The faded line from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Metal leaks

2011-04-01T12:21:00.000-07:00

I’m sure you’ve all heard about Asange in one way or another. You might hate him or think of him as a modern Robin Hood disguised like Che Guevara.

who steals from those who know and shares with those who don’t. You shouldn’t be afraid

I won’t be trying to attack or defend him just want to share with you some inside information. Leak it out if you will. Because not many people know, that he is a sucker for metal, especially for one band in particular. He is so fond of that band that he even cut them some slack when he came across information about them. Technically he stopped it from being leaked, which, obviously is against everything he stands or seems to be standing for.
What was this all about? In the end of the seventies and beginning of the eighties the number of deaths between youngsters was rising while the average health condition was deteriorating. After running a couple of surveys the government realized that most youngsters don’t know what to do in an emergency, they don’t even know the number to dial. This was especially true between punks and metalheads. So the Minister of State, Health and Social Security, Sir James Goodhelth made an unofficial proposition to those who could make themselves heard by these youngsters: the musicians. He stated that if some well known punk or metal band would release a song that makes the emergency call number more popular between that segment, he would grant them something everyone thought impossible: a No 1 place on the UK charts. None of the bands rushed to this opportunity and not because of their pride but because nobody believed that a No.1 can happen, even with help from the government. There was one band though who gave it a shot, an all girl band called Girlschool. They recorded a song titled emergency and in the chorus they repeat extensively 999 Emergency, but Sir Goodhelth didn’t think they got through to enough people, so didn’t grant them the big prize. Then entered the picture the big brother of Girlschool, a band that we all known and love, just as Julian Assange.

I’m talking of course about Motörhead. They decided to take the aforementioned Girlschool song and record it themselves and they released that song on the joint EP called St’ valentine Day’s massacre.

This finally satisfied the Health Minister and he, as a true Lord kept his word and made sure that Motörhead’s next album, No sleep ‘till Hammersmith peaked at No.1, being the first metal album to achieve this feat. It was a great moment for the band in particular and for the whole genre in general but this success had a bit of an aftertaste. All this of course happened – as is usual for governments all around the world – behind closed doors as none of the parties wanted the news to get out. It remained classified information until the Wikileaks team acquired it via an anonymous insider but Assange decided that he won’t let his favourite band be stained so he stopped the information from being leaked. He threw it to the garbage where it was found by a cleaner who owed me a favour so he gave it to me. I, on the other hand, despite being a huge Motörhead fan as well, decided that I should share this information with you and chose today as a good day to share it.

Now, I would like to talk a bit about the song that I chose to accompany this post. Choosing the song in question –Emergency – would have been too obvious, so I had to look for something else. Given Mr. Assange’s weakness for ~~wome~~ things from Sweden I decided to choose a song from a Swedish band. My original note read:” an Abba metal cover song or something from Sweden, maybe Arch Enemy leader of the rats??” but then the obvious choice struck me. Hammerfall’s Any means necessary is the perfect choice. Assange was trying to do his mission by any means necessary, now his enemies are trying to silence him the same way and is a song from Sweden, it’s absolutely perfect.

anymeans from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Giddy the fuck up!!!

2011-03-15T10:09:00.000-07:00

Just a normal lake, like all the other 187 888 lakes in this country. Shades of green for hope, a touch of blue for happiness – or blues if you like, but this is a metal blog for fuck's sake. It looks kind of nice, but only because it’s a nice picture. Places like this are as ugly or beautiful as the eye of the beholder manages to see it.

So with a little bit of talent or luck you can shoot a great picture that is praised in TNT magazine or you get an image that ends up waiting recycling.

Not the same with the mountain. Any picture about this mountain would be interesting to say the least. With its smoking peak and fiery inside it could be an awesome and frightening site. I’m not sure if it is close to the aforementioned lake or not as I don’t actually know where it is. I believe there are no other mountains like this although there could be thousands of them, all that in the blink of an eye. It’s easy when you’re imagining things.

The lake is real nevertheless. If it were to find similarities in the two places the first thing that comes to mind would be this narrow, triangle shaped platform that can be perceived as a runway.

This one leads to water while the other leads to fire but they are both ending points. Or starting points, bridges to another dimension, if you want to put your mind to it and if you have the courage to go all the way. Otherwise they are just part of the landscape.

