#CARCASS 1988

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

GUSHERING IN THE GENRE THAT KILLED THRASH METAL IN ITS SLEEP -- ETERNAL HARBINGERS OF HARDGORE.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on English musician/ vocalist/bassist/lyricist Jeff Walker (possibly still a teenager!), founder of then goregrind/death metal/grindcore band, CARCASS, c. late '80s.

Interview from an unnamed zine, issue #4 (1990):

Q: "What’s the reaction of your parents in front of the band?"

JEFF: "Well, mine know what we’re up to, but have never heard the band, and have never seen the records, so they keep a discreet distance I suppose. We practise at Bill’s parents house and Ken’s dad’s helped us out getting slides processed (the use of his word processor) so even if they don’t approve at least they don’t hinder us. But we don’t need our parents consent or whatever, we’re all a bit old to be bothered about that!"

PIC #2: Spotlight on the original photo, during the band's still prominent goregrind years, the "Symphonies of Sickness" era, featuring Bill Steer, Jeff Walker, & Ken Owen, c. late 1980s.

Sources: www.picuki.com/media/3432347448700974992 (Picuki 2x).

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Carcass - Fermenting Innards

[lesdeuxmuses]

Carcass - Reek Of Putrefaction (Earache, 2020)

[dankalbumart]

Reek of Putrefaction by Carcass Earache / Combat 1988 Goregrind / Grindcore / Death Metal / Heavy Metal

[meeshuggeneh]

A globster is unfortunately not, as the name suggests, a delightful gay lobster. Rather, globsters are huge animal (almost always whale) carcasses which wash up on the shore every so often, striking fear in the hearts of humans who cannot easily identify the gigantic, faceless, decaying, waterlogged disaster in front of them.

The term was coined by biologist Ivan T. Sanderson, a founding figure of cryptozoology and an overall Very Weird Dude™️

Here are some historical globsters:

Stronsay Beast (1808) St. Augustine Monster (1896) Trunko (1924) Tasmanian Globster (1960) New Zealand Globster (1965) Bermuda Blob (1988) Nantucket Blob (1996) Bermuda Blob 2 (1997) Chilean Blob (2003)

[metalcultbrigade]

Carcass - Reek Of Putrefaction. 28/06/1988

[isobelleposts]

A Reminder That We Are Human: ‘Human Acts’ by Han Kang Review

by Isobelle Cruz [May 21, 2023]

I’ve been hesitant to open up my laptop lately, afraid that I had lost it in me to write a really good article, not in terms of how many likes I receive, but on how much I enjoy the process of making it. My recent works, I admit, have felt passionless and forced for the sake of keeping my blog alive. But this is different. I devoured “Human Acts” by Han Kang over the course of one weekend—my eyes rarely drifting from its pages.

I’d never encountered an interest in the author’s works before, but once I stepped foot in the bookstore, I was suddenly drawn to its cover; simple and clean, silencing the world that surrounded me into muffled echoes.

“Gwangju Uprising” scene in Saedeuldo Sesangeul Teuneunguna at the Yeongwoo Theatre, 1988 [Image Source: Yeongwoo Mudae]

Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Yet Eun-sook knows exactly what she is saying. She recognizes the lines from the manuscript, where Mr. Seo had written them in with a pen. The manuscripts she’s typed up herself, and proofread three times. 

Page 101 of Human Acts

The book features the perspectives of seven characters, one of them being an editor in 1985. Eun-sook’s chapter shows her struggle against censorship and how the company overcomes this, still able to deliver the crossed-out lines of the censors through chilling imagery. Han Kang’s writing is delivered almost in the same feels as the play tackled in her book; quiet, slow, but enough to tell the story.

Gym turned mortuary in May 1980. [Image Source: Robin Moyer, Korea JoongAng Daily]

Another perspective that drew my attention closer than the others was of The Boy’s Friend, Jeong-dae. The words of the dead were briefly featured in the book; faceless spirits hovering over their bodies and watching as others live on, unable to do anything but watch.

If I could escape the sight of our bodies, that festering flesh now fused into a single mass, like rotting carcass of some many-legged monster. If I could sleep, truly sleep, not this flickering haze of wakefulness. If I could plunge headlong down to the floor of my pitch-dark consciousness.

Page 56 of “Human Acts”

It was depressing, and made me conscious of the body I still have control over—a blessing that I often take for granted.

