Again, the reviews of Mürnau were written by Gary Simmons for Latvian magazine Gaze Into A Gloom, however he wanted us to put them in ERP too, so we did... (erp staff)

MÜRNAU "Misanthropy"
7" picture disc Ltd 400 copies
Label: 220N (a division of HANDS PRODUCTIONS)

Flattery. They say it gets the flatterer nowhere. Hmmm... that depends on exactly who's dishing it out, for what reason and in which context. I, GeroGary, know that I look fuckin’ great, at two days before my 43rd birthday, so, telling me directly or indirectly doesn't necessarily get you, open orified or gobied, into my filthy ultra-soiled peepee poopooed and stale jizz infested panties. At all. You'd be flattering to a brick wall. It’s nice, it's reassuring, but I, for one, don't need it. If she's really unappealing, or the ‘prospect’ looks awkward, then it just becomes, dare I say it, annoying even.

However, walking past local flatterers, that is two 14, 15, 12 something year old ‘ladies', god save my soul, a'coming home from school as I’m off to Gossips Punk Night on friday 1st November 2002, one of which ( the one who, unknowingly, raises men from their graves as she passes above the cadavers ‘stay-there-and-rot-you-lazy-cunt boxes) says "hello" , and me, being er, 'mobbed' by miss 'over-excited-little-unshy-forgot-her-name' and her quietly bemused mates (female!) whilst innocently (I swear it officer) operating the star prak photocopier in good ol 'Bennetts superstore... all this I damnwell say, only serves to remind, nay... to hearten mi, that I am not yet cast out of the sperm drenched "you look like a fine specimen, your DNA stinks delicious, inseminate me as of this instant, again and again, because I am on automatic programming, ready and willing with hormones a'blazing, for to reproduce the fucking failed and wasted imbecilic species" division.

Paul d.Knowles (Dachise, The Digitariat) wouldn't even have to think about it but, I, at 45, seriously have to constantly monitor this tiresome attracto/libido entropy, closely, especially considering my 'exotic' and 'refined', you turds, tastes. Quite probably your tastes too but, like the rest of the lying fucks out there in IKEA-GAP-NIKE-UMBRO-FCUK-Disney-fucking-land you don't dare to admit it... do you dare? Do you care? Except, possibly during that all defining epic moment, that lapse of self control, when you find yourself typing your credit card number into that well thumbed, I mean ‘visited’, web site page, your combination lock to cyberheaven... Mr Teacher, Officer Sir, My Lord, Father, the Butcher, the Banker, the fucking Project Manager...

So, when the darling nymphets go all gooey... I'm flattered. Anyone else, forget it.