The lake and the mountain bore peacefully everything nature throw at them as part of their nature. Then everything changed.

Evil crept in the picture, slowly, smoothly, unnoticed at first. Step by step it made his presence felt more and more. It all culminated when took a physical form and forged powerful artifacts in the mountain, artifacts that would bring more evil to the world.

As the mood was growing darker the sky has grown darker as well over the lake. Something wild was taking over. It wasn’t the fish who got in trouble though when evil made his presence here. Three teenagers were murdered on the shore of the lake at dawn and a fourth one was left in agony. The criminal or criminals were never caught.

The lake ceased to be just a lake like all the other 187 888. It got stained forever. Or at least until it fades from human memory. It’s harder to stain a big body of water with blood than with oil but this place showed that is possible. It’s a lot cheaper as well. The stories begun, legends were born and the lake froze in an arctic sleep..

It became a doomed place. Which is interesting, because that is actually the name of the mountain. Mount Doom. The lake’s real name is Bodom, but I guess – hope – you know that already. Its dubious fame made it appealing to a group of teenagers who, some four decades later, were searching for a band name. They had the mind-blowing idea to search in the phone book, which, as we know, it’s full of names. I’m glad though that they chose a name not a phone number. So when they came across the name of the lake – I’m guessing again: does the lake have a phone number? – they decided to incorporate the name of the lake in the name of the band.

The mountain was doomed as well, by name and by nature. It was created for that. The reason for its existence is that a genius man at the beginning of the 20^th century constructed a couple of languages and he thought: why not create a world for these languages to exist? Using this excuse he created Middle Earth and thought up a story just good enough to dazzle the whole world and to monopolize the special effects category at the Oscars from the start of this century. One of the constructed languages is Sindarin and the name of the mountain in that speech is Amon Amarth. This was appealing for some Swedish guys who made it their band name.

After taking in consideration many variations of names with the word Bodom the guys from Finland finally settled with Children of Bodom but their music was no child’s play, thus they became a leading name in metal. Now, more than a decade later they managed a feat that even Mohamed failed to achieve: they made the mountain come to them. Come with them to be more precise as they invited Amon Amarth to play with them a couple of shows on the European leg of their Ugly world tour. This metal storm is expected to hit London in the early evening hours of April 9^th and it’s expected to last… well who knows. For starters the Swedish band Machinae Supremacy will try to get the mood right. They had the crazy idea to incorporate a SidStation into their music, so they music sounds like a computer game 20 years ago, sadly their only original feature was the Sid sound so their music doesn’t really stand out without it and even with it it’s not that good. They will be followed – just to keep the balance of Swedes and Fins even for the night – by a folk metal band from Finland, Ensiferum. Yes, another Finnish folk metal band, I could say: Tu quoque, Ensiferum, fili me, just to stay in tone with the spirit of the day.

After these two bands the mountain and the lake will have its way with everyone at HMV Forum, but, from my humble point of view though the most important thing is this:

It seems that finally we can kick start our metal life in London with a gig that promises to be a real treat. Had to wait a bit to get the tickets so I’ll better make sure and store them in a safe place, don’t want to lose them, I’ll even hired guards to protect it:

guardians from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Even atheists need a God

2011-02-22T18:02:00.000-08:00

not for the times when shit really hits the fan but for the common opportunities to use some well known phrases that include His name. You know, like God bless you, God damn you or God knows what else. I could use these sentences as they are, leaving God in place but I’d rather change it with something else or better yet, with someone else. However, there is one exception where you shouldn’t take God out of the equation:

In the phrase God hates us all. Even if It doesn’t hate, even if – Tom Araya damn you – it’s nothing more then a “great fucking title”
Let’s go back to the point though, as I was preparing to make a case for a new god, a metal god as a matter of fact. I know that Ozzy Osbourne is a top notch candidate but that’s rubbish,

he can only aspire for the title of a priest, a prophet, a forerunner. The other serious contestant is Rob Halford but he never could be God,

not because he is a homosexual,

but because he is gay.

So my vote goes to – and I know I’m not the first – the almighty Ronnie James Dio.

