#Also I like comfort zone and like a dog because well. Dima

[ururur555]

Do you have a favorite pafl song?

Parties are for losers is my fav it's peak

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 19)

Mila’s feet dangle in the air as she sits on the edge of the guard post, while looking out over the surroundings. Next to her on the floor lies a bottle of vodka, in case she gets bored. She turns her eyes to the flickering flame of the oil lantern, the only source of light. Besides the lantern its pitch black. The darkness is wrapped around the surroundings like a heavy blanket. No lights are on in the houses. 

Before she put on her jacket, hid the vodka bottle in the inner pocket and went out to the guard tower Mila tucked Juri in for the night. She helped him choose a cassette tape to fall asleep to, made sure he had all of his ‘friends’ also tucked in; the brown dog named Jeff (Mila had no idea why), his soft bunny named Bruce after Bruce Springsteen and the teddy bear that goes by the name Eddie, after Eddie Vedder. But Mila hasn’t been able to figure out Jeff. Who’s Jeff? Instead of asking him about it, she kissed Juri on the forehead and left for guard duty. Daryl wasn’t at the guard tower when she arrived, so Mila made herself comfortable. 

She taps her fingers towards the floor and hums the tune to “Hungry heart”, starts to sing faintly. Springsteen makes her think of the summers in New Jersey. Driving around on hot summer days, the long days at the beach in Point Pleasant, eating tons of ice cream and drinking Pepsi Cola, riding around Atlantic City with Darya and Laura in Darya’s dad’s convertible-    

“You sing well.”

Mila looks up. Daryl has joined her, finally. In one hand he holds the crossbow and in the other two bottles of water. 

“You’re late.” 

”You’re easy prey, sitting like this.” Daryl sits down besides her, lets his legs swing over the edge next to hers and gives her one of the bottles.

”Wolves are gone. Walkers don’t jump.” Mila removes the lid and takes a sip of water. “I think I’m fine.” 

”You’re really good.” Daryl looks down at his knees. “I mean, singing. Your accent disappears when you sing.” 

”Yeah. I’ve heard that.” Mila laughs and puts the water bottle down, next to the vodka bottle. ”It would sound even better if I had a guitar and a cowboy hat.” With a smile she grabs the Vodka bottle from the floor, unscrews it and takes a bountiful sip, before offering it to Daryl. ”I’ve heard you should drink at least one liter a day.”

”Thought that applied to water?” Daryl lifts an eyebrow and brings the bottle to the mouth and drinks, lets out a cough as he lowers it. ”Gotta get you a guitar then, Jersey.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” She replies. “It sorta’ feels pretty pointless now. I haven't played in forever.” she meets Daryl’s gaze. “I was engaged to this guy, before- It’s because of him I play the guitar, and sing in ‘American’.”

Daryl stiffens up at her words. It’s barely noticeable, but Mila notices. 

“He’s dead anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. “My father hated him for encouraging my interest in music. Said it was a waste of time. He didn’t understand the phenomenon ‘hobbies’.” Mila tries to remember what her dear papa yelled at her through the glass. It was hard to hear exactly what he yelled, since he banged at the window, but she could make out some of it. ”Eto chepukha, Milena, chepukha!” she repeats. “Nonsense.”

“Seems like a charmer.” Daryl replies. “Ain’t a waste though. I like it.”

Mila glances at the broad archer next to her. Somehow he reminds her of Jim; tall, broad shoulders and muscles. Jim had brown hair and beard, a bit more groomed than the Southern archer, but still- 

The first time Mila laid her eyes on Jim was during a gig at a bar in Brooklyn. She was there with her friend Laura. Jim played guitar in the band and halfway through he pulled his shirt off. Milas eyes were glued to his bare chest during the rest of the performance. Even a blind person would have noticed such an intense stare down; as did Jim on stage. Afterward he asked her over to their table, and she fell like a paw for the big Oklahoma native, with the pretty eyes and the kind smile. Jim was big as a bear and kind as a puppy. He was warm, had a boisterous but contagious laugh, he was friendly and charismatic. Everybody around Mila adored Jim, everybody except papa, which made sense. Papa hated everyone, except himself.