But. when one pours out his or her or its heart and soul into some limited run 'underground' magazine, a 'zine' should I say, namely the great Gaze Into A Gloom (GIAG-ltd run of 5000 copies), Chaotic Order (1000 copies? Bob?), Idwal Fisher (109 copies) or Sniper Glue (9 a'hem, copies... but growing fast. Like my cock) and then, through the post, from Belgium, comes a promo CD-R sent by some artist asking specifically that I, Bukkake maniac GeroGaryGeGeGe festering at forty-fucking-three, do the reviewing job... well, you'de put it off indefinatly, wouldn't you? Why? Because of time. I have no time. Too busy seeing bands (what's left of 'em to see... here's to Gaya Donadio, hail Gaya! And to Glen Matlock and his Philistines, 'allo Glen!), visiting pubs (pub singular that is, the 'Manowar' pub, only decent one worth a visit in London in the year 2002... leaves me speechless. And DON'T YOU BE SO FUCKIN' COCKY!! Fuck the other stinking pubs, I just can't be bothered any more!) Oh, and then there's the pile of CD's already lined up for review, the hall complete MZ.412 review (where DO they dream up these stupid fucking names? Ass sticks down my dicky eye!!!), the not even started-on 'Infamous Whitehouse London Crime Sites #2' piece for Idwal and, most of all, the fucking fan mail!!!! It's a hard sodding life. So! When Mr.Mürnau (any relation to Mr. Rectifier? Sorry, in-in joke. Only kidding. I mean... uh doe no ya neam!?) sends me a second letter saying, I quote ; "Hello Gary! Nice to hear from you." Gary wrote back you see. He always does. "Yes, I've read your articles in GIAG and that's why I've sended you a promo CD-R. I would appreciate it, when you would review it. I'll contact GIAG to let them know I want you to do the job." Well!! When I read that it's like, ya know, c'mon take me, take me now! How do you want me? How do you want it? What should I wear? Do you want to bring a friend? Or friends? Bukkake? Me bukkake bitch! Me love you long time, me swallow jam jar loads of the filthy muck! How about the sewers? The worms? Leeches? Me be real leech woman. Live cockroaches then? Maggots? It won't reproduce the lousy stinking (and doomed, I hope, I prey...) species but, by jolly Jillies fuck, it'll look good on VHS and alternative angle DVD! Pan and scan it honey, shake it baby, shake it baby and, yeah, wriggle like that fuckin' eel they keep playing to me, at me, that slippery shiny underage bitch I wanna claw apart... COME ON. . . CASSY! ! ! ! You’re 14 now for fuck’s sake!!!! I can smell that tiny still pool of glutinous secretion and hair, tide out rockpool fashion, from here and by gods very own fuck I swear I can even TASTE it, and... and... and, as sure as the mindless cunts in their Vodafone/nike 'home & away kits' will never wake-the-fuck-up, I promise you, I say, on oath until The Sleeper Wakes [1] that, my angel, as you walk, I can actually HEAR it. So why the fuck can't I touch it???!!! [2] The fucking bastards. The fucking cunts. Progress they call it. I call it shit and, baby, baby, baby... I know that you know that I know what all those looks have been about these last two'n'a half fucking years, and your 'collegues' .

Then Mr.Mu'rnau goes on, 2nd paragraph... "What do you think about the release (music/artwork/lyrics) ? You wrote it's an interesting 7", but that isn't saying much isn't it? Could be fantasic/good/ bad/waste of space and time." Ok, let's do this before all my reproductive organs explode hiddeously out of my lower abdomen, get this, 9/11 chic, a 767 flown full throttle into my coccyx, the rest is fucking history... the 'day the world changed' my bloodied, tattered ass! Passion? I piss it! Only craving-for-a-cunt slider (you should have dropped the brat Michael, then followed suite...) females can feel what I feel. And faggots.

Let's have a little order and, as the masters left hand man says... "Question:" What do I think of the artwork? Well, I don't have the actual 7" pic disc in my hands, my sample is a promo CD-R and a whole wad of print-outs, so, going by these, it looks like a very green and murky underwater scene, as if seen through a submarine porthole, of a semi decayed human head similar to the one that floated out of the boat in Jaws, eyes closed, then, flip disc over, same head but eyes open... huge eyes, more like a Stingray Terror Fish. What do I think? Yeah, should be nice, ltd to 400 copies and all that.

"Question:" What do I think of the lyrics? They're printed on the insert, 2 lines; "Your broken fingers are called justice / now inhale this fire it's my gift to you"... well, I don't fuckin’ know?! The police bashed you up? Broke your fingers? So you wanna blow 'em to bits, right? Coz you hate humanity, right? Is that what this is all about? Is that what you're talking about? I can't say. I know what I'm talking about, I’m talking about shoving it in adolecent looking girls’ freshly opened blossoms, smearing their skirts'n'shirts'n'ties'n'thighs, all those, cliched I know but it does it for me, symbols of just-into-womanhood, with snail-trail dicky seepage and tongue 6cms inside angel from heavens asshole, sperms shooting holes in the fuckin' ceiling tiles, scrotie-bag looking like vacuum packed Japanese plum packets, dry as the lunar ‘seas’ . Got that? Good.

"Question:" What do you think of the music? Fuck, is not this what it's supposed to be about? Yes, it is, so... "let’s roll"... or will I be, in fact, shot down, by both sides? Probably. What the hell! My 'big ones' tray glides out, temptress... she’s 12 years old now, but, alas, just a CD player, an expensive one but only a CD player. In it goes.

Track 'Null'- A gurning, churning, white hot whip lashing harsh ripping pulsating rhythem, military delivered vocals ordering the lyrics, buzzsaw interludes, rusty machinery screaming into action.