Let’s see the arguments one by one, I had a bunch of arguments but I forgot most of them so I’ll just write down those that come to my mind now.
He studied trumpet as a youngster, certainly to be able to play a last good show when he is going to announce Judgment Day with a horn performance that will leave Archangel Gabriel red with envy.
Speaking of horns, he did gave us the sign :

– in hoc signo vinces –

a sign to show our togetherness which is also good to protect against or to give an evil eye, a sign –you may agree – that is far better than a fish, cross, swastika or even the Lion of Juddah.
The statement without metal and it’s fans he would be “laying bricks some place, which would give me great joy by the way” hints that he would loved a “normal” occupation too, just as all the other religion founders. Jesus was a carpenter, Mohamed was a merchant and a shepherd, and Buddha was a prince which is the hardest job of them all, just ask William of Wales or better yet, his father Charles. Of course, these guys were just religion founders but we are talking about gods, that’s why Dio only hinted about being a brick layer.
Take the answer he gave to the mother of all questions: what is METAL? He said, and I quote :” Who the fuck knows?” which is a brilliantly ambiguous answer, excellent for a religion. The more ambiguous a statement is the more it fits a religion. I’ll try and make this clearer. Let’s say that you state that an imaginary beardy old man created the world in six days, made a man out of clay and a woman out of fun on Saturday and then took the rest of the weekend off. He even had the fucking nerve to call all this: very good. Now you might get away with it in the antiquity and the medieval times but what do you do when a real beardy old man comes and says that life evolved and that humans are more closely related to apes than clay?

Darwin pointing out humanities closest relatives

It’s hard to argue that by saying Adam you meant red soil and you thought of lava and the early periods of Earth. Furthermore, you might try and claim that by saying clay you thought about the colour brown of the orangutans. Even gorillas have brown feet when they step in shit and we all know that nowadays the gorillas, especially the misty mountain ones are in deep shit. The worst defense of course would be that you knew the truth all along just didn’t want to freak out the simple minds of simple people so you lure them with a fairy tale. That’s why you need ambiguous statements, doctrines and so on. With who the fuck knows it could be everything, it could be nothing. Or in the end we just might end up waiting for the arrival of Mr.Who, the fuck, cause he knows.

Of course, gods are immortal. Not immortal in a way that every notable rock –or, for the record, any – musician is, meaning that they songs will be played even if they are long gone and they records will continue to be sold making their widows and children hungry for more. I mean in a godlike way, meaning that they don’t die. And one might argue that Dio is dead, so he lost his chance to be a God but let’s investigate a bit. They say, he died of a stomach cancer but everyone knows that in that small body of his there is nothing but lungs, else it would be impossible for a man of his stature to have such a powerful voice, so it’s clear that he didn’t have a stomach so he couldn’t develop a stomach cancer. And where do they say this happened? In Houston. That’s “Houston, we have a problem” Houston, where NASA has it’s Lyndon B. Johnson space center. I guess it’s clear to all of you now, that he didn’t die he just flew away on a NASA shuttle and took his righteous position on his metal throne to judge the living and the dead.

I left the biggest giveaway at the end. Let’s take a look at his name shall we. Ronald James Padavano, that’s his real name, which he changed to Ronnie James Dio. The official version is that he took his surname from Italian mobster – or mobstar? – Johnny Dio, but that is, of course, a sharade. Dio was an Italian and what does Dio means in Italian? That’s right, it means God. What’s that if not an open admittance? He openly admitted his true nature, but never wanted to be like the old gods, hence his other two names: Ronnie James. Ronnie, not Ron. What other God had a nickname, a pet name, a diminutive nickname none of the less? Odinish, Zeusaki, Krishnau, Devlainho? No one of the old gods let anyone speak in this way about them, of course, the old gods are all dead now, none of them survived the 19^thand 20^th century enlightenment but they did managed - as one last desperate showoff - to slay poor Nietzsche for his impertinence.

That’s being said, let it be known, henceforth God will be replaced by Dio in this blogs posts.¹

hah from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

¹except for the above mentioned God hates us all phrase or any other place where I forget to change it. Don’t you just love footnotes?

Rejoice!!!

2011-02-18T09:59:00.000-08:00

Today is the worldwide release day of the new album of the best folk-metal band in the world. Supposedly from this day the album will be on the rafts of some music stores from Europe and maybe the rest of the world too. This is the first album from the band that receives a worldwide distribution, which is sad because the previous was a bit better. Still, this one is awesome in its own right too. Until you can buy it - which, by the way, you should - here's a little appetizer. Come on, dig in!

