Friday 13th October 2000. I could have danced all night. I could have been shafted all night. by the Bennett himself, and still I'd have begged for more. Look, I'm not a homosexual. Faggots are maggots. I'm not a gayer, despite my cunt fag fucking Bon Jokey cunt fucker looks, a look I'm accused of by people supposedly living on the fucking edge of musical appreciation...oh man , you're all so bleeding alternative aren't you!? Poseurs! No, I'm not 'puffy' as they say in El Escorial. No , not much. At least I didn't think I was, until...

The evening began nicely, very nicely. First stop the 'Manowar' pub. It's not really called that. Steve, my friend of 23 years from East Ham Collage (studio crap-fucks department) and I (Wirhnail?) named it that when we were both seeing U.S. H.M. band 'Manowar' on an unhealthily regular basis in the early 1980's. Well, it looks like the sort of place Manowar would drink in, sword fight in, rape and pillage in, etc etc. It's actually called the Cittie of Yorke and there's been a pub on that site since 1430. Hey, directionless arseholes, why not go check it out? An easy 1 min walk from Chancery lane station. Alas, 20 mins worth of being surrounded by friday night city bastids was quite enough, althogu some of the girls set my cock ablaze (with matches, lighters...) and, considering the ultra-high level of excitement I had worked myself into, to see Whitehouse that is, I fucked off.

Next stop. Met Stevey baby outside the Dominium theatre in Tottenham court road and from there to Euston station and a pub called the 'Head of Steam'! we yakked away about the Timo 7" I'm 'financing' and of which, hopefully, Steve will be doing the sleeve artwork for, using one of my Nagasaki photo's. Along comes Chris, Steves fiance (of 13 fucking years, don't rush into it loves!) and so we, that is I GeroGary, Steve and his old trout Christ smecked away, govereeting and paid regular trips to the toiled the door of which had a combination lock so as to stop 'drifters' as Steve so politely put it, er... drifting. If you want the code number and can't be fucked to ask for it at the bar it's CX28 of 13.10.2000. good luck and now sod-orf back to your cardboard box. Then it's gone 8:00pm, time to leave the miserable couple and see if I can get myself to this Red Rose dive I've heard so much about this summer

On exiting the tunnel (of love) from Finsbury Park station you are faced with the nuclear wasteland that is in fact the Seven Sisters Road. Bring back the Marquee club in W1 for gods sake! I'm all alone in a part of London I never visit, hope the venue isn't too far. Thankfully it isn't... a 10 min walk and there before you is the oasis of the RedRose in all it's splender. After a quicklook around to see if I know anyone (I didn't) I got myself the obligatory pint and made my way back to the 'front garden' to, perhaps, make friends. I spyed two guys who looked approachable, sensible chaps you know, one with a Coil t-shirt, t'other with shaven head except for a patch of long dready-weds. Charming gentlemen they turned out to be but they hadn't heard anything by Whitehouse, only heard of them at the Coil gig, I think. Hmmm... 'To the curious', those were such great days... and we're going to see great days again! Sitting on a bench in front of us was a fuck I later found out to be called Ian. Let's call him irritable Ian, for such he was. Irritable at being alone, irritable at not having seen or heard Whitehouse before, irritable that his sister is a succesfull porn actress... well , he bore a striking resemblance to one I've seen having the arse torn out of her and irritable at my clothes, accusing me of being a Europe fan!!!! Ok., perhaps he wasn't so wrong, I fucking saw them circa 1986 or 7, with Steve because Steve's bitch at the time blew him out and I got the spare ticket for free. That's my excuse so fuck you, I fucked all your mothers and each one was complete crap. Still, at least Joey Tempest (Troy's brother) looks remotely attractive to the opposite sex, more specifically, to the 12 year old rock chicks of that time, which is more than I can say for irritable Ian. Maybe your sister will screw you... for a price, though I doubt you could afford her these days, fucking human toilet. Moping old sod. I fired back, it passed the time, psychiatrically and sarcastically, telling him he looked like a rockerbilly, even thoughhe didn't but it was the nearest I could get and, besides, I was running out of patience. He went fucking mad, obviously a sore point. I gave up with Mr. Worthless [2], nobody likes him, end your life, end your life now, do it now! Later though, in the Hinoeuma, we shock hands, kissed and madeup. Even though by this time irritable Ian was already dead.