Students on the streets of Gwangju, 1980 [Image Source: Lee Chang-seong, May 18 Memorial Foundation]

Is it possible to bear witness to the fact that of a foot-long wooden ruler being repeatedly thrust into my vagina, all the way to the back wall of my uterus? To a rifle butt bludgeoning my cervix? To the fact that, when the bleeding wouldn’t stop and I had gone into shock, they had to take me to the hospital for a blood transfusion?

Page 164 of Human Acts

Human Acts is flinchingly explicit and gory. It tells the stories of victims from different angles, some of which I would forget to consider if I had not opened this book.

It disturbs me to display these photos on here, but I believe that if words are not enough to deliver chills to the blinded eyes of people, photographs will.

The kids in the photo aren’t lying side by side because their corpses were lined up like that after they were killed. It’s because they were walking in a line.

Page 133 of Human Acts

Whether you read this in the rain, or at the beach where life is supposed to be happy, a strike of pain will stay in the back of your chest, the images of agony haunting you even in bed. 

Human Acts truly opened my mind much more than the other books I’ve read that spit out facts and statistics, so much so, that I am driven away from what matters most—feeling and sympathizing with the victims. Most books I’ve encountered focus solely on hating the dictator that I finish them feeling sort of empty, that I am the same person as I was when I started the book. But that is not the case with Han Kang’s third novel. It reminded me that I am human, and how much my life should be valued.

[mywifeleftme]

90: Joe Coleman // Infernal Machine

Infernal Machine Joe Coleman 1990, Blast First

Joe Coleman emerged in the late 1970s from the alternative comix scene established by artists like Art Spiegelman (Maus), Kim Deitch (Waldo the Cat), and Bill Griffith (Zippy the Pinhead), but found greater notoriety as a painter and a shock artist. Here’s Spin’s Dean Kuipers on a performance (as his character Professor Mombooze-o) that resulted in one of Coleman’s numerous arrests:

“Boston, October 22, 1989. Reel after reel of ancient hardcore porno films flash onto a black screen onstage at BF/VF—the Boston Film/Video Foundation—grey and grainy, somebody else's fucking and sucking memories of indeterminate age. After 20 minutes, the hundred people in the audience are quiet and disarmed. The lights come up.

Joe Coleman instantly comes whapping through the film screen from behind, hanging upside down from a climber's harness attached to the ceiling, screaming and choking like a man condemned. This is the man everyone came to see. Green flames and acrid smoke belch from his chest as strapped-on explosives detonate under layers of shirt, ratty duck jacket and lab coat. Half a minute later, the booming and gnarling subside and Coleman's wife, Nancy, leaps out and douses him with goats’ blood to put out the fires. She cuts him down and he tears away what's left of the black screen to reveal a dead goat hanging upside down, twisting slowly. The goat is real. The odor of spattered blood and gunpowder seeps into the stunned crowd.

'Here are Mommy and Daddy!' cries Coleman, rushing to the front of the stage and pulling two live white mice from his pockets. He sits down on the edge of the stage and holds Mommy and Daddy up to his scorched beard and talks to them. Meanwhile, Nancy pulls out her Zippo and torches a cloth/plastic effigy of Coleman. The stage is consumed by fire as Joe screams at the squirming mice, 'I'll eat the cancer out of you!' and bites the head off Daddy, spewing it back into the audience. Then he snaps Mommy's head: hers he swallows.

This is Joe Coleman's stone ritualization of his mother's death. Four days earlier, she had died of cancer.

The befuddled firemen who arrive minutes later are sure that this must be the meeting of a satanic cult. As police investigators pick through the chaos of greening humans, brown smoke and bloody carcasses, the owners of BF/VF finger Joe and Nancy, then fire manager Jeri Rossi. All three are arrested and Joe is charged with—among other things—an old Massachusetts blue law charge that hasn't been used since the 1800s: Possession of an Infernal Machine."

(You can watch an excerpt of a similar performance in the 1988 pseudo-documentary Mondo New York, though I do not recommend doing so if you’re troubled by animal cruelty.)

