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Show All the Variables & Other Love Stories 79 of grindcore if not the pursuit of barbarous juissance? This quality was plainly present in Rachmaninoff's more cacophonous counterpoints. The composer's precision synthesis of passion and technique were nothing if not grindcore. But Feste quickly observed that nothing was less grindcore than passion. "You're a white kid from suburban Utah;" Feste had pointed out, "What have you got to be passionate about?" No one doubted prototypical grind influencers like Coltrane's Blue Train or even Stravinsky' sRite of Spring, but Rachmaninoff seemed too nostalgic, too conventional. The argument had been settled when Kell adapted Isle of the Dead to his guitar, cranked up the distortion, and lumbered through it at half speed. No one could deny the first phase of the Dieslrae, which opened the piece, had the raw stuff of a ruthless soundscape. The bombast and the crashing high-hats on the chromatic notes owned Popsicle's mother's ass. Everyone agreed except Popsicle who refused to vote on any referendum pertinent to his mother's ass. How Popsicle Joined the Band Popsicle's hair had been pink when he joined the band because of a flesh eating zombie. Popsicle was not his given name. No one knew for sure what his given name was. There were rumors, but he never affirmed or denied any of them. People called him Popsicle because of his short, spiked, brightly colored hair. He'd been a candy-raver before a purveyor of fine grindage and still nursed like an arthritic limb a persistent ache for methamphetamine, which occasionally required attention. Years of drug abuse had taken its toll, and he'd developed the strange habit of keeping his lost teeth in his pockets. |