Silent metal

2011-02-12T21:36:00.000-08:00

Slowly but surely we are bringing in more and more metal in our life and even if these steps seem like baby steps they are taking us in the right direction. We have our eyes set on a couple of concerts in the near future and we have some big f..f..f..fish in our net too for the summer but for now we have to settle with this sweet silence.
Sweet silence: I didn’t come up with this term, this is a studio in Copenhagen where a famous band recorded its second and third – best? – album. This band is also in the centre of the exhibition we went to see in Proud Camden gallery, in the Stables Market of course. Fade to black: Metallica by Bill Hale is the exhibition name and it presents pictures taken from the first years of the band.

There are a few interesting shots, like Hetfield taking a peak to his fingers, double checking if he is holding down the correct notes but my favourite is a shoot of Cliff Burton fading in the lights. This picture would make Seurat green with envy. The guys are so young and skinny, I mean Hetfield probably weights more now than the whole band did back then. They try to look really heavy, with double bullet belts and other cheap accessories but they aren’t doing a great job. Looking at these pictures I couldn’t predict the future they will have, maybe that’s why I’m not a talent scout. Although they didn’t got famous because of their looks. I can’t help drawing a parallel with our situation, which, of course, as always, it’s a forced parallel as we come from different backgrounds and we are heading in different direction. Still, it’s a hard way to the top, whatever that top would be. I don’t like the way Mustaine is presented, there is a feeling in the air that he was more than he really was but other than that it’s a decent exhibition. Its not a life changing experience, you’ve probably seen many of them earlier in different places but still, its worth the trip. Especially taking in consideration that it is in Camden town, which seems to be the Mecca of metalheads in London. With all the pubs and shops that seem built for metalheads, although I don’t really understand the music they play in some of these shops, but hey, nothing's perfect.

Here you can find cool metal stuff, but also, stupid metal things too.

Cool leather stuff

Nice wood items

Did I mention leather?

There is something for every age group, this, for example, is for the 18+ age group

It certainly isn’t for the infants who’ll wear them.

We even witnessed a romantic proposal, as a man proposed for a woman’s hand in marriage.

I guess she said “Yes”

I tried to make a parallel earlier in this post with Metallica but I guess this picture would be more suitable…

long from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Inkblots and other stains

2011-02-04T18:23:00.000-08:00

Take a walk in London, at 4 in the morning and you’ll understand how Jimi Hendrix wrote one of his famous songs. Because roaming around at these early hours brings you across more foxes than people. I guess Jim had his fair share of early strolling and I’m sure his mind wasn’t as clear as mines,as the only addiction I have left is regarding fizzy drinks and, although they are known for many things, making you trip isn’t one of them.

Put Jimi on the streets of London in ’66 or ’67 and you get yourself a hit. I am not sure if all the foxes are ladies, as a matter of fact I don’t know if any of them is a girl but it seems that Hendrix saw the lady in them. They are just like us in many ways, some of them are pretty, others not so. Some of them are clean, or at least the seem that way while others are clearly dirty. Maybe some of them like metal but I guess most of them hate that bloody noise. There is even a fox who misses its tail, you have this bizarre feeling that he’ll turn to you and say something. With George Clooney’s voice naturally.

Supposedly besides foxes I should come across the ghosts of gutted whores and bitches, at least in this specific area where a hundred and some years ago a certain Jack was strolling the neighborhood. I am thinking of Jack, the Ripper of course who was active in this very area, it seems that we pin pointed our first home in an appropriate part of London. Anyways, I’m on the bus now, with no foxes only humans. Or is it the other way round?