Physically, Daryl reminds her of Jim somewhat, but their personalities are like night and day. Jim was able to entertain an entire room full of people, and happily did so by telling stories or playing the guitar. Daryl would probably never even think of entering such a room. He’s encased in armor, a hard shell no one seems to be able to break. She hasn’t heard an ounce of bursting laughter from him and he barely talks. And yet she likes his company. When she saw him walk down the street into the Safe-Zone last night it felt like a ton of brick was dropped from her chest. Of course she was still angry with him for some unimportant reason she can’t really remember now, but she was happy for having him back.

“Where’s he by the way?” Daryl asks. “Your old man. Ya’ said ya’ came here together.”

“In prison.”

The statement doesn’t seem to surprise Daryl significantly.

“What for?” 

Mila hands him the vodka bottle again. Daryl looks puzzled at it. 

“If you want to hear about it, you might need it.” Mila explains and doesn’t take her eyes away from his. “There’s a legit reason why I have alcohol problems.”

“Haven’t noticed.” the archer winks at her over the bottle and drinks. “Why’s he locked up?”

“Murder. And for kidnapping me.” 

It might be so easy to say it because she feels some kind of connection to the man sitting next to her, or maybe it’s because the whole world went to hell and papa, Mila’s perdition, her Achilles heel, probably is dead by now. 

Mila was the only child. Her father, her papa, wanted to have a son. Instead he got Mila. Her mother, who loved her more than life itself, couldn’t bear more children and Mila was punished for that her entire life by her father. Papa was stern on her from the start. Sergey Yuruchenko’s offspring wouldn’t be a weakling. Her sole purpose in life would be to make him proud. Like a show dog. He hardened Mila like steel; dragged her out on the frozen river Volga during the winters for an ice bath, a procedure to ‘man her up’. If Mila hesitated or began to cry she had to stay longer in the water. Eventually she stopped crying. He taught her to fight, games that often resulted in cracked lips and black eyes. Sometimes Mila began to cry because it hurt and she felt scared, but he assured her it was a fun game, and she believed him. He coached her in sports, to make sure she would win. Second place was never enough. Mila could’ve easily become an olympic marathon athlete, if she would have had the choice. But he had already set out her entire future. 

”My mama loved me with all of her heart and papa made sure that I never forgot how he grieved the son he never had. It was my burden and my responsibility to prove that I was worthy of his affection. I was a wreck emotionally. Thrown between boundless love and emotional abuse.” Mila pauses and takes another mouthful of vodka. “I got respect from him for the first time when I was fifteen. He firmly argued that if a man couldn’t hit a soup can fifty yards away with a gun after drinking a whole bottle of vodka, he was a wimp. He didn’t count on me, a fifteen year old girl to even dream about trying.” She raises her eyebrows at Daryl. ”But I passed the test and he eased the leash.”

After that summer, Mila had a great year. She was ‘allowed’ to be an ordinary teenager in all its meaning. She went to parties with her friends, dreamed of Leonardo Dicaprio when she kissed her first boyfriend Dima for the first time and she was convinced that life would continue like that.

“Then one day he asked me to come with him on a trip abroad, for work. It was just the two of us at home that day and he was so different. Friendly even. It felt odd, but he was so convincing. He asked me to be ready in an hour with a bag. I felt so excited. Not until we walked through the gate at the airport I understood where we were going. I couldn’t believe it. We were going to America! He made the whole trip sound so exciting. It felt like we were friends for the first time. That I finally had a father.”

Mila pauses. She’d thought about that moment many times since that plane ride. How it all was just an act. How he used Mila’s cluelessness to save his own ass. In reality he didn’t feel like that at all. He didn’t care about her. 

”We were arrested as soon as we got through the passport control at Newark. We were separated, put in different rooms. I panicked the entire time, fought and cried. An interpreter and two policemen came and told me that he was arrested. I tried to convince them that it must have been a misunderstanding. But it wasn’t. I was kidnapped and papa was internationally wanted for murder in Russia by Interpol. Or serial murders, I think it’s called, in the case of more than three victims.”

“How many?” he asks. 

Their eyes meet through the darkness. The only sound that’s heard is the chirping cicadas, the wind rattling in the trees and the thudding sound of the walkers crashing into each other on the other side of the wall. Well, he hasn’t run away yet, Mila thinks.

“Including the policeman he killed at the station the day after we arrived; ten.”

Daryl doesn't even try to hide his astonishment. 

”A woman disappeared in Moscow in- gosh, I don’t even remember the year. Anyway, she was found under a bridge, two days later. Then another woman was found a few weeks later, under a viaduct. Seven women and two men around Moscow. One woman was completely beheaded. I was fourteen when they found her, and my father told me to ’be safe’ when I walked home from gymnastics practice.”

