When I get home of an evening from a hard day at my gentleman’s club, I am habitually greeted by Mrs 1537 at the door handing me a glass of the very finest whisky*, I like to change out of my pinstripe suit into one of my favourite smoking jackets** before descending to the main hallway of 1537-Towers where nanny will have lined my children up for me to greet. After enquiring about their day and possibly tousling their hair in an affectionate, but not overly demonstrative, or familiar manner, nanny takes them to their quarters and I will wander to the dining room to see what cook has prepared for our repast. Once dinner has finished I tend to repair to the listening room, where the main business of the evening is conducted.
Choosing one of my carefully selected and vetted long-playing records to play on my bespoke antique Chippendale stereogram can be a bit of a taxing process, but once I sit there sipping my absinthe, losing myself in the soothing waves of sound the cares of the day just slip away and I get a real sense of well-being, sat there as I am in my ancestral home as generations of 1537’s have before me and will do again, on through the ages. So tonight I chose a little something to celebrate my tranquillity.
Atari Teenage Riot Kids Are United 12″, bought by me during my first ever week of ‘proper’ work in November ’93 for 50p in a sale, is to paraphrase Queen, Sheer Skull Attack. This starts off like everyone’s second favourite Sham 69 track*** and then just becomes sheer fucking noise, it is not unlike listening to every road drill and car alarm you have ever heard going off at once, in a good way. This is what the inside of your head would sound like if you didn’t eat, or sleep and just drank energy drinks for 5 days straight. I love the way it gets progressively noisier, Alec Empire and chums layering beats, sirens, scything synth noises and various lots of shouting. By the end of the track it sounds not unlike the Red Army laying Berlin to waste in 1945, except with more shouty bits.
In true 12″ form there are two mixes of the song and as the Third law of 1537 states:
Trust not the remixer of tunes, for he will smite thee with a version of the title track, with all your favourite bits taken out.
the ‘Happy Hardcore Mix’ and the ‘No Difference Between Black & White Mix’, mess it about for no good reason. One of the mixes is a bit slower than I’d like, the other goes a bit heavy on the road drilliness for my delicate tastes. Eminently forgettable.
No difference between black and white! the difference’s between young and old!
Just pointing out that cuts on a ghetto blaster can be used as a weapon!
Fight!
Couldn’t have put it better myself old chap.
323 Down.
P.S – it has been scientifically proven, with biology and maths probably, that listening to this track whilst running will enable you to lose a stone per session – minimal.
*I tend to favour a 1962 Dalmore these days, it is dashed expensive though.
**I tend to favour a quilted jacket, finding the velvet ones a little nouveau riche for my tastes.
***’Borstal Breakout’ is mine, since you ask.
The Third Law of 1537 is very wise… except where Frankie Goes To Hollywood are concerned. In that case the bigger the better! More inches! Oo-er missus etc…
Those remixy things never made sense to me. “If you loved our main song, maybe you’d like a ruined one.” I’d be more impressed if I heard the remix first and then the main song. It happened once. I have proof!
Hear, hear!!