By New Times
By Connor Radnovich
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Ray Stern
By Keegan Hamilton
By Matthew Hendley
By Monica Alonzo
By Monica Alonzo
"I'm wearing underwear tonight," he relates. "But I've had some pretty scary incidents in Europe. Once in this town in eastern Germany, I was in this hall, and the place was packed. I was reaching my microphone out over the audience, kind of an audience-participation thing, when all these people grabbed me and yanked me offstage. I was wearing this, but I wasn't wearing anything under it. I thought I was going to end up naked in front of all these people. Fortunately it didn't happen."
"Looks like something they'd wear in Saudi Arabia," I offer of the garb.
"I believe my friend did get it in Saudi Arabia," the vocalist replies. "There's a lot more to the outfit, like four different layers of stuff you're supposed to wear over this. This is actually part of the outfit for Muslim clerics. But if you have all of it on, that's when it can get hot."
"Anyone ever fuck with you while you're wearing it?" I ask.
"Not in Austin, which is where I live," he responds. "Now if I wore this out in San Antonio, where I'm from originally, I might. I wore this in Frisco: No problem. I probably could wear this in New York, too. Well, maybe."
"Yeah, as long as you don't hang out where the Twin Towers used to be," I crack. "So, for the record, you're not Muslim, you just like the way it feels."
"Right," he says.
We'd like to conversate with him about things other than his Islamic pimp suit, but Brother Dassing has to hit the stage, and the J-unit and I have to score another beverage. We're ready to reenter the building when the zombified Dawn of Ashes doods stumble outside and stop to chat. Khris, Joey, and a Lurch-lookin' cat named "Bahemoth" usually play spots in Hollyweird, but they seem to appreciate the Sadisco steelo.
"I think more people out here are into the live band acts," observes Joey.
"Yeah, more people in L.A. are into the DJ acts," says Khris. "It kinda sucks, but whatever. No one's into the music anymore."
"It's more about the fashion in L.A.," claims Joey. "And what you look like when you dance."
"So do you guys always look like this?" queries Jett.
"We're always like this, because we're a band based on horror and violence," Khris responds. "So we get the whole zombie-fuckin' thing going on. We're humongous horror fans."
"What kind of films do you like?" I ask.
"A lot of Italian movies, stuff by Dario Argento, like Deep Red," says Khris. "We're big Alien fans. We like the artist H.R. Giger. And Texas Chain Saw Massacre, the original. These new movies are all CGI bullshit."
I'm in complete agreement with that sentiment. Argento's Suspiriastill makes me wet my friggin' nappies. The DofA boys gotta load their gear into the van, but not before letting us know that they just signed with the German label NoiTekk (www.NoiTekk.de) and have an album due to be released soon called In the Acts of Violence. The cover art is of a garish, bloody knife, beside what looks like a schoolgirl's body.
Back in the bar, we touch base with Toby and Donnie, the latter now fully recovered after the incident at Tranzylvania where some bouncer supposedly broke his arm. The DA's not going to file charges, Donnie tells us, because all of the witnesses against the bouncer are Donnie's pals. But at least Donnie's back in action, and we're happy for that. Toby lets drop that Jugheads will be the scene for "WW IV Sadisco," to take place Saturday, May 27.
We also spot our bud Shelley, a.k.a. DJ ///she///, whose own industrial/noise event Club Hell pops off at Chaser's Nightclub in Scottsdale this Saturday, May 20. With doms from the Den of Iniquity and hella-hot fetishy go-go dancers promised, it sounds like a must-attend soiree.
Ultra-sex kitten Satanic Angie, a Sadisco regular who loves gettin' nekkid for fun and profit (she's a dollar-ballerina at one of the PHX's fine strippaterias), accosts us, and especially the Jettster. They run off to some skuzzy cranny together so Jett can snap Angie's glorious glutes. I ease over to the main stage to observe Mentallo, et al., do their thing, and as you may recall, this is where you came in up top.
Looking like a cross between Zippy the Pinhead and a Hare Krishna, Gary Dassing's warbling some incomprehensible but alluring tune, when I feel the aforementioned fingers pinch a goodly piece of my flab. Why, it's none other than my Jett, hopped up by some illicit substance she scored in the ladies' room.
"We should get you an outfit like that, Kreme," she snorts. "Tell you what, I'll cut a hole in a bed sheet and you can wear it for Sadisco's WW IV. C'mon, you know it'll fit you, big boy."