The Infernal Machine LP is a figurative soundtrack to the Mombooze-o character, which he retired following the Boston bloodbath. Side one (“Homage to Mass Murderers”) intersperses vintage country and blues murder ballads with exploitation film clips and interviews with murderers Ed Kemper and Charles Manson. Side two (“Infernal Machine”) is a collage of clips from TV shows and ‘40s films noir, audio from Coleman’s Mondo New York performance, and early live recordings by NYC noise punks Steel Tips.

The overall effect is eerie, and there are some powerful juxtapositions. The way the clip of Kemper’s tearful description of murdering his own mother segues into Eddie Noack’s 1968 recording of “Psycho” underscores the song’s unnerving potency; tucked between relatively jaunty tunes by Bessie Smith and Tex Ritter, a long clip of character actor Don Russell’s genuinely moving performance as a kidnapped schoolteacher begging for his life from 1963’s The Sadist (based on the Charles Starkweather murders) seems to represent man’s powerlessness in a capricious universe. Side two is bookended by excerpts from the 1947 film Nightmare Alley, in which a series of disasters reduce cocksure Stan Carlisle (played by Tyrone Power) from his position as a carnival barker to the role of a despised geek who earns a meagre living by biting the heads off chickens in front of jeering crowds. The implication is that, as Mombooze-o, Coleman himself has been similarly forced into the role of a freak by the diseased contemporary world.

The LP includes a twelve-page booklet of Coleman’s paintings and, most interestingly, a picture-disc reproduction of details from its cover image, Portrait of Professor Mombooze-o. I’m not normally much interested in picture discs, but the sight of Coleman’s zombified head spinning on the table (or the dead fish bursting from his crotch on the flip) really does complete the package. It’s as a visual artist that Coleman’s chief gifts reveal themselves. His obsessively detailed paintings, which he works out over months and sometimes years using a single horsehair brush, are the most successful transference of an alt. comix sensibility to the gallery I’ve come across. If the work in R. Crumb’s classic Weirdo anthologies could feel like a mutated, devolved descendent of the feverish iconography of sixteenth century religious art, Coleman’s paintings are that mutant culture’s return to high art.

Coleman frequently conflates people like Charles Manson with Jesus Christ, saying in a ‘90s tour of his collection of oddities that he keeps a lock of Manson’s hair and a sample of Christ’s marrow. Falling back on the Blakean idea of a marriage of heaven and hell, he claims that if the pair’s DNA could be mixed in a clone it would create a perfect Messiah. However, the mingling of deviants and prophets in Coleman’s hagiographic art does not, as Coleman seems to mystically intend, elevate the former towards divinity so much as it pulls the latter earthward. Serial killers are, almost without exception, insipid creatures, powerless to explain their own behaviour with any real insight—as are for that matter, many holy men. Maniacs and religious figures are akin in the sense that each possesses intense evocative potential. A crazed killer’s actions, which seem both primal and alien, tear at the fabric of our notion of a shared reality. It is tempting to read their murders, being as superficially inexplicable as miraculous events, as signs or portents, the killers themselves as visionaries. Put another way, both religious phenomena and psychopathic behaviour create a void of ostensible meaning that humans are agitated to fill. Meaning does not arise from their actions but is imputed to them by witnesses. In Coleman, these boring, broken men who kill find a witness capable of making them a genuinely mythic force.

Portrait of Charles Manson, 1988 I find Coleman’s art as inspired and fascinating as I find his philosophy stunted and dull. In an interview with Richard Metzger on the BBC series Disinformation, Coleman says, with reference to mass murderer Richard Speck, “I don't want to kill anybody, but I want to express that pain. I want to express what he was trying to express. What if he didn't have to do that? And maybe, just maybe, art is a thing where you can do that.” Ten years previously, Coleman told an anecdote in Mondo New York about covering himself in blood and harassing random women at New York bars; when their boyfriends would intervene, he’d light the fuse on the hidden explosives attached to his chest and then calmly walk out of the bar in the confusion, enjoying the screams and smoke. Whether he’s spinning a yarn or recounting something he actually did, it’s clear he gets the same petty thrill out of terrifying strangers as the sickos (both real and fictional) excerpted on the Infernal Machine LP do. This doesn’t make him a monster, but it does clarify that when he talks about “expressing” their pain he also wants his share of their freedom to do violence. Of all the reasons it’s good for Coleman that he ended up an artist instead of a cut-rate David Berkowitz, the most telling is this: if he had, what artist of his quality would’ve wanted to take him as their subject?

