Black Houses

I think it was Neil Kulkarni, reviewing the second full Wu-Tang release in Melody Maker, who concluded an admiring survey of the Clan’s ever-evolving group mythology with: “they’ve thought about this”. Certainly a large part of the appeal, to me, of GZA’s Liquid Swords lay in its ability to sustain the listener’s sense that its “stor[ies / from the real” came from a “real” far more expansively conceived than the factitious “materialism of sex and money” of the typical hip-hop playa fantasy. Liquid Swords is – in a good way – the sort of hip-hop album metallers tend to like: mordantly grandiose, curtly eloquent*. From its opening lines, “When the MCs came / to live out their name…”, it announces a world of dueling kingpins, vicious power struggles and mighty feats of arms. Yet it also denounces this world as the “cold world” of “babies dying, mothers crying and brothers getting shot”, a soured Valhalla where after the laughter inevitably come deadly tears. In this respect, it can be placed in a literary tradition of disenchanted epic that stretches back to Beowulf. The epic, mythic dimension, explicitly figured in the Wu’s Shaolin lore and the feverish conspiracy-theorizing of Wu-Tang Forever, is necessary in order for the disenchantment to register as an affect: a banal world (“There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life”, which I would translate as “There Is No Alternative. Now stop whingeing and assume the position”) cannot become blackened or accursed.

It’s often assumed that the fantasy/swords-and-sorcery elements of metal are puerile escapist fantasy – slay Morgoth, wield ring of power, cop off with elf princess etc. – but that’s only really true of false metal, just as only false hip-hop celebrates the hustler lifestyle without remarking the skull beneath the skin. The real dynamic, as I’ve just suggested, is one in which a heroic world is constructed as a backdrop against which the dishonourable violence, betrayal and disappointment of “the real” can be discerned. What, if anything, is “adolescent” about this is precisely the insistence that the world can be judged, that “the way of the world” is scandalous and unacceptable – and this adolescent militancy is of course what Cold World is about.

In a recent interview, Portal’s Illogium declares that “we are inventing a band that we can worship ourselves”, and the resulting invention makes me want to echo Kulkarni’s praise of the Wu: they’ve thought about this. By way of illustration, here’s a recent performance of “Black Houses”:

You’ll have gathered that there’s a clock-headed man in an asymmetric suit and what look like diving gloves, bellowing ominously over a curdled cacophony of detuned, tremelo-picked, atonal riffs. You might (might) be forgiven for not being able to discern what he’s bellowing. Here are the lyrics:

Manor operants quarter, surging disconnect
Pitching fulgor in lieu of those who shone

Waxen shawls of omenknow afune
Cornerstones of telemetry gloom
Ornery De luminate decree

Seepia accord thee
Stygian obsequious antipodes
Drear thy larder, paradoor thy quay

Villas Ecto; Villas Ecto; Villas Ecto; Villas Ecto;
Villas Ecto; Villas Ecto; Villas Ecto; Villas Ecto;

Plague wove rue

In addition to their compelling horror-aesthetic and formidable stage presence, Portal have a tremendous line in ominous nonsense-phrases and made-up words. My favourite of all is a song title: “Glumurphonel”. I have memories, very probably false, of a children’s television program in which there was a music box called a “glumophone”, which emitted sad tuba-farping noises that made everybody who heard them feel very sorry for themselves. It may have been the possession of a wicked witch; I’m not certain I’m not just making this up. Anyway, the glumophone was clearly a diabolical sonic-affect weapon, capable of making not only people (or Moomins, or whatever) sad but of infecting everything around it with gloomy down-in-the-dumpsiness: flowers would wilt and and shed their petals, milk would curdle, table legs would become wobbly and teapots dribblesome. You get the picture. I can’t tell you quite why “glumurphonel” is even glummer and eerier than “glumophone”, but I hope you’ll agree that it is.

It seems to me that Portal are all about transcendental abomination: symbolic disorder, the profanation or “butchering open” of human cognitive categories by the intrusion of a wholly alien intelligence. They are beyond “death metal”: perhaps “druj metal” would be a better term. Here, in any case, is a band who have really learned from Lovecraft.

* This probably makes it sound more like Geoffrey Hill than it actually is.

10 Responses to “Black Houses”

  1. Owen Says:

    I’m really very glad you got round to writing about the Wu-Tang Clan after all…

    that’s only really true of false metal, just as only false hip-hop celebrates the hustler lifestyle without remarking the skull beneath the skin.

    Not dissimilar thoughts occurred to me a couple of days ago, listening to Mobb Deep’s The Infamous, and being amazed at just how bleak the whole thing was. There’s not the same extent of mythology constructed by the Wu (or Cannibal Ox in The Cold Vein, which is probably the last of this NYC Gothic hip hop continuum), it’s more as if the gangsta boasting itself fulfils this fantasy role – which, considering Mobb Deep were both in their teens when it was made, fits well with the idea of this as adolescent in the best possible sense.

    (I also ended up, in a probably predictable nostalgic manner, longing for the time when hip hop was allowed to be this melancholic, as I’m so, so bored with what appears on the rare occasions I bother with Westwood or MTV Base nowadays…)

  2. roger Says:

    False? Maybe incomplete. Maybe sub-modern. But songs bragging about the stuff you’ve got and the people you have offed are as authentic as any in the song tradition repertoire. When it says, in Samuel 18:7, “And the women answered one another as they played, and said, Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands,” they were doing something that any MTV hip hop artist could recognize. You are looking for the skull beneath the skin, but bragging songs strip the skin back and use the skull for a drinking cup.

    So I don’t see how “false” and “true” apply here.

  3. Dominic Says:

    Undoubtedly you have a point, Roger, and I enjoy a good bragging song as much as anyone, be it “Killing is my business…and business is good!” or “New Jack Hustler” (although the latter is more than just a brag). Also, of course, metal sometimes does the swords-and-sorcery schtick just out of pure silliness, which is OK too. “False” metal is, in this context, metal where the fantasy elements are just there to cover up for a lack of ideas…just write another bloody song about orcs and the Wrathstone of Gaahl. And there’s plenty of hip-hop that’s just recycled brag, where the creative one-upmanship that makes bragging exciting (just like its evil twin, the dozens) is missing and it’s just another rendition of “shut your mouth and look at my wad!”

  4. Owen Says:

    Very black metal, this one:

    ‘You say you’re built like a house, I ain’t fearin’ it
    when does a house compare to a pyramid?’
    Lord Shafiyq, ‘My Mic is on Fire’

  5. Dominic Says:

    That’s enough displacement activity for one evening. You have a chapter to finish, no?

  6. Owen Says:

    Aaarrgh….

  7. Dominic Says:

    It’s for your own good. You don’t want to end up like me, now, do you?

  8. Owen Says:

    There are worse fates, surely.

    You know, I had this conversation with my mother just a couple of hours ago. I have written 600 words today. A whole six hundred. Words coming out of my ears, I tell you.

  9. ben wolfson Says:

    Is the guy on the far left playing a 12-string? Unusual.

  10. Dominic Says:

    I think it’s an 8-string. God only knows how it’s tuned.

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