Mila remembers almost all of them by name. They were read out during the trial in New York, while images of them were displayed on a projector. Mila saw their bruised faces, the dead eyes in the pale, straight faces. No matter how awful it was, she couldn’t look away, like passing a car accident. Mila had to watch, to understand that it was her papa, who worried when she would go home alone from gymnastics, he who always urged her to beware of boys in a group (or boys in general), that had done these horrible actions. The youngest victim was eighteen and was found in a shallow part of Volga. They had to identify it through dental cards. In court, sitting on that hard bench in between Ellie and Joe Galka, Mila desperately tried to meet her father’s gaze, wanted him to turn around where he sat, with his back against her. When he finally did, Mila didn’t see a trace of regret or empathy in them.

”He kidnapped ya’ to- what, to save himself?” 

“It didn’t seem suspicious if he traveled with his daughter. I was his ticket out of it. If he did get caught, he could use me as-” Mila fiddles on a thread in her jeans. “-Yeah, I haven’t figured out that part yet. He really knew how to inflict maximum damage to his advantages. Because of his position, working for the state, which is... corrupted beyond imagination, he could change my documents without anyone asking, making himself my sole guardian. On paper, I no longer had a mother. It was- He was so split. On one hand, a well regarded worker for the state, modest and punctual. And on the other hand, emotionally disturbed, a psychopath. A monster.” She sighs. “The same day we were arrested he overpowered a police officer. He killed him, granting him life in prison here, not risking being extradited to Russia. Social services took care of me and I ended up at the Galka’s. The first six months I visited papa in prison weekly. It really fucks you up in the head, being pulled back to the root of evil, to one's perpetrator. In my case, it was the same person. Perpetrator and father. Evil impersonated and the only person I felt I had some connection to here. And yet, I never got an explanation to why he did what he did. Eventually, thanks to the Galka’s, I stopped visiting. He didn’t like that, being out of control.”

Mila had never revolted, but when she had to acclimatize to a new culture and language all on her own, that changed. She could just as well have ended up dead behind a dumpster from drugs, but instead she went on to study at Columbia University. When papa found out that she studied to become a dental nurse, instead of a ‘real dentist’, or ‘the president of all dentists in the entire world’, or anything equally grandiose, he went all mad and had to be dragged out of the visitors room by the guards. A few days later he made a phone call and yelled at Mila for three straight minutes, until the call broke. When Mila paid him a much involuntary visit a few weeks later he’d calmed down a bit; he’d been in solitary confinement since that lash out. 

”Of all professions...” Papa snarled into the handset. ”Dental nurse? A servant! Milaya, why are you causing me this pain?”

Mila pulls herself away from the memory of Southport Correctional facility’s visiting room, back to the present, to the cool, calm night, where she shares a bottle of vodka with the archer.

“As far as I’m concerned I don’t have a father.” Mila meets Daryl’s gaze through the faint, warm light from the lantern. “I moved on. I made it. I got pregnant while in uni and tried to commit suicide. That was a nightmare. Once again I had to... switch on survival mode. I felt so defective. How could someone with a father like mine, someone who’s been hurled between motherly love and fatherly abuse, possibly be a good parent.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. The bottle is almost completely empty by now. “I haven’t had much space for making my own choices in life. Until recently.” she says. “I did some stupid choices on the way here. But at least I turned out... fairly good in the end.”

They look at each other in silence. Nothing is heard but the walkers collected hissing breaths, like a choir of rotten asthmatics, gasping for air, while pushing up against the wall. Sometimes a thud, like flesh against metal, is heard when the ones in the back push the ones in the front extra hard into the wall.

”Ya’ think he’s alive? Or they?” Daryl asks, husky. ”Your parents?”

Mila shrugs her shoulders; she doesn't know. After a while in the weeks following the outbreak, the phone calls to her mother in Russia stopped working. Her father can’t be alive. It would be impossible, just as impossible as it is to escape a high security prison like Southport. 

”What about ya’ foster parents?” 

”I don’t know.” Mila bites her lower lip. ”When the two of us came back to Jersey the Galka’s were gone. So we left, me and Juri.”

”Ain’t too bad, though.” Daryl says, in what Mila thinks is an attempt to cheer her up. “He’s a great kid.”