I had this thought yesterday, to do a kind of a Rorschach test today, you know the inkblot test. If I may, I’ll run a quick Rorschach test on the test itself and fill you in about the first thing that always comes in my mind when I hear about this test. It is a joke. I mean, really, it is a joke and it goes something like this: A man is sent to a shrink for analyses, he is supposedly obsessed with cunts. So the doctor draws a triangle and ask him what he sees. – A cunt – comes the reply. The doctor thinks about it and concludes that it isn’t actually that hard to think of that when seeing a triangle. So he draws a circle but he still gets the same response. He admits it to himself that a circle could lead one to think of a hole and consequently… So he draws a square. The answer comes: it’s a cunt! –Man – says the doctor – you are really obsessed with them! Me- replies the patient – you are the one drawing nothing but cunts! With today’s smile done let’s proceed to more serious stuff. I had this testing idea at the Booth memorial, as I instantly thought of John Wilkes Booth but I shook this idea instantly off as people of this fame never get a memorial,. They never get statues either although houses or places that are heavily related to them do get the occasional marble sign with carefully composed texts. Hitler’s birthplace has one, warning people that those kind of things shouldn’t happen no more. I’m sure the next person who intends to be a blood covered dictator with a plan to conquer the whole world – or at least those reach in oil – will go visit Branau am Inn, read the inscription, read it and weep, freak out and change his plans for the future. He or she might even end up as a serious contender for some kind of peace prize. Bottom line: there is no memorial for these evil characters, even if they played a vital role in history. For example, the above mentioned Booth: if he’d failed to do his deed then Ulysses S. Grant wouldn’t have been president, or at least not in time to make his appearance in the movie Wild Wild West. Imagine the loss!

I wanted this test to be about everything I see outside names, signs, anything that catches my eye. Spot something and write down the first thing that comes in my mind. But the first thing that came in my mind when thinking about this small test of mine was ”stupid” so I won’t be doing it. I’ll just enjoy the view instead.

I enjoyed the view for a while, but then two assholes boarded the bus, sat in the back and bullied a person back there I guess although I’m not sure. They were really loud and menacing. One of them shouted “Bang!!!”, overshadowing my music, then he did a couple of more bangs, at each of them all the people that were sitting in the front would visibly tremble. Luckily they got off now. What if they would pick on me? Not a nice thought. Back to the view.

Here I am on platform 5 trying to write whilst standing on my feet. I guess it’s not that easy as reading this way. I think it’s not that trendy either, it’s not a powerful statement as reading standing up or better yet, reading while walking. That really shows a commitment towards literature. But that doesn’t matter now, as I am standing right next to the train just drooling at those comfortable seats inside. Twenty some people are waiting here, pairing up before doors but there are some of us who have an entire door for themselves. Locked doors that is. Normally we should be on the train by this time, but not today. Maybe this is some kind of Buddhist patience test rather than human clumsiness.

Finally, we are in the cozy seats and the speaker states that we are going towards the place where we actually are. So be it, if they say so, maybe we were teleported. Is that a service where one can use its Oyster card?

spiral from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Sunjail

2011-02-03T16:53:00.000-08:00

As I was boarding the train today on my way home the sun was beating in my eyes. It was still bothering me after I sat down. This was new as it didn’t really showed its face lately, which – of course – is a good thing. I hate it when it shines that way, I hate it even more in the summer when it shines and is also hot. So here’s another small thing to bug me.

Come to think of it, this wasn’t the first time that the sun bugs me here, it did happen before a few times. Strangely enough it always happened in the same place, just before East Acton. At first I didn’t know where to put it until I realized that it’s shining on Wormwood Scrubs. Her Majesty’s Wormwood Scrub Prison. I am absolutely sure that it shines here to make it harder for the inmates who are craving after sunshine or those who hate it just like me. Either way, it is surely a form of subtle torture. It is unknown though why it is done, because there could be two possibilities. The first one is that the guards are doing it because nowadays they aren’t really allowed to hurt the prisoners, especially after the trials from trials regarding excessive brutality. So they make the sun shine in there, thus satisfying their desire to make the inhabitants feel uncomfortable. The other explanation could be that they are doing it because the inmates aren’t having a real hard time like they should be, like their predecessors had so they are lacking a real prison experience and so the inmates requested it on purpose to feel at least a little bit down after all the TV watching. Whatever version is true, all the people who are not in there should sit facing north when approaching East Acton.

Another way of sublime torture is already in the makings which will affect all prisons not just this one. They are considering giving the right to vote, so now they’ll face the gruesome sight of choosing between a liar, a prick or a shithead. Nice.

romlas from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Nightbus

2011-02-01T18:33:00.000-08:00

When I was a teen bound for school the next morning and I got in bed at 3 in the morning – or is that night? – I always felt like there is plenty of time left to sleep. And usually there was. I still feel the same way now, except that I’m not a teen anymore. And I am getting up at three.