I joined the queue in the corridor and got talking to a 52 year old geezer called Buffalo Bill ! he was only in the Red Rose for a drink, definately not a Whitehouse fan. We spoke about Bob Dylan of all things and how Buffalo Bill had seen him in concert at Wembly not so long ago and what a dissapointment Dylan had been! I''e gota couple of Dylan records myself, old, old, old ones... ''Highway 61 revisited'' and ''The freewheeelin''Bob Dylan''(3). Highway 61 is a superb song, makes all the malenky hairs on my plot stand endwise oh my brothers! Go seek it out, so called noise freaks! Ha! Ya fucking tunnel visioned pussies, eat me, eat my snatch or don'' you like your faces covered in pussy pus? You wankers! And, and, and blow me down, Buffalo Bill went away and came back with a pint for lil'ol me! Cheers man, happy days! I owe ya one!

So, the doors open. In we go, into the warm cosy darkness that is the Hinoeuma (it's also a comedy club on other nights). I had to pay a visit to the Cheeses International stall [4]. This is a little mail order firm specialising in noise, weird and experimental music etc that I have been buying from for 9 years or so. Run by the trustworthy Steve Fricker I finally got to meet the man himself at long last, face to corrida splattered face. Amazing how you have an image of someone in your head and yet when you meet them they are completely different to how you had imagined! Steve though that I looked a cunt too.

I made my way to the bar area and got chatting to a very talkative bloke from Arizona no less ! I can't remember his name but he showed me his Circus Freek show t-shirt and described some of it's extreme goings on, live maggot and fly eating and the likes! I find the idea of a girl eating live maggots paricularly appealing, see my infamous and rejected everywhere Mira calix - Oneonone review [5]. Hey, Arizona man, if your illicit video came out then I'd love to have a copy... get in touch!

Then I saw a girl. A real girl. Don't get too many of that lot at Whitehouse shows (according to Richo of Fourth Dimension Records and Mail Order [6] and a man of who's opinion I hold in the highest regard, we're, that is him, me, are in the 'sad male geek domain'. So, it's official). Off I go, like a fly to poo poo and plop plops. I buzzed around Ami for some time, asked her about her smell (but not her quim, ha, ha! Get it, noise freek fuckin' bastards?!) "It's Jean Paul Goatie-hay". Ooooohhhhh dear! Yes, very extreme, very experimental, very arti-farty-skinnyhead-hermaphrodite-woofter! Darling, must you do what the glossy ad's tell you to do and wear that over-designed bottled up over-priced piss? Why cover up your very own girly smell? And why shave those miraculous little armpits? I love to see a smattering of hair. There . Like two extreme honeypots. Come on sweetheart, you're the one, that I chose , it's your lucky day, you don't have to say please!

Guess I said the wrong things to Ami, sick and wrong things, from start to finish... the final straw being my admition that I'm not one bit interested in 'girls' of my own age, 41 that is, and by refering to these said 'girls' as 'wrinkled-up ald sows', the Citroen Ami 8 got all defensive and made her escape at the next oppertunity which from her point of view wasn't soon enough. I have a way with women. Cheque!

Anyway, Ami's departure did me a great favour (not really, but I have to put on the brave face) for I was able to sit on the table by the wall which she had unwittingly been buttock heating (like Duchamp's Mona, she has a red hot arse) and began talking to a brilliant couple from Rugby...I forgot the guy's name but he was without doubt the 'coolest dude' that I'd spoken to throughout this whole sordid affair. We watched the support band together, aaahhh GeroGary made a friend. Dachise-Vex I think it was. Not a bad band at all, projected back-drops of the usual imagery that you'de expected on such occasions, close-ups of stitched up lips, 1950's futuristic machines, beaten-up bod's coughing up blood etc... Musically I guess they've played the odd Whitehouse record, old Ramleh (where are you Gary Mundy?) and that cal. Mr. Rugby and I enjoyed it until we got bored and wanted them to finish so we could watch Whitehouse of whome Mr. Rugby had never heard or seen...so many innocents awaiting defloration! Not like ultra-seasonned 'Wreck of Rock'n'Roll Former Self' [7] GeroGary (in a white wine sauce with shallots and herbs).