”He is.” she smiles. ”I never thought I’d make it, being on my own with him like this. He’s my everything, the better person of the two of us; wakes me in the morning, cheers me up and is always happy. I don’t know how he does it. He’s three!”

”And a half.” Daryl smirks. 

“Touché.” Mila looks at him. “Gosh. I’m surprised you haven’t ran away.”

”Why would I? Ma’ old man was a boozer, an ass.” Daryl replies, and his eyes suddenly shift from almost warm, to dark.  “I hadn’t much of a mother. Smoked herself to death, burnt the entire fuckin’ house down at the same time. Ma’ brother went in and out of juvenile. Died, as everyone else.” Daryl hesitates, but then he continues. ”I’m a nobody. Always been. I don’t have anything to run from.”

Mila lays her hand on top of Daryl’s, that rests against the floorboards. He twitches by her sudden move, like a stray dog that has never felt a friendly touch. 

“You’re not a nobody.” Mila says, emphasising every word. “You saved my life. Heck, I think you saved more lives than my sorry ass. Do you always push those who care about you away?”

Daryl becomes silent.

”Sorry.”

”Don’t be.” Mila says. “Honestly, It’s like you don’t think you deserve anything; people being kind to you, that people care. That’s not healthy. No wonder you’re so peevish. Just let the guard down once in a while. You do so much for everybody here, who are so thankful for it and want to show that to you. Let them. You need it. Let people in. Have you never done that?” 

”Never had a chance.” he answers. ”It’s always been bloody knuckles and shards of glass.”

”But does that mean that the whole world is dark and evil? I’ve had a bumpy ride too and I’m not all stiff and irritated with everything.”

”Well ye’ ain’t me.”

”And thank god for that.” Mila smiles a little. ”No matter what your life was like before it doesn’t have to continue being like that.” she gets silent, before she meets his eyes again. ”Have you ever just sat down and thought about what you want? Not what everybody else needs, or what they tell you to do, no matter what you think. Have you?”

”Never gotten that chance either.” Daryl grunts, and continues to look at his shoes.

“Well, do that.” Mila holds up the bottle of vodka in front of her. It’s empty. “Crap...”

“Ya’ haven’t had enough of that?”

Mila puts her head to the side and smiles dazzling.

“I told you I have problems.” Mila smirks and puts the bottle down. “But I’m workin’ on fixing that. Not tonight though.”

The corners of Daryl’s mouth curves slightly upward and he chuckles faintly. They sit quietly for a moment before he once again turns to her. 

“Ya’ really a dentist?” 

“Dental nurse.” Mila corrects. “What, are you surprised?” 

“Not at all.” Daryl replies. “How’s that like?” 

“We'll take that one another time.” Mila adjusts herself on the floor. “I have to save some cock-and-bull stories about tartar and teeth extractions for later.” 

“Can’t wait.” Daryl smirks. “If ye’ want to sing something, I don’t mind.”

Mila smiles. They sit next to each other, watching the night turn into early dawn. Mila sings faintly, to avoid unnecessary attention from the walkers, dangling her legs in the air, while Daryl’s eyes rest on the horizon, wearing a pleasant smile upon his lips.

[doomedandstoned]

What Weird Tales We Weave!

During a particularly long and vicious Pacific Northwest winter, I developed a strange affinity for a band called WEIRD TALES. The doom trio of Dima (guitars, vox), Kriss (bass, vox), and Kava (drums) emerged three or four years ago from a part of the world that gets cold, miserable weather ten times as worse as mine. I was never quite sure what to make of the Warsaw band's warped, sloggy sound, made all the more odd with its imposing Gothic vocals and pernicious earworms. All I knew was that Weird Tales had some bad, bad medicine to offer during a time in life when I'd grown pretty jaded and disillusioned. It was, as the well-worn saying goes, just what the doctor ordered.

Before us is the latest and most ambitious effort to date from Weird Tales and I must say it's showing me a brave new side to the band. As 'Hell Services Cost A Lot' (2019) opens, we hear an orchestral crescendo of screeching feedback. Dogs are barking in the background, perhaps to warn lurkers of dangers just beyond the shadows. The band responds with a vicious beating of guitar, bass, and drums. It's an attack we're not used to hearing on doom records and I find it refreshing to break away from the gloom for a chance to vent some good old fashioned aggression. This instrumental preamble eventually gives way to the first words of "Madness" and the record is off to take care of its mischief.