90/365

[beebottle]

Yk that pirates and seafarers put goats on the Galápagos Islands way back when, incase they got stranded? bc they were left for so long, their population grew out of control (they were an invasive species) . they damaged crops and rare plants only native to the islands. so they were causing issues, obviously.

so how did the conservationists fix the goat problem?

air strikes from attack helicopters. basically, they gunned em down until there were too few to find easily. but they weren't all gone, so yk what the conservationists did next?

judas goats. they tagged some goats, sterilised them too, and set them free. and bc goats are sociable, they'd go off and find a trip (group of goats). a few days later, they'd find the goat in this new trip, kill the other goats, then send the tagged one on its way to find a new trip.

that has to be bad for the poor goats right? yeah, yeah it was. the goats would experience trauma from the sound of the guns, and anxiety because they came to associate the sound with the death of animals they formed bonds with. capture and handling could also cause anxiety. repeated isolation could cause even more.

but did it work? yes. the plant life and animals that we thought had gone excinct because of the goats reappeared. the ecosystem bounced back really well.

what happened to the judas goats? the over 200 of them on Isabela were allowed to remain on the island for the rest of their lives as there was no chance of them reproducing (they had been sterilised as part of the prep for them to become judas goats). the carcasses of the other goats, while some were taken by locals living on the islands, were mostly left to decompose (not bad for the ecosystem, there was a huge amount of them too, too many to move).

sources: (i can't link multiple in the source tab :c)

(thanks to Caroline Roper on episode 6 of 'let's learn everything' for sharing this, I love listening to the show sm and enjoyed learning about this)

episode:

(sorry for the info dump, I can't stop thinking about this, so I'm screaming into the endless oblivion of tumbr where no-one will hear me lol)

[agendaculturaldelima]

#SinMusicaNoExisto

🎶 “DEATH/GRIND METAL [Tour Sudamérica]” 🌎🎙️🎸🌚🔥

🗯Con tres décadas de historia, la legendaria banda demostrará ante sus fanáticos su brutal ejecución y la capacidad que han tenido para mantenerse vigentes y referentes absolutos en el metal internacional.​ Pioneros en experimentar con ese sonido sucio y extremo [Grindcore], cuenta con una vasta producción discográfica: "Reek of Putrefaction"(1988), "Symphonies of Sickness"(1989), "Necrotism"(1991), pasando por el death metal melódico: "Heartwork" (1993) y "Swansong" (1996). La banda regresa a la actividad en el año 2007 y ha lanzado los álbumes "Surgical Steel" (2013) y "Torn Arteries" (2021).🤟

👥 CARCASS [Reino Unido]😎 @CarcassBand

© Producción: Serpiente de Metal Producciones EIRL.

📌 CONCIERTO:

📆 Lunes 06 de Mayo

🕘 9:00pm.

🏪 Centro de Convenciones Festiva (av. Alfonso Ugarte 1439 – Lima)

🎯 Pre-venta: S/.300

🎟️ Entrada: S/.320

🖱 Reservas: https://cutt.ly/vwUjcqey

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Carcass - Festerday

[radiophd]

carcass -- symphonies of sickness [demo, 1988]

[cannibalcorpsemerch1]

Find Cannibal Corpse Merchandise Online

Officially licensed Cannibal Corpse merch

Whether you're a die-hard fan or simply looking to show your love of the band, you can now find official Cannibal Corpse merch at affordable prices. Fans of the band will love the Eaten Back To Life T-Shirt, which features their classic logo and a slim fit made of black cotton. Fans can also sport the Carcass T-Shirt, which features a similar design.

Cannibal Corpse is an American death metal band from Buffalo, New York. The group formed in December 1988 and consists of Alex Webster, Rob Barrett, Paul Mazurkiewicz, George "Corpsegrinder" Fisher, Pat O'Brien, Chris Barnes, and Bob Rusay. The group's debut album, Eaten Back to Life, was released in 1990. Later, albums Vile and Gore Obsessed followed.

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[portrait-of-the-jaded-dawn]

Carcass - Reek of Putrefaction (1988)

[onlyhurtforaminute]

CARCASS-MALIGNANT DEFECATION

[the-true-metal]

33th Anniversary

Carcass

Reek Of Putrefaction

Goregrind/Grindcore

United kingdom

July 28th, 1988