And now is the time. Whitehouse come forth. To London. Has it really been 4 and half years? We stand, on the table against the Hinoeuma wall. The view is outstanding. I steady myself by holding a convieniantly placed length of pipe. LA86 begins...Philip Best screams 'Tit Pulp' [8]. I scream along. Well, I attended sing-a-long-a-Johnny Rotten time in 1983 so why not sing-along-a -Whitehouse ? Oh yes, you know it's gonna be alright, you know it's gonna be just fine. I make Whitehousian gestures in the traditional fashion. Raised fist, shaking fist, "...and the next one's you!" Pointing finger. Where is Mary Dowd these days anyway? I want to see the untitled short film from 1982 in which she' lies buried in soil while snails, worms and beetles crawl over her partially exposed body' [9]. I'd love to see all those old films, someone stick 'em on DVD please! Well Mary, what are you up to now anyway? Fat? 40? "Do you believe in Rock'n'Roll/" [10] It's William. Just William. Just William with Philip and Peter. Peter Purvis, Peter Pervet. Blue Peter. Pornographic Peter. But it's just William if you want it to be. Sexy. I never noticed that before. "If you believe in Rock'n'Roll..." Must have been subconscious, in there all the time, in the back of my head. Dormat. William, tall, slim, dominant, cool shades, rock-god shades, good looking. The Master... "Then why don't you stand up for what you believe in???!!!" I dance. I tell you while I dance. Told [11]. I hold the pipe tighter. The pipe. The pole. Pole dance"... You wankers!!!" I wish I was a girl."... You wankers!!!" I wish I was a 14 year old girl, hormones seething, with all those teen clothes, those uniforms, those Trevor Brown drawings, just for tonight. Just forever. Just for Willliam. Does he see? Does he see this? Rock god William. Cooler than any fucking ponced up rock fag. Rock hag. Rocked sag. Indie shag. Now I see why my ex wife got home after LA78 (London 1996) yelling "I want William to fuck me!" Does your bitch do that? Did she? Has she? Fucking pig. Fucking whore. She made me a Slutmaster [12]. A sick fuck. I kill for pleasure. I live to hate whores, cheap sluts fucking cunts! You live to die. Human toilets. And now it's me. Me waving at Sotos, Sotos waves back. We did this before, LA78. That fatefull night. My bitch broke lose. My cunt. And I want to be that cunt. That bitch. That girl. Wanna be Bennett's Lolita. Bennett. Humbert. Quilty. Wanna whore myself, be used. Abused. Pull my mouth apart just like Trevors 'Just like a cunt' [13] painting. Fill it. Split it. Japanese porn mag violence. I was born for this. If only I didn't have this stubble, these chest hairs, leg hairs, slug between my thighs. If only I wasn't 41. If only, if only, if only. And where are they now, the years, the years? [14]. The Pink Fairys did a song... 'I wish I was a girl'. Never heard it. Robert Silverbergs 'Son of Man' [15] had our decendants, aeons into the future, able to change sex at will. If only. And my panties are wet, though not from that. From pissing my strides after putting it back too soon in my rush to get back to the hall and from not wearing sensible trousers. Home made lace-up fly you know. Awkward. William reads from letters received. I can't hear. A recipe. A pinch of salt. Cook for me babe. Ply me with fine wines like at the Ideal Home exhibition. You don't need that slut. That Barbie. Barbie is a slut. "Tear the breast from her heart, nail her cunt to the wall, scold her stinking orafices, convulse the body in pain. Undress me, caress me, love me, don't let me die. Mine is a heart that breaks in no time or place. No soul, no love, nothing" [16]. SPK's Sinan, on T.V.'s 'The Tube', in 1983. I want to be dressed the same, look the same be the same. Be her. Then. 1983. Now a new song? I don't recognise. Philipss solo. Guitar solo. Drum solo. Yamaha solo. Rock god. What's the difference? I liked your long hair around 1995 Mr. Smoketoomuch. Better cut down then. Teenage runaway. The audience goes for it.

Don't fuck with Sotos. You fuck with him he's gonna fuck with you, that's what he'll do. Yeeaaahh! Monster. A writer of subversive literature. Rock god.

I'm too busy trying to get my 'Live at Tabula Rasa' t-shirt [17]onto the bootleggers video to notice 'Hinoeuma Girl' waving at me. She who I met a couple of times at Gossips nightclub's Goth night's and who recommended this Red Rose place to me. On the table I was high above her, she came to me. She said I looked as if I was "...really enjoying myself". "Yeah, Whitehouse are my favourite band, the best band in the world". She seemed confused. I don't think she agreed. I bent, held her perplexed face and smothered it in kisses. Sort of. I think she was with a guy. Probably Peter Perfect. Wacky.

