ISSUE #12 - 1997

Six Finger Satellite, Thee Hydrogen Terrors, Humidifier
2/20/97, Silk City, Philly
    What is it about 6FS that scares people? Is it the fact that they sometimes signal a well-plced sieg heil after the show? When Quim Gremlin played Tora Tora Tora, our ebony frontman Smokey D did it and nobody complained so why can't a white man do it anymore, for whatever the reason? Is your rejection having to do with the fact they placed their heads in gammadion formation on the cover of Paranormalyzed? It's a symbol that appears in every culture, is seen on everything from ancient pottery to teepees, even in the windows on the building that used to house the merry-go-round in Asbury Park, where I spent hours whirling around under them as youth, trying to nab the golden ring for a free ride. C'mon, Hitler didn't think it up, he just used the haken-kreuz for his own design, just as 6FS has taken it for theirs. Are those people who returned the. CD after they read a rumour on the Internet really offended or are reacting like collectivist sheep because Rage Against The Machine "don't like their politics"? What politics? Why is that aforementioned band o' twit's brand of commie chicanery okay and 6FS apolitical Schwerpunkt worthy of animosity? Rage Against The Machine? They are the fucking machine, asshole. All this nonsense aside, 6FS are again back on the "war of attrition with the public" they love to hate, a bit edgier with not much left to lose since their last release sold sparingly worldwide. Maybe if they started waving a hammer and sickle, half the planet would line up for a copy, but that's not the point, Their target audience is less than what the Republic Of Texas hope to take in, I surmise. And who wants to lead somebody to the mirage of meaning when they only want to drink watered down Independence Day special effects and a simple release of tension. The stressed masses don't want good music, they want good times. The world is full of enough mindless gun battles between cops, oversold on Sony screens the size of rooms where Nintendo 64 Doom looms plus the usual entertainment entropy and street corner mayhem an American citizen puts up with on cable, on the road or in their own neighborhood. Without the warped media, most wouldn't know what to think about the downfall they are incapable of stopping. Most agree with dark archons in their guts but in mind God frightens them for scant seconds until death. When they go out after a long week of slavery, they don't want an anvil shoved through their earhole, with finesse even, they want to dance and boogie with roofies. They get depressed over their finances but don't want to have a flurry of nuda veritas hurled at them on verboten volume. When it comes to tunes, the consumer desires the baking of a fluffy wedding cake with fat free frosting and joke candles that you can't blow out. Inside is a secret trollop that springs out like Pawxsutawney Phil when the weathers right or the wife's away on business, signalling winter's wails are over, let's bachelor party forever if just for the night or until the tape ends. They marry themselves a momentary idol but commit to multiple false-Christs not even worth a thousand squished thrips. They want the romance with danger yet only in a safe harbor, and on any given night at the Carcharodon Community Bank Arena, rock personna are paid to play dress up, and whether it be a Mardi Gras gymnasium or the R.L. Stine Of Satanism, a concert is a holiday away from home or a tide over until the next Stuporbowl. The minions of the music industry are bought cheap & made cheaper in Mexico where all the jobs go and shipped in bulk with big price tags, picture Dennis Rodman crossed with Dick Morris and Metallica made my THX Lucas managed by the vile James Carville. Music is it's own machine, an out of control Colossus crafting a routine for morons that need to witness someone other than themselves acting out repressed desires created in a experimental accident where some half-assed Albert Hoffman knocked over a couple of beakers and unbeknowst to him created formulaic mistake with no instructions to follow if the process need to be repeated for future profits. Style don't need substance to subsist in the cystic system that caters to suckers who pack the nosebleeds like crackheads looking for a score, thinking everything of matter comes from a sports ticker and a Budweiser bladder, so to me, it ain't no mystery why the industry is sinking like the Titanic. It's all been done before and those doing it now are even bigger losers than Led Zeppelin. I could go on but who needs to know more about the wan workings of a fetid beast's underbelly? Just Say No to the whole system, or better yet, plot against the bullshit and put it in a ditch.
   And the underground dweebs are almost worse. They're supposed to know better but don't show it. A few lock in here or there, but overall, it's always still a shadow movement just taking shape or some egos gunning for glory or a dour elite attitude-clique. I guess to most 6FS are a Fortean anomalie slightly out of reach like an talus' grapes or maybe that when everyone was into punk's safety pins, I was listening to Wall Of Voodoo staring down the walls in my room and therefore one has to be versed in specific mechanics but I doubt it. In actuality, I don't care if you can see how 6FS ticks. They are speaking my language so fuck it, let this be our little secret, o' my brothers. They fulfill my requirements as an unclubbable anchoret for proper musical escapism but there is no escape. The only outrance for the few remaining chthonians who haven't shipped out with the saucerians (as seen on TV) is to mentally feed on this level of cataclysmic stridency. Bodies may pile up or run for the door but I remain impervious and refreshened by the keenly crafted contempt of 6FS. The world they wage wehrmacht on is deserving of their service to country as they are of my nefarious praise. 6FS threap the thrall and tommy-rot described above with serious thrashings, danke, I don't get paid Lincolns for my loqauciousness. My reward is in rebellious decibels.., tonight was their best pillory on this city so far seen by my electronic eye. Loud, brash, caustic music played with an unflinching trajectory, I require nothing more when it comes to stertorous sorties that pounce and rout with robotic abandon. 6FS snapped the dolor nimbus surrounding reality with austere uproariousness and gave Anschluss to UA's missives about truth, justice and the American way. Oh, yeah, not to forget, Thee Hydrogen Terrors were a fucked ruckus.
   -Greg Chapman

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