London
16 May 2004
Twenty-three years, man. Twenty-three (of course) years since (when I was way too small to appreciate this shit) the colossal monster of sound known as Throbbing Gristle last stomped its way through a live venue. The mission was terminated? Or was it? Cut to NOW.
A bunch of people, all of whom knew it was too good to be true that the legendary THROBBING FUCKING GRISTLE had overcome their differences and were actually headlining an entire fucking festival – at a holiday camp in Camber Sands, no less – had their hopes dashed as the whole event was cancelled two weeks before the scheduled date. But then? TG announced a one-off “live recording session” (I shouldn’t say “gig”, even though what transpired would prove me right?) for those disappointed by the lack of Hi-de-Hi-style Industrial holiday camp shenanigans.
A palaver of queueing (can’t be arsed to explain: it was neither hideously long nor hideously complicated, but some weird melange of the two) led to an ecstasy of waiting – and speculation. Would they be really shit? Would they do new stuff? Would they do old stuff? Would the new stuff be really shit? For that matter, would the old stuff be really shit if they did it now? The frightening amount of laptops suggested this much? BUT THEN? For starters, a wicked TG bass rumble put a lot of fears to rest. Never mind that (with the exception of Sleazy, who sensibly slunk in behind his machines quietly) they looked like primary school teachers (yay, even Genesis P-Orridge, with his new tits and slutty dress). Gen began with a speech about how this was no gig, but a recording session, so they’d ignore the audience. However, consummate showman (or just egotist) that he is, this proved far from the truth. Which was a good thing.
Yes, yes, a thousand times YES, the new stuff was FUCKING BRILLIANT. It tended to sound like Coil‘s Black Light District, which, while the other, non-Sleazy, members of TG may not take it as such, is meant as a compliment. Among the old stuff was a more bangin’ version of “Persuasion” ending with Gen just shouting the sleaziest bits of the song; a wonderful “Hamburger Lady” which musically, other than the heartbeat pulse bit, proved (with glorious effect) that they are, even in this day and age, making shit up as they go along. By far the weirdest moment, however, was one of the new tracks (an industrial torch song, if you Will), at which point Gen transformed: somewhere, in some Bizarro universe (you know, the kind of world where Batman was actually a supermodel and Superman a game-show host) there is a Genesis P-Orridge which is half Judy Garland, half Marlene Dietrich. And we were offered a glimpse into that world that afternoon.
But yes. That sound, that sound that nobody, not even Whitehouse or Merzbow, has ever managed to recreate totally? THAT sound. Man, that FUCKING sound. That “huge robotic mammoths dying in some bizarre new Ice Age on a Manchester estate” sound. It’s still there. It’s the sound that spawned a thousand imitations, and still, even after all these (23- count the fuckers) years, none of them have quite got it right. Yet these four can still do it. How that works, I’m not sure. But work it does.
-Can Deuteronemu 90210 Be As Sad As He Seems?-