Track 'Void'- Machine gun pump action, tortured electronic wailing, atomic shock wave tearing through your argos gazebo... thing is, this is all well and good, but, you know, it's not exactly new, is it? Consumer Electronics, Maurizio Bianchi, Sutcliffe Jugend...they did this all a long, long time ago when it was new, so, this is now very much charted territory, surely, and there are umpteen bands out there doing stuff like this... just check out the Tabula Rasa Dermatology series for instance. It just makes me question, er "Question:" How much more of this do I need? Or is it like pornography, there always being the requirement for fresh cum splattered young faces, or in fact, anything remotely ' consumerist', here in thee year 2002.

So, Mr. Mürnau, you ask; fantastic/good/bad/waste of space and time???? My answer, as I already wrote in my reply to you, is "good". But is ‘good' good enough? I am constantly looking for something out of the ordinary, something 'special, special, special...' like it was in the days of our crusaders and their "struggle for a new musical culture". Why can't someone, somewhere, sonically surprise me? Get the passions a'flowing just as young Cassy does to my loins? This is why Whitehouse are the cream and why the Gerogerigegege are the strawberrys and why I stuff my fat' fucking face full of it until my belly swells and my gut aches and I sit there, facedown in it, like fat cunt in Se7en, happy, contented and dead.

Contact
Mürnau, Postbus 56, 2220 Heist o/d Berg 2, Belgium

www.murnau.be
email: info (AT) murnau.be

Notes

The Sleeper Awakes - H.G.Wells 1899 Sphere Books pb 1980 Read it, it’s fucking superb!
Buzzcocks - Why can't I touch it? Song from the album “Singles going steady' 1979 LP, mine is anyway. Liberty/EMI LBR 1045 Signed by Pete Shelley and Steve Diggle... they so horny, me love them very much.

MÜRNAU "Recoil"
7" Ltd 500 copies
Label: Deafborn Records

Good lord! Not two weeks have passed since I wrote a review of (Mr) Mürnau’s ‘Misanthropy’ 7", sent it off to GIAG and Idwal Fisher, when, as I just now (monday 2nd December 2002, 11:00pm) returned from Maggie Ponce’s place and a runaway (but for how long I wonder, sweetheart, pretty baby and dearest 21 year old punkette?) Giuliana, I viddy yet another nice package from Mürnauland (Belgium). This time it’s a promo CD-R of the upcoming (should be available by the time you read this) Mürnau ‘Recoil’ 7" resplendent with yet more charming words from ol ‘Mürnarky features and, going by thee professional feel of all this promo CD-R and press release off-the-net-printout-info malarky, this guy is certainly fucking serious. Good. Coz so am I.

Oh, before I get down to business (er, yeah...) and ‘work’, I’d just like to say that your point is taken Mr Mürnau. Sure, I never thought for one minute (as in small and 60th part of an hour) that what I had previously described as your "flattery" were just "hollow words" to please (please please meee, and I’ll please yoouuuu. . . what time is love? ooowwwoo ooowwwoo!!) me. I am, in fact, unpleasable (=awkward bastaedo) and, further, insatiable. More, I fully appreciate your pointing out to me that, and I quote you; "If I didn’t like your work, I wouldn’t have contacted you". Well Mr Mürnau, you certainly put me in my place and so, tail (huge genetalia actually) between my leggy-wegs, I walk out of the bukkake room, hunched-up, tearfull and shamed, to my purpose built reviewing desky, a carbon fibre composite, where I shall now begin the task of commenting on your lovingly presented promo CD-R of the Recoil 7".

Get this. The 7" is pressed on high quality 70g heavy vinyl, no fucking about with that early 1970’s ‘Dynaflex’ shit RCA used to press ‘my’ old David Bowie LP’s on... fuck that, yeah fuck that weak shit, fuck it I say! Fuck you RCA, fuck yooouuu!!! And then the record comes in a gatefold sleeve, I’m told, with an insert. Looks all rather genkiiieeeyyy from what I’m holding in my hands here (heh, heh, heh.) The main image being banded about is of a seen-from-behind humanoid head (skinney’ead, of course... yawn) and shoulders shot. Obviously much has been spent on producing quality packaging, that’s for sure.

