CD-R LTD 100 Copies TABULA RASA CENTRO DE RUIDO/SLAUGHTER PRODUCTIONS

A photo of a female cadaver 'dedicated' to Atrax Morgue's 'Electrodeath Excitement' track, her face sliced from both corners of her mouth to just before the ear lobes, breast cut half away, abdomen gapeing open from under the right mammery gland down to the top of the pubic hair. A photo of another dead female, severed in two at the waist, the body sections laying on either side of the railtrack by which mechanism she was dispatched to the next world. Dedicated to Megaptera's 'God fear'.

A photo of a rather rigid (as in rigor mortice I believe. You see, although this victim is laid out on his back, his head does appear to be off the ground somewhat) yet ghastly happy looking gentleman, both hands torn from his lower arms, leg all agape above the right knee and his dicky limp and dust collecting. Dedicated to Today I'm Dead's piece 'Inpraise of my Paranoia'.

Such are the looseleaf pages of Tabula of Slaughter's A4 portfolio 'Death Wish Manifest' CD-R compilation, a joint venture between Spain's Tabula Rasa Centre de Ruido and Slaughter Productions of Italy. Masterminded by the wonderfully impassioned Antonio Fernandez Pastor, a very sick man, living and working in Madrid. His co-executive producers being Javi and Marco Corbelli. Yes, a picture of traumatic death for each of the albums 15 contributors. Nice.

Of this horrific presentation, assembled with love and enthusiasm, no doubt about that, my favourite photo has just got to be the one dedicated to Mörder Machine...I never saw anything quite like this in all my years of brutal industrial sex death fixated illness ... christ, I think I'm getting a hard-on! Well, that's me wrapped up for sure, too far gone to be saved as they say. Not that I, shy and homely girl that I am, want your saving, mind.

Inside this folders full colour photo and collage covers, put together by the marvelously named 'Nknown Sickness'(!), you will also find, trapped between the intersection of a glued double thickness black card crucifix (well, what else did you expect?!)the actual CD-R itself in all her metallic blue-green splendour, not unlike the gorgeous Jocelyn Pook in her lovely long blue dress which she wore for heh- performance at Londons Queen Elizabeth Hall recently (March 2001). But... I'm afraid. I'm afraid Dave. Afraid to remove the CD-R in case 1 damage this holy symbol and end up off-ending the old crucified vek who probably wouldn't ever want to viddy another fucking cross again (not my joke) anyway, should tie decide to come bug us a much advertised second time.

You know, I wonder who started all this dead body oggy-noddy anyway? Was it Whitehouse with their dedications to mass slayers and 'Live Action' gig posters featuring, for example, decapitated bods on the old slabby-wab? Steve Albini's Big Black had a good one with the 'Headache' 12" don't you think? A full face, full colour pie of a shotgun(?) blasted mug being held together by the surgeons rubber gloved hands on the record sleeves front whilst, on the back, the head, sans helping hands, is freely flopping, split into two toothy bone fragmented jelly-like blobs. Erg ... I'm. feeling quite queezy now. Then there's yer death metal merchants blood and gore fest's, Brujeria and the like, but, I think, no one quite does it better than Unsane with their sophisticated and tastefull blood-splatter shock sleeves ... I'm still trying to get hold of the split 7" they did with Copass Grinders on ZSF Bloody Butterfly, if my memory serves me correct. Anyone? Anyone out there? With any time? Some may call it passé, but passé = fashion around here and we're timeless sods us lot, arn't we? So...it still excites because horror delights. You may as well be bored of sex just because you've discharged a few wads or had a score of vaginal orgasms (if only).The song and dance made over the new Hannibal film proves the point. Overground, underground ...what's the fucking difference if not that of money and aesthetics?

Now then, how on earth do I extract this CD-R from it's impaled nazarine (ho ho ho) death stick? Very carefully, with Derek and dive's long line of snot sketch caution, I prise apart one of the double sided taped 'arms' and it eases out. I hold it up to the light as Dave Bowman did in 2001 after removing the AE55 unit from the Discovery's antenna array. Dramatic little bitch, arn't I? I put the CD-R into my best player, realise that I have to do my kak before proceeding any further, off I go, do it, did it, I'm back, press play... Atrax Morgue's 'Electrodeath Excitement' commences the program with pulsating throbbing electronics, a hideously disfiguered voice growls, feedback stabs, the tempo changes momentarily, back to growling feedback... sounds like Kevin Tomkins. talking in his sleep! "You've been talking in your sleep, bla bla bla bla blaa, lovin' on your mind" or however the fuck it goes. Oh, and how would I know? You just be fucking carefull, that's all.

Hissy gas chamber electronics with creeping ambient echo and doorbell buzzer just has to herald in Murder Corporation's 'Asphyxia' piece. The doorbell gains in it's discernibility sucking the life breath out of our lungs and rendering us limp and incapable. No wonder my bitch left me. The fucking whore! "Did you think bitch?" she used to ask. Yes! Yes I fuckingwell did think "bitch"! Did you think bastard, bitch? You fucking, cunting piss-sodden whore.

