Antimatter Universe

From 1992 – 2000 I was signed as a recording artist first to a Berlin label, Dynamica Records, and later to TVT records in New York. This was a prolific time. Apart from several albums with Cubanate and Ashtrayhead. I also made two C-Tec albums with Jean-Luc De Meyer whilst he was temporarily divorced from Front 242 and I also found energy for production, writing soundtracks and games music.

It was a very strange phase of my life. I seemed on a mission to destroy myself in particular style. At the time I was wilfully ignorant, and out of my mind on booze and narcotics. This did nothing to improve my paranoia, which reached ridiculous proportions while all these songs were recorded, and only got worse afterwards. By 1999 I was applying for planning permission to build a bunker underneath my back garden in Hackney. I got it too.

Cubanate originally had the working title of “Hard Club Project”. This was a reference to the “Hardclub 90” that ran between 1989 and 1994 on Wednesday nights at Gossips, off Wardour Street. At that time in London there was a genuine underground scene made up of alternative drop-outs, freaks and the fetish crowd (this was before the mainstream commercialisation of bondage and pornography that later occurred). Most Wednesdays I would go down to Hardclub, hang out, get wasted and if I was lucky, pull some Jap or German girl. (I was strictly Axis powers in those days).

My previous band, Westwon, had ground to a halt. The band was a hangover from the ‘80’s when I was trying to play the commercial game and the act had become limp through desperation and greed. On March 31st 1992 Nitzer Ebb played the Forum in Kentish Town. I remember that night well, a radio from the chip shop crackling out that Labour was going to win the election, which seemed impossible and indeed proved to be. It seemed every electro freak in town had turned up for the Ebb show and an idea started forming in my mind.

The second Westwon single actually scraped into the top 100 a week or two later. But by then I was on a mission so I called everyone up and resigned from the band anyway.

This blog is an attempt to extract what happened next. It’s for my own amusement and I’ve no doubt that the process will be fragmented and only roughly chronological. But still. Here we go.

Text 11 Aug 2 notes Watts vs. Louche (2003)

Between 2002 and 2004 I shared a studio in Od St. with Raymond Watts of Pig. A fragment of my diary, from 2003.

… since I couldn’t get anywhere with the song, I mooched up to see Bryan and Ollie. Reclining on the chaise longue in their studio was a surprise visitor, Jared Louche of Chemlab, who I haven’t seen in person since we were both onstage with Pigface in Minneapolis in ‘98 - the height of my behaving-like-an-absolute-asshole phase. We were both slightly wary of each other in those days, as much as either one cared, which probably wasn’t much.

But this time Jared and I got on fine. Now he’s working with all the Chicago lot… Acucrack – Jason Novak, Jamie, and all that mob. Plus Martin Atkins of course. So we were really taking a stroll down some dark old alleyways. Actually not that dark; it warmed me to see him, and on ripping form. We had some laughs.

I took Jared downstairs to my studio where his ex-sparring partner Raymond was holding court under the swastika and inverted red neon crucifix (the KMFDM album arrived today, of which more later).

Now then, Raymond requires to be the sun around which all planetary conversation must orbit. But Jared is no slouch in the ego stakes himself, and has combat experience on this particular battlefront.

Raymond’s well-tested technique for dominating an assembled company is to burst in with an enormous, conversation-stopping drama, an urgent and complex Watts career crisis, laid out with pathos and vast charm over many ciggies and legions of wine bottles. The “crisis” is invariably a benign dilemma that will leave him ahead whatever the outcome, but by acting with an utterly winning helplessness, and by flatteringly inviting absolutely everyone’s personal opinion in turn, Raymond can ensure that conversation revolves for hours around his favourite subject (Raymond Watts). I don’t mind, and since there’s much fun to be had along the way, indulge this. But Jared has a technique to brutally subvert any outcome that leaves Raymond in command, whilst appearing totally supportive. It goes like this:

Raymond: (Drawing a deep, rattling breath). Now, “Jared”. I value your opinion. (An excruciating pause to find a lighter and cigarette). Do - you - think - that… (flicking and clicking rhythmically on the lighter to final effect) I - should… (taking a never-ending drag on the snout and blowing out an impossible amount of smoke) collect… all - my poetry, and my lyrics (thirstily gulping red wine) and compile an, an anthology of my writing…. into (chopping out Kilimanjaros of cocaine)… I mean - I’m considering… (snorts the lot with a sudden, industrial suction action) a selection of early works, a limited, a numbered folio, perhaps an edition bound in pigskin (reflectively dabbing at a few granules of powder that were inexplicably missed). But on the other hand, you see… it’s so difficult, should one instead, alternatively I…

Jared: (Suddenly) Yes. Absolutely.

R: But don’t you…?

J: No doubts man. Be firm in that idea!

R: But wha…?

J: The answer is YES, 100%, I’m totally behind the concept.

R: But would y…?

J: Never waver, dude, NEVER. Fuck doubt! The answer is YES!

R: (Weakly) But I…

J: (Leaping to his feet and jiving with extreme excitement, something like…) FUCK THE PETTY MINDS WHO WANNA COMPROMISE! FUCK THEIR LITTLE LIVES AND FUCK THEIR LITTLE BABY BLUE EYES! THEY’VE BEEN BLINDED BY THEIR HYPOCRISY AND THEIR SMALLTOWN SUBURBAN MEDIOCRITY! YOU NEED TO PROVE THAT YOU GOT THE GROOVE? NO! THEY GOTTA KNOW THAT THEY BE GOIN’ NOWHERE! GOIN’ NOWHERE BUT DOWN. DOWN BENEATH THE GROUND, WHERE THEY GONNA BE FOUND! YEAH, BABY DOLL, YOUR DADDY’S THE DEVIL AND YOUR MOMMA DON’T CARE! DON’T LOOK BACK, NEVER GET SLACK, STAY ON THE TRACK – HEY JILL, THAT’S JACK! KEEP DRIVING DOWN THAT FUCKED UP FREEWAY, YOU’RE ON ROUTE 666 - RELAX – YEAH, SUCK IT UP HONEY, YOU AIN’T NEVER COMING BACK!

R: (Very faintly now) I…

J: (Roaring and gyrating his hips) YEAH!!!

Simple, but effective.

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