#why would I be scared of a little overstimulation. at least this variety feels Good.

[dykesynthezoid]

“Phallic jouissance” this, “feminine jouissance” that. When will we embrace what is truly reality-destroying. Autistic jouissance

[giannimaldonado]

When someone asks someone who their favorite singer is, there’s often a relatively predictable group of people that pop up in the minds of the general public. Aretha Franklin, Amy Winehouse, Whitney Houston, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, all members of both The Supremes and The Temptations. A lot of soul, jazz, and pop artists that are well established and incredibly revered (for good reason, mind you) often dominate one’s thoughts when asked such a question. 

However, I think I’d like to take a bit of more...shall we say, unconventional, opinion on this topic.

Aside from the amazing voice of the one and only Stella Vander, French avant-garde/jazz singer and performer most associated with the magnifique powerhouse of zeuhl music that is Magma, there is one vocalist that stands out above the rest. One that, when I first heard her voice, instilled a plethora of emotions inside of me that ranged from being disturbed and even a little frightened to unabashedly excited and positively thrilled. 

Ladies, gentleman, and all who lie in between or outside such classifications, let me introduce you to industrial’s greatest woman! She’s worked with everyone from John Paul Jones to John Zorn, so she’s definitely the best of the very damn best. Feast your ears upon... Diamanda Galás.

Diamanda Galás is a Greek-American/Egyptian-American soprano sfogato singer who was born and raised in San Francisco, California. At an early age, Diamanda Galás was already being thrust into the world of music, as her father was a gospel choir director with a soft spot for classical music and New Orleans jazz. At the age of 3, she had already gained a knack for the piano (the instrument she’s most known for, besides her own vocal cords), and at the young age of 13, she was already playing gigs with her father’s band. Around this time, her influences came from the darker and more unsettling varieties of literature, such as that of Neitzsche and Poe. Given her hauntingly poetic works and gloomy, gothic aesthetic, it isn’t too hard to see where the influence is coming from.  By 14, she had made a hell of an orchestral debut with the San Diego Symphony, taking up the role of soloist for Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 1. 

Diamanda Galás’ art is known to be extremely provocative, incredibly eccentric, and highly political, with every piece, every performance...having a meaning behind it. A reason for why it exists. The overtly shocking imagery that she employed shows that this was not your typical brand of “noise for the sake of noise” industrial. AIDS and mental illness are the two most prevalent themes in her vast discography. Not surprising, given her past activism concerning AIDS, as well as gay rights. So-called “moralists”, as well as the apathetic heads of the Christian world, were her enemies, and her music makes this train of thought very clear, with her live album “Plague Mass” being the pinnacle of her bountiful frustration, particularly towards the Catholic church. 

Manic Street Preachers? Fuck out of here! Xiu Xiu? Child’s play! Suicide? Henry Rollins would surely turn into a blubbering mess if he heard a minute of this! SPK and Throbbing Gristle? About as tame as you can get.

Not even the apocalyptic sounds of “Black Earth” by Bohren & Der Club Of Gore, “Black One” by Sunn O))), “Stalker” by Lustmord, or “Dog Days Of The Holocaust” by Hollow Earth can compare to the sheer horror you will be met with when throwing in those earphones and pressing play on this...thing.

A fine example of the utterly fearsome records this visionary of a woman produced would be the one being pictured above. “The Litanies Of Satan”, named after a poem by  Charles Baudelaire. It’s only a mere 30 minutes long, and consists of two tracks, one 18 minutes and the other 12 minutes, respectively. But, let me stress this to you: you will FEEL every second of those 30 minutes. This isn’t something you can just listen to. No, no, this is a record you EXPERIENCE. Each and every second will make your spine tingle and tremble as if the air suddenly became as cold as the 9th circle itself. The hairs on your neck stand up straighter than the crosses that this work spits upon. Your soul will burst into flames as Pentecostal-esque energy reduces your essence to ash, and by the end of it, your sanity may very well be a thing of the past. Your mind will be thoroughly fried and you won’t know what to do with yourself afterwards. Where is there to go from here? You’re already neck deep in the pit by now.  This is terrifying stuff that’ll be guaranteed to make any unfortunate passerby to question your mental health, and advice you check yourself into the nearest psychiatric ward. 

Now would be the time to give this borderline schizophrenic construction of sweet, sweet, innovative ingeniousness a listen.

Immediately you are greeted by the wailing sounds of  Diamanda Galás making an array of almost inhuman sounds with her vocal cords that, when I first let this pulsing collection of industrialized chaos enter the gates that are my eardrums, I could not quite believe came from a human’s throat, or, at the very least, without the usage of effects. But no. The sounds you hear her make...all of the wailing, screeching, cackling, howling, shouting, screaming, yelling, groaning, grunting, growling, all with that spiritual feverishness that seems like a perfect parody of the people she mocks and ridicules so much in her work...it’s all totally real. This doesn’t like an impassioned woman who is, at the end of the day, a spawn of man. No, this sounds like the vile creatures depicted in Dante’s infamous Inferno making all manner of ear-shattering vocalizations. Her voice sounds like the entirety of Hell singing out in some sort of unholy, demented, deranged choir. One devoid of melody, reason, and sanity, and instead focused solely on perpetrating a noisy, overstimulating assault that shakes you to your very core. 

We’ve all heard the term “blood-curdling scream” before. It conjures up images of a shrill, shrieking blare that’ll strike dread into even the most stoic individuals. But the...sounds...being made here are probably the best examples I’ve ever heard this phrase be attached to, I would say. Especially in a real world context. If an auditory instance of “blood-curdling scream” was required to be provided in order to further explain the meaning, this whole album would be right by the definition. I’m very sure of it. 

If you’re looking for an album that could scare the absolute shit out of your friends, or even yourself, or you want something that’s REALLY challenging to listen to and completely devoid of any “accessibility”, then this is an album for you. Anyone with a weak, sensitive heart or pair of ears should stay far, far away, for this WILL challenge all of your notions concerning the term “music”. This is aural torture, both for you, the enraptured listener, and  Diamanda Galás, the performer who was tearing apart her throat in a cold, dark basement in the UK for more than 24 hours, hopped up on nothing but potent caffeine, all whilst her equipment (soundboards, mics, etc.) broke down during the recording process, just so this...thing...could achieve her vision. The vision that she had in mind for it.

Talk about dedication, and talk about a hell of a debut album (no pun intended)

This has been the second installment of “Esoteric Warfare”, and remember...

NOISE, NOT MUSIC!