Saving me the bother of taking up more of the readers precious time (something I love to do, believe me. In fact I get off on that!) here’s what the 'press release’ has to say about the three tracks of ‘Recoil’ : "Powerful new material from Mürnau (ex Eisengrau) - not to be missed. Also check out Mürnau’s contribution to the deafness is not a gift compilation CD."

As far as the "not to be missed" bit goes... well, yeah, I suppose it would say that, same as everyone else in this world aiming to sell you their produce... "Read GeroGary’s fucking reviews, they're not to be missed!!" Only diff here is that old muggins Simmoans ain’t sellin’ em. They’re free. Fuck knows how and why it got to this sorry state but... it did. Still, it works in a tongue-in-(boo-tock) cheek sort of a way. The Recoil press release stuff I mean, not my shit.

What else? Where am I? Gaya Donadio sends me a postcard signed "Gaya... no longer human" and informing me that "The end is closer!" and "ALLELLUJHA!! ALLE-E-LLU-JHA! !" I feel I'm in love... what time is love? Ooowwwoo ooowwwoo!! Says here, again from the press release; "Angry distorted rhythms at the very edge between power electronics and rhythm & noise. Aggressive vocals full of hate and desperation. A soundtrack for the mental asylum and material for the ambitious industrial dancefloor alike..." What can I add to that? Why, nothing. Only take away. And I shall do, watch this... "soundtrack for the mental asylum". Ok, your average GAP, NIKE, cunt ADIDAS wearing 5 stripped peppered fuck-wit pant adorned baseball capped and trainered braindead pop-picker, on hearing this 7", would agree 100%... I'd stake a dry ejaculation on that FCUKed fact but, for us 'in the know'... no. Soundtracks for the mental asylum are, without doubt, the classic Come 7", Come Sunday, the original Come LP (containing the senile sensation opening track 'The Pratts', a piece criminally not included on the Susan Lawly CD reissue of this Rampton album [1]) and, more wackily but most genuinly, thee entire output of the Ceramic Hobs, going right back, I'm sure, to the day Simon Morris did a bloody cunt slider trick. The Hobs do tend to 'play' on their combined psychiatric complications but, I say, by sucking on Simons very own self-removed catheter, those hobby-wob guys are the real thing. And then there's your Candy Nooks, your Paul Harrisons, your Jim Mac Dougalls, your Juntaro Yamanouchis, my very own manic depression gods lovely fucking gift the cunt... what's your 'ealth problem Mr Mürnau?

My opinion of the music on offer here? I'll poke the CD-R into that oh-too accessible slut CD player of mine, the slattern, she takes in almost everything I stick in her... er, except this one actually (and embarrisingly)! Won't play. Some of these CD-R's she rejects you see. She no love them. I'll give it to the other bitch, the oriental, the 'YELO' (real brand name) DVD player that'll take on anyone, do anything. Like I thought the Danes did. Huh. Fuck me Juntaro, fuck me! In it goes, and she's only fucking two... GG... WE LOVE YOU!!!

Yep, as I said, not much I can really add to the 'press release'. The vocal treatment sounds like the cries of some sad sod who's been caught under and is being dragged along by a london underground train... should one happen to pass by. I shan't attempt a dissection of the lyrics... after all, this is a review (haw haw haw) not a thesis, I'm not going for a doctorate in Mürnaulogy, maan. Suffice to say that all the, by now, over-used words come to mind; brutal, harsh, uncompromising, etc, etc. It is accomplished material within it's own genre, I particularly have a soft spot for the 3rd track, 'Remission', should I be so mooded, though, in conclusion, it would be enough to see the last 2 paragraphs of the previous, my very own, Mürnau-Misanthropy 7" review. I'm not one to repeat myself. Not'arf, pop pickers. Job done.

Note:

Anthology 1 Come Organisation Archives 1979-1981 Susan Lawly 1998 SLCD019 (don't read it... LISTEN to it!!!!)

Gary Simmons
Gartina
Hermitage Walk
London E18 2BN
England
Tel/fax ++44 20 8989 6599