Shitting your pants

Corpsey

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
Many times

Once on a lunch break, had to shuffle back to the office to dispose of my pants in a bin

Once at a music festival, woke up in my tent, mates all outside the front of it having a larf, almost the first thing I did was shit myself, can't even remember how I dealt with it now

Many more times, naturally, it's the fart that goes too far
 
Murphy

Murphy

cat malogen
Murphy said:
Shift of tone. You can blame my brother for most of these, a minor cul-de-sac, but a significant one. These are his records, but they have to be included when outlining a relevant life-map about sound.

My older brother was a bit of a punk, still is at heart, so guitar-based music was really his forte. He acquired a guitar (and amp) around ‘85 which coincided with a few records he’d practice to. Endlessly. He got a fuzz pedal just as thrash and grind reared its head out of the other hardcore continuum (which could include stacks of lp’s), so focus is as important as context.

Over the next 18months to 2 years or so, these lp’s and tapes got sealed into my mind in their own way. I mean how many ways can you growl-scream “uuuuuuuuuuuyyyyyyychhhhhhhhgrrrrrrrrrr” at 120db and thousands of bpm’s?

First up are 2 lp’s that defined this period. You don’t have to like them to acknowledge their impact.

View attachment 4375

I make no apologies here. This is one of the 20th century’s greats. It hasn’t aged a day. I heard the title-ish track blasting out of boy racer’s shed of a car not too long ago and instantly grinned. The definitive thrash guitar sound. Possibly the best drummer to feature from that era. Guitar solos screaming like blitzkriegs. And Tom Araya on vocals conjuring demonic forces. There isn’t one track you could call filler and the production was/is incredible.

Look at the sleeve art. A pope in hell (thank fuck say the Gers crowd). A throned goat baphomet figure rules this domain. It defines hormonal transitions you were living and instead of nihilism, it said “nihilism is for cunts, get a load of this”. In this respect, it’s surprisingly life affirming. Except my room was next to my brother’s and I must have spent months listening to him fudge riff after riff, until one night he‘d nail a sequence and you’d hear “get in there ya wee cunt”, followed by the floor being banged and my Mum screaming for him to turn it down. One night she dropped the main fuse switch to the entire house. Such is life. Compared to comical twats like Iron Maiden, who still had a contingent at school (don’t really see metallers these days), it had gumption and heft whereas UK punk and DC/NY hardcore were on the slide.

Not long after they played Rock City in the center of town. My brother got us tickets and the line waiting outside was most definitely not the Cabaret Voltaire and TOPY trench coated crowd. Half a gram of speed and the previous autumn’s mushrooms that had broken down into dust and stems. Both compounds boshed, strongbows flowing. Picture denim and patches and leather and long hair and acne and the odd Dead Kennedys shirt accompanied by a few old punks. Piss running down the pavement due to fear of people losing their place in the line.

Get inside. T-shirts on sale, fuck that, mushrooms had given me unholy bowel gurgles and no option other than the toilets. Another line. Noooo. Mushrooms are kicking in hard with the speed, sweating like fuck. Bog door opened and I was in. Seat covered in bodily fluids. Tried to squat over the thing and splatter panned the life out of it. Bog booth was breathing, wavy, jolted by shouts and accents from outside my lair and then the epic problem arose - there‘s no loo roll. This squat had turned into a Guantanamo style stress position, so somehow I got my trousers and kegs off and wiped up with the latter except that wasn’t enough. T-shirt sacrifice time. The guest openers who I can barely recall started. Quick, you’re going to miss this. Walls juddering and I’m wiping my ass with a t-shirt. Done. Wash my hands, trying to avoid the face in the mirror and out into this breathing organic corridor into the main room/hall. Teeth grinding, ticket stub in hand I spent a virtual eternity trying to find my brother and his mates. When he saw me his face turned to an instant frown. “Wtf have you been doing and where’s your fuckin clothes?” Tried explaining, an accident, but he couldn’t really hear me. The stage and hall lights lowered mid sentence and this pagan communal guttural utterance ascended through your entire being. Every cunt was cheering but just before the opening riff it went pin-drop quiet. Commence to something like this



Come on. Get into it. Monarch to the kingdom of the dead? It’s Friday.
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0bleak

0bleak

A Liniment's Evil Work
There was one particular club that I used to frequent every Thursday for a couple of years.
Amazing sound system - bass that would rattle loose your bowels.
I used to pray that tonight wouldn't be the night it happened.
As nice as the club was, and it really f*ckin' nice (not like "expensive and elite" kind of nice, but nice as in this club is as modern and stylish as can be because it was a club generally for the young, hip and gay crowd), they had one men's bathroom, where besides the one or two urinals, there was just one stall that _ALWAYS_ looked like it had just been hit by a diarrhea shitstorm tornado - and there was basically no privacy even if you had the courage to use it anyway.
I'm so happy I never ended up having to use it even though the bass in that club made for so many close calls.
 
mixed_biscuits

mixed_biscuits

_________________________
A Liniment's Evil Work said:
There was one particular club that I used to frequent every Thursday for a couple of years.
Amazing sound system - bass that would rattle loose your bowels.
I used to pray that tonight wouldn't be the night it happened.
As nice as the club was, and it really f*ckin' nice (not like "expensive and elite" kind of nice, but nice as in this club is as modern and stylish as can be because it was a club generally for the young, hip and gay crowd), they had one men's bathroom, where besides the one or two urinals, there was just one stall that _ALWAYS_ looked like it had just been hit by a diarrhea shitstorm tornado - and there was basically no privacy even if you had the courage to use it anyway.
I'm so happy I never ended up having to use it even though the bass in that club made for so many close calls.
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Wrong thread
 
W

william_kent

Well-known member
Today I read this bizarre article about "Pras from the Fugees" being convicted for "spying for China', which is really a thinly disguised advert for a forthcoming documentary ( which I will watch given half the chance ), Fugees Founder Pras Michél Speaks Out While Facing 22 Years in Prison: ‘I Never Wanted to Be a Spy’ where he recounts the following anecdote:

In 2020, right before the pandemic hit, two federal agents visit the L.A. home of one of his closest buddies, who is married with three daughters.

“Look, you get a call, FBI show up to your place, I don’t care who you are, your heart is going up your throat,” he says. “They’re like, ‘Hey, we just got a couple of questions for you. So can we come in?’ Who’s going to say no? So he let them in. The wife comes, sits in the living room, don’t know what’s going on, but she’s scared. And at some point, one of the agents goes, ‘What’s that? Do you smell that?’ The wife defecated on herself. She was that scared. And the wife later told my friend, ‘If you ever speak to Pras again, I’ll take my three daughters and you’ll never see us again.’”
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I suspect that the FBI agent may be a bit of a dick.

There's also an entertaining bit about how he wants to sue Lauryn Hill:

A few weeks after our meeting, Michél files a blistering lawsuit against Hill, accusing her of fraud and breach of contract over the Fugees’ 2023 reunion tour that ended abruptly this year amid a slew of canceled concerts. It left little doubt about his feelings toward his former colleague. (In the shade-filled complaint, he claimed Hill showed “arrogance” for “unilaterally” rejecting a $5 million offer to play Coachella, alleging her “ego was bruised” because No Doubt got top billing over the Fugees. Hill hit back, calling the lawsuit “baseless” and “full of false claims and unwarranted attacks.”)
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I'm with Lauryn here, I'd be pissed if I had to support fucking No Doubt.
 
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