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

I don’t know just who I am I don’t know who is that man He looks on me from the fucking mirror Stares at me and laughs, waiting for you

Voices in my skull come louder and louder Push me to that edge, there's no return Where I put them bones on bloody altar Drinking wine, dancing, waiting for the end

Hey Get out from my brain I don’t need you there Get out from my brain I don’t need you there, I don’t want you there

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

"Crawling Pain" is next and I can't get over just how much the band's style has shaken off that hazy, bummed-out strangeness. Seriously, their first two EPs (both dropped in 2017) are like tripping out on cough syrup. I wanted to review them (really I did), but I struggled with what to even say. You don't talk about the Golden Age of Weird Tales; you live it, man. With Hell Services, it's like the boys woke up after an all-night bender, seized by a sudden rush of early morning adrenaline, grabbed the carpe diem of the day and exclaimed, "You lazy, no good son of a bitch, give me my goddamn money!" I swear, I almost thought I was listening to a different band, like there’d been some big personnel change or something, so different was the state of things. Put another way, if Weird Tales and Shiny Void were a dextromethorphan-soaked dream, Hell Services is like a PCP-fueled nightmare.

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

Here's another thing I didn't expect to hear on a Weird Tales record: the harmonica. I mean it works, but WTF. "LIE" shakes me loose from my comfort zone. I've heard enough doom metal to pretty much know the tricks, the tropes, the whole shebang. I trust Weird Tales have, too, so I'm pretty sure they're pissed off by the whole thing, so they upset the stage coach just enough to keep us guessing (and hanging on for dear life) for the duration of the record. Whether it's for our benefit or theirs, anything's better than boredom, right?

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

By far, my favorite song of the album is "Nightmare." It is indeed a frightening song (my chest seized up a little when I listened to it in complete darkness -- yes, sometimes I do these crazy things just because). I smirked when I read the lyrics sometime later, realizing the band's sardonic humor has not disappeared.

Nasty hands inside the walls They will get you when you are alone Mom and dad can erase your fear Anyway they will not hear your scream

A heavy blanket covers your eyes Every time you see something wrong The world you made seems so pure Seems so pure that you can’t even breathe

Living the nightmare Live in the nightmare

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

Maniacal laughter transitions us from the rabid savagery of "Bitchcrusher" into "Warnings" where Weird Tales really get their "Slomatics" on. I do believe this is the loudest and the largest I've heard them. If I heard this echoing out of my window in the dead of night, I would swear that the pit of hell had been open and Satan's demons were being loosed to troll the hell out of mankind.

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

It’s not until the record’s wild ride comes to a head that we pick up hints of the Weird Tales of old. “Dead Man” is this final number. No wonder. It’s the perfect vehicle to bring a return to sluggish form, though not for long because madness never takes a vacation. Hell Services concludes on a high note with the same bang-up, rip-torn, kick-ass note it started on.

Hell services cost a Lot by Weird Tales

A colleague of mine who deals in more new doom than even I do remarked some weeks back that Hell Services is the best album of the year so far. I'd given it a cursory listen at the time, but hadn't revisited it for months. I swear, my thinking was so cluttered from the traffic jam of new releases from big names and heavy hitters in 2018 that I didn't give as many lesser known bands a fair, focused listen. Good music does not depend on the PR cycle, and thank Christ for that.

All that to say this: the full-length debut from Weird Tales is indeed a good album. No, more than that, it is a great one -- especially when you know how distinguished the Poland scene is with the likes of Dopelord, Major Kong, sunnata, Spaceslug, 71TONMAN, Weedpecker, and BelzebonG. Weird Tales have risen to the occasion with the obstinacy of a punk crew driving a tricked-out Sherman tank.

Hell Services Cost A Lot is an acid-seeped wonder to join the likes of Satori Junk's Golden Dwarf, Three Eyes Left's The Cult of Ashtoreth, Shepherds Crook's Evil Magician, Magmakammer's Mindtripper and other far-out fever dreams.

☠

A Walk on the Weird Side with    Mad Men Dima, Kriss, and Kava

Photographs by Beata Wiśniowska  

Alright, let's do start with a little round of Who's Who?

DIMA:

Okay, there's Kava, our drummer. He had played in Luna Negra, one of the first Polish stoner bands, since 2008. You can find their records on YouTube. A couple tracks still have more viewers than Weird Tales. (laughs)

Next is Kriss, the bassist, who also provides backing vocals. Kriss played in the stoner band Sun Frenzy previously. You should check them out on Bandcamp.