'A cunt like you' [18] gets it's London debut. Bennnett and Best take it in turns to sing..."You look like a fucking bat you old slut!" That's no way to speak to a lady. "I really loath vulgarity!" No way to treat you. Baby. "So common!" But I' m only 14. "Fucking stereotype, fucking stereotype!" Well, 14 going on 41... oh, thee fucking majik ov thee numbers man. What's it mean Gen? You take, you ache, you fuck just like a cunt. The fire in my pants is about to explode, feel it's gonna blow another load. And I'm the kinda girl who wants to take that chance... with G.G. [19] with William. Take a chance on me, I'll be the first in line... a cunt like me, a fucking mess, a fucking disgrace! Here's a thrilling piece of observation on my part; Bennett and Best don't just hand the microphone to each other...they snatch it. Snatch. Snatch. Bennett, snatch, cunt, Best, Sotos... I'm delierious, alive, alive! Listening to 'the sound of being alive' [20], listen to it you old fools, listen to it' [21]! On and on and on it goes, cunt after cunt after cunt, snatch after snatch...a heroic rendition of the most vicious song ever concieved. 'The end of all music' [22]. More 'if only's'. If only it could have been the mythical and frustratingly unobtainable (unrecordable?) 'Never ending version' because then William, with Peter and Philip pinning us down floorwise, really could have shafted the lot of us all night long , neverendingly.

He knows what to do...

Afterword

I left. Shagged and fagged and fashed. I'd love to have seen Kraang + Wertham but I had a train to catch, had to get home, had to write this 'review'. Had to get it out of my system. You don't really want to hear about the fight I almost got into with a cunt (Ha! Yert more cunts. A whole night of 'em!) half my age on the train, only to be spared the aggravation by yet another fight (ongoing) which spilled into my carriage. Hoping to survive to see Whitehouse again some day I used the ensuing mayhem to flee to cars further up-track, thus rounding off a fucking brilliant evening! So satisfiying infact, that I didn't even bother to do sad and lonesome onanie.

And that's really saying something.

References. For those who care. Do you care?

Brainbombs - Lyric from the song Stupid and Weak on the Urge to Kill CD 1998 LOAD 022 Load Records
Whitehouse - Worthless (Daddy sings). The unreleased and/or unrecorded classic
Bob Dylan - Highway 61 revisited LP 1965 4609531 CBS and The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan CD 1975 Columbia CD32390
Cheeses International, PO BOX 19067, London N7 0ZH, UK. Tel: 0794 666 0528
Mira Calix - Oneonone LP/CD review. Try www.ccapitalia.net/tabularasa or send me something 'nice' and I'll send you a copy
Fourth Dimension Records & Mail Order, Po BOX 63, Herne Bay, Kent CT6 6YU Fax:+44(0)1227 369855 Email: richo (AT) johnson263.freeserve.co.uk
The Gerogerigegege - Wreck of Rock'n'Roll Former self 7"EP 1995 A.I.P.R. 06
Whitehouse - Tit Pulp on the very rare Right to Kill LP 1983 WDC881033
Quote from a flyer for the Production Film Show 1983.You want a copy? It's yours. At a price. I name it, you pay it.
Whitehouse - Rock and Roll track from the LP Birthdeath Experience 1980 WDC881004 (Available on CD Susan Lawly SLCD006)
Whitehouse - Told on the incredible Quality Time CD 1996 SLCD012 Susan Lawly
Brainbombs - Slutmaster from the Urge to Kill CD (see 1 above)
Whitehouse - Just Like A Cunt WB vocal version 3"CD single 1996 FX-3 Fanatics
Lyrics from David Tibet and Steven Stapleton's LP The Sadness of Things 1991 or 1992 UD037 United Diaries (Available on CD Ud037CD)
Robert Silverberg - Son of Man 1971. Granada Panther edition 1979 paperback. ISBN 0 586 04807 3
Lyrics from the SPK track A Heart that Breaks in no Time or Place. On the Auto-Da-Fe 1983 WULP 002 Walter Ulbricht Schallfolien (Available on CD Mute SPK 4CD)
Tabula Rasa c/acuerdo 18, Noviciado, Madrid, Spain. www.ccapitalia.net/tabularasa
Whitehouse - A Cunt Like You. Devastating song from the Mummy and Daddy CD 1998 SLCD020 Susan Lawly
GG Allin with Antiseen-Violence Now/Cock on the Loose 7" 1993 JET-22 Jettison
Lyric to the songs Just Like A Cunt and A Cunt Like You from, respectivly, Quality Time CD (see 11) and Mummy and Daddy CD (see 18)
Line from the very funny 1975 BBC TV comedy show Faulty Towers. Episode: Fire Drill
Quote from the stunning Whitehouse poster from the LA61 Bern performance

And one last word, I always get it;

Explore yourself.
Find yourself.
You may hate what you uncover.
I do hope so.

Gerogary Simmons