Sadly I am not trying to be first in line for the gig of the century or at least to the show of the week. No, I am getting up for a more trivial reason, to raise the bar some more. So here I am, breathing on the window of a night bus. I could easily draw a cave painting like figure on the window, or, of course, an elaborate metal logo. Although a metal logo would surely be closer to me spiritually, the ancient figures seem closer to my skills. So I just wipe the bloody thing clean so I can look outside. Interestingly until yesterday I always sat on the left side of the bus and wasn’t really impressed with the view but then I moved to the right and was blown away by the change. It’s like it isn’t even the same route than before. Before we reached our destination my neck hurt like hell and – sadly – not because of a night spent headbanging. See how I always try to bring some metal in here? My neck hurt because I was looking outside constantly. And, as I stated before, I loved what I saw. Columns, buildings with towers, buildings without towers, towers without buildings. Light mirrored on water, dark, narrow streets that fade to black – oo, here comes the metal again, although I should be careful not be labeled a thief and get sued -, wide, gloomy streets that also fade to black. There, that shows you that following the light takes you nowhere. It’s strange how everything gets another aura through a night bus’s window, especially if that window is blurred by your and others people’s fumes. Need a wipe. That’s better. Everyone sits alone, by the window, in a simple line, like we are taking a test. Or maybe we are grounded, for getting up so early probably. Not leaving others sleep.

Bus stopping. No, I am not hearing this like I was the mind the doors routine on the tube. I see it, as I sometimes check the small screen in the front. Oh, have I mentioned that I am on the upper deck? Well of course I am. Only in London and any other town that has double-deckers. Double-decker buses that is. Bus stopping again. I don’t even know why I check it, I can hardly miss my stop, because – as always – I am going to the very last one. I do that, of course, so I can write more for you. Ehh, start to sound like a rating obsessed journalist. Anyway, colossal red and white brick building on the right, then the silhouette of a giant on its knees. I don’t know what that was or why it was there. Oooo, did you feel like the start of Raining blood is the ultimate Slayer moment of the album. I know about the wonderful riff flood of Jesus saves or the sizzling start of Criminally Insane. And obviously I am aware of the first track with its bad boy attitude but still, this holds the essence of it all. Yes, I am listening to Reign in blood while I walk on my own on the streets of London at 4 in the morning It makes me feel like there is no evil in this world just flowers and angels like in their lyrics: infamous, butcher, ANGEL OF DEATH! Khm, khm…

I’m on the train now, I was writing all the way on the bus and time just flew by, it felt like the journey was shorter. Made me think about the so much praised powers of words, literature and arts in general. Not that I consider this art. Or literature. Just words. So there I was, walking in the shadow of an old train station surrounded by the London fog. I, a humble human being overwhelmed by the time bending properties of writing. Then I looked at my phone and realized that the trip didn’t feel shorter, the train actually arrived 7 minutes ahead of schedule. There there, chill down now, it shows you how easy is to jump to the wrong conclusions. I kind of lost it there for a second but now it’s back to normal. And if I mentioned Slayer before I’ll get back there for a bit. I guess most of you know, that on their third – first live – album Araya introduces a song by stating: “They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but I say fuck the pen, ‘cause you can die by the sword” This is kind of how I feel now, but I can’t explain this awkward parallel to you in depth. But if you know the first Batman movie from the Tim Burton series than you know that Mr. Joker Nicholson kills someone with a pen. Not with some reinforced steel pen but whit a normal, old fashioned “once a bird now a pen” pen. This doesn’t go anywhere, does it? But this train is and really fast too, although much smoother than the bus or the tube. So I’ll better get back to the giant and try to finish it off while I can. The kneeling giant that could be a powerful metaphor on it’s own without knowing its actual meaning. I can easily imagine a serious family sitting on a bench near the statue listening with serious faces to their severe father, who of course would fill them in with all the facts and details –when, who, why and so on – about the giant, just like a walking Wiki. Then, lowering a seriousness just a bit he would share a couple of anecdotes that surround the statue or/and its maker(s). Seriously fun. The truth is, normally I would be interested in knowing all these and if I knew in advance that I am coming here I might be the one telling the stories as I would surely be interested and research the subject. Not sure about the needed seriousness though. But now it was just a silhouette in the dark and that is perfectly fine. Sadly it took me a long time to get this through – if it went through – and now I can see through the windows of the train – which is heated just enough to keep them clear – another shadow of another monster but I won’t write about this one. So I’ll disarm myself, but in the lack of a sword I only have a pen to lay down.

raining from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

A short study on Hungarian metal as seen from a quiet little, meshuggeneh, redneck mountain town on the southeastern edge of Transylvania

2011-01-31T17:39:00.000-08:00

first

I

It's metal?