I, of course, am Dima. I’d never played stoner music before -- and thank the gods for that.

How did you guys get together to begin with?

DIMA:

One day, I lost my job for drinking beer on a break and sniffing drugs on my office table -- in official documents they mentioned only liquor. (laughs) So my first thought, besides getting more cheap beers, was to start a doom band. The only right choice, isn't it? The same day, I came to a jam session in order to meet some people to play doom with and in the next couple days met Kava at our first rehearsal. I already had some ideas and riffs, just didn’t have desire to work on it and make structured tracks. I needed like-minded people to share ideas and work on it with others. You know, like in every art. When you're alone, it’s like jerking off. Definitely enjoyable while doing it, but without any sense. With Kava, we smoked couple of bowls while listening Ufomammut and agreed about the direction we should go as a band.

Kriss came later. Actually, he’s our fourth bassist. He is a crazy motherfucker! And he was our biggest fan in a town. (laughs) Visited all our gigs. When his band broke up, we were looking for a new bassist, so offered him a tryout. After a couple of rehearsals, we knew that he was exactly what we were looking for. It’s really easy to play with a guy who likes your music and knows what it's all about. So we found a common language really quick. He's got a really cool groove. Have I mentioned yet that he’s a crazy motherfucker? We rehearsed a couple of old and new songs, then headed right out on tour.

Kriss and Kava, what got the two of you into this kind of music?

KRISS:

It has to be Satan, I guess, but I don't believe in Satan -- and that’s weird.

KAVA:

The Devil, alcohol, drugs, good fun, girls.

Fair enough. What it's like to live and grow up in your neck of the woods?

KRISS:

I grew up like a long time ago and it was nothing like “growing up today.” Back in the day, we had stationary phones and not so much surveillance cameras. So you can guess it was easier to get away with some stupid ideas, as they were executed. I don't envy all that stuff kids have now. They have to cope with a lot more control. And about growing up in Poland as a country? Hmm, I guess it's like growing up every elsewhere. Every country have it pros and cons. The important thing is “who you are, not where you grew up.”

KAVA:

I live in small town near Warsaw. Nothing to do. You need to support yourself or work in fabric -- or you can just drink and smoke. One day, I met some crazy guys and tried to do the band. Of course, it was more alcohol and fun in the beginning.

I'm curious about some of the things that have shaped you both as musicians and humans.

KRISS:

I guess we don't have time for like a biography here, so I'll make it simple. Life and music are all tied up in each other for me, in the little things that drive a person into doing it over and over again. You just try to stay busy with a lot of different things so that you don’t get caught up in boredom. I guess it’s the best way of sizing up both my life and my music.

KAVA:

I pay some heavy shit for the devil and, of course, some old girlfriends, old movies, Black Sabbath albums, and shitty albums, too.

What's the significance of your name, Weird Tales?

DIMA:

Come on, man. That would be too easy! Often people ask us, "Is it from H.P. Lovecraft?" No. Actually, I don’t know where it came from! I always write down some ideas and phrases that I like on a paper. I got a lot of notes strewn all over my apartment. I can’t find anything I need in this chaos, but sometimes find something better than I was looking for. So one of the phrases I happened upon in this mess was "Weird Tales" and it fit the best.

The other most frequent question we get: "Did you take your name from the Electric Wizard song called 'Weird Tales'?" To which I say: I don’t know and fuck you for those stupid questions. It doesn’t matter. I just found it on a little piece of paper in my house and was never interested in where it came from.

We had some songs ready and they were about surreal stuff when you can't distinguish real life from a bad trip. Those songs have an interesting structure, unusual riffs changes. Each one was different and the name Weird Tales was good from every point of view. Lyrically and musically, we like when a song has a plot, and in the future we will continue writing songs that tell strange stories about strange shit happening. Thus, Weird Tales. Ironically, our English is pretty sucky and we can’t even properly pronounce "Weird Tales." (laughs)

Not to ramble, but I'm curious about the difference stylistically between your first two EP's and the LP. The early stuff seems quite blithe and depressive, makes me feel like I do when I have "medicine head." The new stuff is another beast entirely, like someone who has just snapped out of a weeklong bender on rubies.

