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Submit to pulp

May 2001

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In this issue:    Suicide Sandler!     Coping With Satanism!     Doin' it Crankenstyle!     PLUS: Hippie Holocaust!, And a castration-free CULT PICK!.
Diary of A Crankenfiend

It's not every day you get to meet rock and roll legends. And this past Friday, the 13th of April, was certainly not one of them. That was the day, as loyal PULP readers will remember from past issues hyping the event, that Ottawa band Crankenstein came to Montreal to play their first show outside of Canada. Since I was their only connection in this fair city, having previously met the band during a four-month stint in juvie for firebombing an orphanage, the band collectively decided that it would be best to stay at my place, despite the fact that I live in closet with barely enough room for me, my TV, and a refrigerator box full of pornography. I, of course, first got wind of the plan when I answered the door on Friday to reveal the entire band, brandishing Burger King hats and refusing to leave until they had seen the latest Britney Spears video on Much Music. Being the gracious host that I am, I allowed them to rest, cool their heels, and consume ridiculously oversized bottles of Labatt 50 in my apartment before accompanying them to the Bar St. Laurent for their concert. And what a concert it was! The band, comprised of singer/stripper Mr. Sculf*c, guitarist/knife enthusiast Ben "The Blade" Brutus, bassist/token criminal Myke Mystery, and drummer/long-haired hippie RIP, put on one hell of a show, surprising all seven members of the audience with their ability to successfully operate their instrument without causing significant damage to the stage or electrical systems of the bar. While they may not have played all their songs 'well', per se, what they lacked in talent, ability, timing, rhythm, songwriting, and virtuosity, they certainly made up for in volume, although the sound quality was poor. Sculf*c showed amazing ability in memorizing at least half of the 14 words required for any given song, and The Blade surprised everybody by playing the correct chords at the correct time, something no previous Crankenstein guitarist has been able to accomplish. Newcomer Myke Mystery is a vast improvement over former bassist Nick Murder, being possessed of both a functioning bass and the motor skills required to use it without causing people to spit at him, and RIP, true to form, hit the drums very hard. The band opened with a crowd favourite, the traditional Irish folk song Let The Day Begin before launching into their 'original' material, which appears to consist of Misfits and Danzig riffs played backwards. To be fair, some of the songs sound like Slayer, too. The highlights of the set included a new, extra-long version of the classic Crankenstein ditty Bingo Hall Love Buffet, complete with a few extra verses and a brief period of confusion I'll tentatively call a 'solo', and the unveiling of a brand new soon-to-be hit, entitled We All Float, which is not nearly as pansy as the title suggests. But by far the most popular portion of the show came with the surprise appearance of ex-guitarist Mephisto Shrek, who joined the band onstage for the final three songs of their set. Even better was the fact that he appeared, for the first time in recent memory, without his trademark Satan mask, gracing the ladies in the audience with his devilish good looks for two brief minutes as the band blazed through their signature tune Dead By Dawn. The gambit paid off, as after the show Shrek and the band enjoyed the attentions of a particularly friendly female fan who had drunk entirely too much to realize that going home with five guys dressed like Sid Vicious' zombie corpse is probably not a good idea. Never fear, dear reader, for I have it on good authority that Shrek never laid a hand on the nubile young lass, having previously promised himself to each and every member of Vancouver-based female pop-punk outfit Liveonrelease. Although his only contact with the band thus far has been taping and repeatedly watching their video for the single I'm Afraid Of Britney Spears, Shrek is confident that the band will soon respond to his repeated emails suggesting that he sodomize them each in turn while listening to Slayer's 1998 release Diabolus In Musica. Back to the matter at hand, the show was a great success, ending on a high note as singer Sculf*c completed the set while remaining fully clothed at all times and with a minimum of beer-fueled profanity. After the concert, the band collectively retired to la casa Carreau, where they enjoyed a late-night presentation of the Curt Conners classic Skinhead before peacefully passing out on the floor. The next morning, once heads had cleared and the groupie had run off to thank God for pepperspray, the band regrouped for a breakfast screening of Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare before splitting up, with one faction heading for the closest strip club and the other embarking upon a series of late 60s-70s horror films. Being moral young man that I am, I eschewed the crass exploitation and misogynism of the horror films and went straight to the strip club, where a great deal of money was spent trying to get the hooker dressed up like Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS to pay attention to us. Six hours and several paychecks later, we were ready to call it a day, and Mr. Sculf*c rounded up the troops, who were busy watching Blood Feast while knife-fighting, and my house was once again Cranken-free. So, the moral of the story is, never ever answer the door.

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