2011-01-30T14:22:00.000-08:00

This is a justified question if you are thinking about the content of this blog, which doesn’t really seem metal, except the songs that are at the end of each post. Although I never said it will be about metal, one might think it will be, considering the title. I know I would like it to be about METAL.

Of course, I can’t answer this question, I am only asking it so I make it clear that I know that this blog is drifting away from its intended direction. There are some things that can not be done. Like whipping a horse in Nietzsche’s presence. Or leaving a bat – dead or alive – near Ozzy. Or depriving me of metal but giving me a pen and a notebook and some time to kill. Do this and you can be sure, shit will happen and disasters like some of the posts will take place. Bottom line: it’s a good question, but I don’t know the answer, so will leave it unanswered, it might be better that way than coming up with 42 as an answer.

Again, if you look at this song you are right to ask if it is metal, but this time I am sure it is and it’s appropriate on the birthday of a dead man.

chop from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Underground

2011-01-25T23:55:00.000-08:00

The underground played a big part in the metal and generally the music scene. It’s only natural, as no one is born a superstar, well except Webbers’s Jesus, but everyone else has to start from deep under and fight his way up. Or sink even deeper but that’s another story.

So here I am, a Hungarian from Transylvania writing with a pen made in Japan while sitting on the train in London. Mind the doors!!! I am restarting this blog from the underground not because I want to draw a parallel with all the bands or because I fancy it or want to look fancy. No, I’m doing this because it’s the only chance I have to write. Working 8 hours and traveling 4 hours a day doesn’t really give me enough time to write. Mind the doors, please mind the doors!!! Of course I could write in the 3 or 4 hours that remain but I don’t like it. I can’t function with a clock ticking in my ears, I’m not a bomb. So I bought a cheap notebook and a pen and here I am struggling to write something. It’s not the easiest things to do on this moving train; it takes a long time to write down something. Just like speaking in entish, - that being the language of the ents of Tolkien fame – although they only said something if it was worth the time it took to say it. This isn’t the case here, as you will see it. Mind the gap!!! In the last couple of weeks I thought about many interesting things to write about but now that I actually have a way to note it down my mind is blurry, so that’s it folks, hope to be more inspired next time. Mind the doors, please mind the doors. (Yep, sadly my good headphones were ruined so I’m using a pair of cheap ones as a replacement which aren’t loud enough; so many noises from the outside break through my wall of metal sounds. Usually that should be impossible, but now I’m minding the door and the gap and everything that’s being said in the loudspeakers.)

Note to myself: be sure to choose an instrumental song so the lyrics don’t overshadow my words.

sodras from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.

Transylvania who?

2010-11-04T10:09:00.000-07:00

If you’ve took the time and checked my profile or read through some of the posts in this blog you might have come across a place called Transylvania. And because it happened before, I want to make it clear to everyone: Transylvania really exists. I’ve been told, by people from the UK, that they thought this was a mythological place, situated right next door to Mordor and with Cinderella acting as a maid during daytime and as a princess in the night.

It is for sure a real place for me, as it is for the other 6-7 million people living here. It has a strong Hungarian minority of which I am a part too, but Transylvania is part of Romania nowadays. It is just not well known. But I’m sure Anocha Suwichakornpong of Thailand heard about it when she won the TIFF (Transilvania International Film Festival) in 2010. Anthony Minghella knew about it when he placed the shooting of his 2003 movie, Cold Mountain here. The majority of the shooting took place some 15 miles from where I used to live. Iron Maiden surelly heard something about it when they wrote the song “Transylvania” in 1980 and they haven’t forgot it, because now, after 20 years, they visited Transylvania and played there. And of course there is Bram Stoker. I left him at the end with a reason. He is the one, who put Transylvania on the map in the eyes of the western culture, but he is also the one, who put it right next to Mordor. Admit it: if you’ve heard about this place you’ve heard it in the context that it is Dracula’s birthplace. And just for the record: I haven’t saw a vampire in my 30 years that I spent there. Before all you believers freak out, I must admit I never saw a brown bear in the wild either and the existence of these bears back home is a fact. So...there is still hope for gothic boys and girls, although you might try at Loch Ness too, just to make sure.

Trans from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.