KRISS:

And that I guess is my fault -- not all, of course, but I like to think that I had some serious influence, especially on this one. Those first two EPs were recorded with another bassist. I was invited to a band just before they planned to record their first album. I've seen these guys perform like a lot times before and I saw something “special” about their music, something -- as I was constantly repeating when I met them after their gigs -- “that no one wants to do in their bands, but so interesting that it’s not supposed to be lost at any point.” So when we finally got together, I tried not to change “their way,” but to “commemorate” it and add as much power and passion into it as only I was able to do. And, of course, Dima is the first one who supposed to answer this question, because he is mostly responsible for those sick-minded sounds. (laughs) Nobody knows what he's got on his mind next, when comes to writing music.

DIMA:

You know, when you write music you don't think much about the kind of style you're going write, except you do not assume from the beginning that you want to write another stoner-doom album about witches. You don't want to be another one to vomit on the music map, just to show that you are represented in a theme. So I just write and play what I want now, which feels like a more natural process. I want to play these kind of sounds now, because it has its place to be here and now in that shape. Of course, it’s coming from life experience, as a way to share your emotions and feelings which have internal roots and act in response to external factors. I'm trying to share that shit in a metaphorical and allegorical way.

Weird Tales (EP) by Weird Tales

I fucking like your interpretation of our EPs and this stylistic difference between them and the LP. You got the point of the message. I like to read the opinions of people who have really found something in our music. Then I compare it to what's been sitting in my head -- stuff I couldn't wrap into words, so I made music to say it. (laughs) It's like reverse feedback to me. I can better understand myself, as a result.

I interpret the changes between our EPs and this album similarly to how you articulated it. It's like you are on acid and have a bad trip. When the bad trip is at its peak, your ego dies and you have this apathetic feeling -- the Weird Tales EP -- and when your bad trip starts to calm down, you have so much energy and feel so good that this shit is over. You understand that this experience will stay with you 'till you die, but for now you have returned to a planet that did you not hope for. So you starting having fun, drinking vodka, and sniffing speed 'till that psychedelic vibe smoothly slides away from you skin and is replaced with a pleasant fire. That is the feeling associated with Hell Services Cost A Lot for me. Sad songs played with a lot of fun.

And your second EP, 'Shiny Void'?

DIMA:

Oh, it’s similar to first one, but this time the bad trip is not coming unexpected. You involve it with full understanding of what will happen now, in order to dive into this madness, hoping to find something there.

Shiny Void (EP) by Weird Tales

What is the background of the new album and how does it fit with your overall evolution as a band?

DIMA:

Nothing special. Some old stories about doing drugs that leaves a trail on your mind, as every honorable man has done a time or two. Also, other mental issues that we probably should tell to psychiatrists, instead of a music journalist.

From musical composition side of things, it was really fun. After we finished our second EP, we already had drafts of a couple songs. The songwriting process was quick as ever. I brought riffs and ideas to a rehearsal and we jammed and quickly agreed with the way a track should go. Even uncommon ideas were quickly accepted by everyone.

We changed bassists while writing this album. Surprisingly, it didn’t slow down the process, because Kriss is a really good fit for Weird Tales. Also we tried to play with a second guitar, because we heard richer arrangements. We even did a tour together with an additional guitarist. But anyway, now we are a trio again. You can hear those second guitar arrangements on Hell Services Cost a Lot -- most of them I now playing alone. It complicates the process a little, but not critically. The most important thing that we three feel great together and have a lot of fun while playing loud and heavy. We share that energy while on stage with audience.

Walk us through each of the songs on the new album and please share anything you can about their meaning.

DIMA:

It’s simple. We've got six tracks about Satan and one about the sea. (laughs) Seriously, though, I’m glad you ask, because it’s a concept album. You absolutely can receive it as you like, it’s cool. But directly or indirectly, the album tells the story of one poor fool. And this guy is a crazy fuck! He definitely needs help, 'cause his mind is drooling without stopping. He has visions and hallucinations, bipolar all the way. And this guy feels that pain all the time. That kills him from deep inside, and the thing is that he doesn’t know is this pain real or not. But it doesn’t matter at all, 'cause he feels it burns him like fire. Of course, this guy has some problems with drugs.

"Nightmare" shows us that his troubles are deeper than it maybe seems. He is still being persecuted by the shit from childhood. He tries to escape from it and makes his own safe reality that certainly will collapse. So that crazy fuck is a poor fool who certainly needs help, though most of his troubles actually come from his own decisions. No...no. Actually, he crossed the line a long time ago. This fuck slays women behind the garbage bins. And in parks, too. Crushes those bitches all the time. Then he fucks their cold bodies -- or not? If you want, he could. So he does all those disgusting kills and slays for the Gods of Death. Making altars from the limbs and trying to find a blessing and freedom from his pain.