It's way too quiet now. Ah, the thunderous cyber-godzilla roar of Morder Piacnines's 'Closed to Everything'. I feel strangely at peace despite the 'vocalist's' hideous gargling...and with what variety of mouthwash? Blood? Mixed with piss? Mixed with shit? Mixed with (more) blood, on your lucky day. Almost beats hendrix's drug enduced salivation vocal in 'Gloria', "...and her mouth smelt like her pussy". Apart from puke, I never met a girl who's filthy gob didn't. The more gorgeous the girl, the more powerfull the stench, the longer the ejaculation...about 5 or 6 seconds. If you're lucky. Two spurts and a dribble and I'm off. Men are pathetic pigs. We want female orgasms and we want them now! And we're not going to stop until we have it.

Megaptera's 'Godfear' begins with rasping sandpaper electronics (coarse grade), lifts slightly in pitch and continues to de-burr all your protruding bits...yes, yes, yes, off comes the dicky, the ears, nose, digits etc. Snuff movie bolt cutter dismemberment (I starred in that one you know...thought it was just going to be a regular skinflick until, too late, I saw it coming...) Morbid atmospherics and low key organ not unlike Wendy Carlos & Kachel Elkind's main title composition to Kubrick's 'The Shining', stolen(?) by Diamanda Galas for her 'Plague Mass' epic, shows us the way then disolves back into the darkness, returns to oversee the final death stroke. Killed by sandpaper. That's how I wanna go out, "like no fucker ever died before, bury me under the floor". I love you G. G. my fucking rotting cross-dressing darling. Which brings us neatly, TV presenter style, to 'Inpraise of my Paranoia' by Today I'm Dead! Quick, dish out the Gary Simmibums prize for the best named band on this whole fucking compilation! Imagine an early Ramleh 7" (there's only one), intended to spin at 45rpm (it played at 33) but select 33 (anyway) and you'll know almost exactly how this sounds. A hypnotic vibratory vocular buzz for this, a cold and sleepy sunday in Snaresbrook (London) where Jeff thee self styled evangelist is barricaded up in his flat, taunting the riot police and Mr & Mrs Newman are carted off in a police van. I don't give one airborne sticky lump of jizz about Jeff thee evangelist, fucking wife and child beating racist bastard but, who, who, who will take lovely little 13 year old Deniz Newman to school now? Heh, Heh, heh, "Allo Mrs. Newman, can I borrow your lawnmower?" Extraordinarily inspirational all this Death Wish stuff, don't you think? Well, I'm happy, and I thought it was just going to be hellish noise...not, he adds hastily, that I don't get off on that god awful row when thee mood takes me. Subklinik's 'Catatonia' is superb! An opus Eduard Artemiev himself may well have been proud of, being, I say, nothing short of a Solarian ocean scooping out and making flesh, living, breathing dream nightmares from the nether regions of your subconscience, as real (unfortunatly) as the aforesaid Jeff thee facist evangelist and (thankfully) the gorgeous Deniz Newman. Yes, Subklinik's 'Catatonia' is simple and simply just out of this world. I love it!

Diktat's. 'Scapegoat' flips the coin with a murderously thrusting off balance out of true heartbeat and crashing, distorted (arn't they always?!) vocals. Sounds like it's all been put into the Moulinex and whisked into a bloody milkshake. Do they still make Nesquik by the way? Shame this wasn't longer.

How here's a name to remember, Victims from Tabula. They, the victims that is, died so that we could have our music. Otherwise they wouldn't be victims, would they? Nice of them, but what sympathy will they get? Nothing. That's precisely the point. As Tabular 'The Victims' wire mesh encased CD-R sleeve note's state... "Thank you for all victims". No, I don't know what path I'm going down either, but it feels right. I'm too dizzy with excitement and emotion as I slooshy, thoughts, ideas and words flying around my head. 'Desestructuracion' has an electro seaside gale blowing through your hair, very metallic (I don't mean HM) and cold. Sick Tony has left the door to my mind open again. Anything and everything has crawled right in, made a home there. Then a hovel. Then just died and rotted. Oh welly welly well, it's better than having the decomposed remains of S-Drugged 7 all shacked up in my gulliver, although, having said that, I'd still like to cover our honied S-Drugged star Tina from pretty head to angelic toe in massive quantities of my precious bodily fluids...good god, I'm being punished! No lie, the CD player has just cut out! Couldn't take the strain of Victims from Tabula, overheated you know. 'Desestructuracion' was really kicking up a hell-ov-a-storm and I was ranting on about S-club's Tina, delicious in or out of body bag, who gives a fuck! Oh, and the small blonde one in the cute little tablecloth check shirt ain't too bad either...even better if she were drenched in a wallpaper paste solution. They asked for this.

Now then, where was I? Distracted by the physical niceties (not their fault) of mind numbing (they are totally responsible!) 'popstars' and the puerile cliched drug habits they wallow in, I mean, you know, in the time it's taken me to write this, Tina's probably started to shoot up crack!

