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In London, people love to dance to pre-recorded music, but seem to be vehemently opposed to any sort of physical movement while live music is preformed. London kids are cynical and unfeeling and no one wears their heart on their sleeves anymore.



We encourage the crowd to throw objects, hurtle verbal abuse, move their bodies, or leave, and usually the audience does neither of the above. They merely stand with mouths agape afraid to make any conclusions on hating or loving our music even after getting verbally or physically berated by the band.

We are here for the apocalypse, we are here for a movement, and we are here for the order of the left hand.

Please throw stuff.


"Picture a thirteen-year-old boy sitting in the living room of his family home while wearing his headphones or watching MTV. He enjoys the liberties hard won by the alliance of philosophic genius and political heroism, consecrated by the blood of martyrs; he is provided with comfort and leisure by the most productive economy ever known to mankind; science has penetrated the secrets of nature in order to provide him with the marvelous, lifelike electronic sound and image reproduction he is enjoying. And in what does progress culminate? A pubescent child whose body throbs with orgasmic rhythms; whose feelings are made articulate in hymns to the joys of onanism or the killing of parents; whose ambition is to win fame and wealth in imitating the drag-queen who makes the music. In short, life is made into a nonstop, commercially prepackaged masturbational fantasy.

This description may seem exaggerated, but only because some would prefer to regard it as such."

--Allan Bloom, "The Closing of the American Mind."


And we'll offer ourselves up as proof that you're not exaggerating.


"The body sings while the mind is sleeping.
But, the mind knows the body's revolting..."

--Holy Ghost Revival, "Girls Night Out."