The surrealistic pressure in the album grows the most in "Warnings”. He doesn’t understand entirely what is going on. He's tunneled right through to the other side, seeking to fall even further.

On the last track, “Dead Man,” he's killed himself. Only good decisions for such scum like him. He drowned himself in water. And remember that it’s just six tracks about Satan and one about the sea.

No classic Milton or Dante references in your doom, I take it?

DIMA:

There are none. We think film and literature references just suck. And we actually have one track on our 2nd EP that has its lyrics based on a movie, so we suck. (laughs) But again, if seriously, it’s okay if you got some idea from a movie and interpret it in your own way. It’s applicable in art, but it sucks when you straight retell the plot of a movie or book.

Every song on Hell Services Cost a Lot could be taken in a few different ways. Everyone is god. You could receive every track separately or like a part of complex story. There are a couple of true stories about self-issues and shit from real life, mixed up with some fictional stories and told in a way that contain some thoughts, deep or not really. (laughs) We like when there is something more besides straight storytelling -- something that fucking voice in your head tells you to desire.

What's the strangest or darkly funny thing that you've witnessed while gigging?

KRISS:

There are a lot of things that happen at concerts and events. I don't even know where to start, so I’d rather tell you about what are, in my opinion, some of the funniest misconceptions about playing music live. Everybody that I know, who doesn't really have an idea about what it looks like to play concerts or to go touring, thinks it's like something out of a movie. You know, doing cocaine from groupies' asses in a big tour bus, chugging on a bottle of JD or vodka from morning 'till evermore. They don't know that it's like all waiting. You’re on your way to a place and you’re waiting in an overstuffed car. When you finally get there, you’re waiting for the sound engineer, waiting for your time to soundcheck, then waiting for the event to start, waiting for your turn to take the stage, etcetera, etcetera.

Concert Footage by Viktor Chaikovskyi

You can, of course, fill those time gaps with some buzz or other “stuff,” but not too much or it will ruin your show. And when you finish your gig, it's time to pack your stuff back up and more waiting ahead as you get on the road again. Maybe “bigger bands” would have more things to do, but at this point for me it's all waiting. (laughs) And as like-to-be-busy man like me, boring is the most dangerous thing 'cause a lot of stupid ideas come to my mind -- especially under influence.

KAVA:

Our merch table is very funny. You can get some fresh fish or vegetables! We have some new ideas for the shows, but it's secret and too crazy for now. (laughs)

You all seem to have a pretty irreverent attitude and dark sense humor.

KRISS:

Oh shit, you got me! (laughs) But take a look around. If anybody takes this world seriously, I really start to feel pity for him. If he's taking life dead seriously, it begins to even get scary. If you look from a good distance at all the stuff that happens around us, it looks ridiculous and doesn't seem to matter at all. A bunch of pretty primitive creatures jumping around, fighting for better resources to get more mating opportunities.

It's as basic as it's always been, but people seem to turn that basic lifestyle into an “all-meaningful soap opera.” As they try to cover their animal-based foundation, it getting funnier and funnier. It's not like I want to see people walking around like caveman-style dudes, but developing serious issues from “not getting enough attention on internet” or taking a loan to buy the newest version of a mobile phone? Man, that's sick. And I'm I don't even know where to begin with religion: just leave it. At some point in our lives, everybody dies and the point to it is supposed to be hanging the bar higher for those that come after us. With that said, let's not get caught up into it too seriously, I guess.

KAVA:

Yeah, people sometimes don't get it, especially when you talk about somebody's mother-sister wet dreams

Finally, what do you like to do for work and hobbies when you're not involved in Weird Tales?

KRISS:

I do a lot of stuff. I have to be busy all the time. Like all the time, man. Otherwise, I freefall into a black hole of nothingness and self-hatred for wasting “time given me on this earth.” So I draw, paint, cook, do handmade-DIY-style-stuff, and music above all of that. And somewhere on the bottom of the list, there is “work” to pay for all of those hobbies. I would like music to pay my bills eventually, but we're not living in a dream world. (laughs) Maybe someday.

KAVA:

All day I try to figure out rhythms for Dima’s new riffs and cook some fresh meat.

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