Yeah, Victims from Tabula's storm throws waves, crashing and churning and writhing onto the used condom & human faeces littered sandy shaw. Correct spelling for shaw. A pounding, pulsating noise demon...aaaggghhh, I'm so alive!!! Put the body bag on hold. 40 year old's plus, remember those plimsole bags your mum used to embroider? They call them 'trainers' now. I'll never fucking wear trainers, never! I'd die first rather than let the bitch shoeshop assistant force me into them. Fucking cunt. And yet again, unbelievably, the CD has cut out, even on the lower volume setting! Roll on digital amp's, no heat sink you know? No heat. Tony, if this hi-fi is damaged I am billing you, my friend. Now I go do my pee pee.

Pee pee done, 'Desestructuracion' still going strong, I'm turning the volume down, 2.4, at the commencement of the 'churning' section. Fingers crossed, dicky undercarriage folded flat for in-flight operations, let's hope we don't have a cut-off again. Seems to be OK so far. Brutal seafoam Dr Who 'The Macra Terror' episode (it was really 'crazy foam') brings back my adolecent turn on for wet clothed girls in a world where no one seems to care about such subtile delicacies any longer, prefering to see the 'novelty' of some wrinkled up ageing witch, tits hanging like empty coal sacks, being tri-fucked by six or seven inbreds. Hmmm, do you care for such a pale show? No, it is not for me. I'll take my delights wet, wet, wet, sodden and soaked, come hither Tina, and snort your coke. Just went into the kitchen for some refreshment, thirsty work writting all this garbage. Eeeyuk! This fucking canned cider tastes worse than my own piss. At least it's cold though.

So, we made it through 'Desestructuracion' but it wasn't easy. Now Disturbios's 'Aichmophilia' invades my cuckold's lair. Burning, choking flesh, Hiroshimal A-bomb heat. Turning up the intensity, a vortex of pyral blisters scraping and bubbling toward an abrupt end. Now Lytico Bodig's 'No 6'...very similar at first to the previous track but more rhythmic. High pitched wails of electronics pepper the proceedings. Rolf harris wobbly board thing gone to hell. Good. It wasn't easy being a kid in the 1960's, still less a teenager in the 1970's.Rolf didn't help, not one fucking bit. Look what he did to me, look! Do you like what you see? I'll get you back Rolf. Soon. Another sudden ending and we have EHA vs VFT with a piece entitled 'Dying for Industry'...old school Maurizio Bianchi this, circa 'The Plain Truth'LP. Despondantly bleak and depressing industrial retail park hopelessness. Don't sabotage my morning wake up call by putting this on instead of my usual Spice Girls 'Viva Forever' CD single... it'll push me over thee edge for sure...no more extended reviews for me! Then, on second thoughts, do it! Do it! Devil in the house... tonight!! As I lay disintegrating in the gutter you can do the dancing in the streets, Christmas Carol style for all I care. Opp's, yet another unexpected termination to interupt my dismal line of thought.

Thought I'd throw that in for you, something sent to me by [krzysztof sadza] of ERP 'zine (www.terra.pl/eld-rich-palmer). My little treat, especially to human doggy Suzi, before she realises that the scrap I have just offered her has been 'spiked' with steel nails, and before the real torture starts...Whitemouse's 'A Tribute to h'. Look's as if the Tabula Rasa crew did sex with the Gerogerigegege lot as their horrified parents, bound and gagged, were forced to watch. Tabula & Co. gave birth to a monster, monster grew, they all depucilate the said monster (parents included), monster gives birth to a half-wit (you know the story), they all had a nice cup of tea, decided what they wanted to do with their lives, recorded a Whitehousian style song, took a gun and blew their collective brains out. Painfull. But not as painfull, I say, as the aforementioned photograph dedicated to Morder Machine...I can't understand why Benetton didn't pick up on this.

Concluding the Death Wish Manifest compilation is a delightful piece by Suso Romaris excellent 'experimental guitar sound' project, Noise Factor. This very beautiful score, almost out of place here with it's optimism, is taken from the full length CD-R 'Concepto', also on the Tabula Rasa label. Fucking buy it! I cannot help but draw a parallel here with regard to old industrial end-of-the-world Maurizio Bianchi, as is the flavour in general of Death Wish Manifest, and the new positive buoyant and cheerfull Bianchi...the note Death Wish ends on.

Although I heard talk of a re-issue, as there are only 100 copies of this, original, release my advice is to "get it while you can". I doubt if you'll find it in the racks of your local WH Smiths (where every other magazine cover screams for a white wadding in spite of the banning of 'kontroversial' vicious-teen-girl -pre-pubecent-I-don't-know-what-the-fuck magazine, Mad About Boys!) or woolies store or whatever their Spanish/Italian equivalent's are. Even 'Vinyl Villains' have refused to stock it I hear! And now, if you will excuse me, I have a little vomiting to catch up on.

Available from Tabula Rasa
Centre de Ruido C/Acuerdo,
18-28015 Madrid, Spain.
email: tabularasabar (AT)hotmail.com
www.ccapitalia.net/tabularasa

Slaughter Productions via Tartini. 8-41049 Sassuolo (MO) Italy.
email: atraxmorgue (AT) tiscalinet.it
www.welcome.to/slaughter