liner notes

How mysterious and considerate are the ways in which life constantly drops hints and clues for us to decipher and perhaps benefit from...(pregnant silence in the congregation)...For it was only two months ago that yours truly, still totally unaware of any involvement with this here product, spent the better part of what slower societies referred to as "lunch hour" heatedly arguing the "Throbbing Gristle case" (Need I say on the side of the defence) against the rather hostile and derogatory accusations a colleague of mine (gone are the days of solo flights and Clint Eastwoody entrances) was levelling at the Awesome Foursome. Naturally the charges being made were most specious and lacking in solidity, but in spite of having heard it all before in other corners of this grating Barnum and Bailey scene no-nonsense adults used to look down upon as "that rock and roll gutter world" (but now no-nonsense adults are no more and the youth, musical or not, often exudes an air of senility and decay anyway); here I still was passionately defusing slimey statements of a very high prejudice content, striking back every few seconds at the philistine peon with sweeping overstatements (my speciality) that not only justified T.G´s aesthetic stand but reached as far as matters of politics and philosophy, spitting fire and boiling oil at the heathen with a generosity I had not thought myself capable of in this latest phase in my cyclical life. As the argument turned more and more into some sort of closing statement and epilogue in a prophetic paperback of the cut up variety (something like Nostradamus opting for the Sulphate-powered fanzine as his next vehicle) I privately marvelled at such un-asked for energy and commitment which certainly went way beyond the call of friendship and loyalty to fellow patients, and even wondered what the throb it was all about... If there was an answer to be heard then, the sound of my own voice drowned it under the crashing of metaphors. Now, dear fans, followers, freak show amateurs of the New World, now I know what this incident signified, and this is why I most matter-of-factly gave my consent when recently my dear friend and most respected superior in the Physic Youth hierarchy Genesis Pee Orridge The First inquired as to my willingness and mental ability (he knows, he knows) to introduce (and stamp with the necessary approval, affidavits and sworn statements) this here product to the untamed packs roaming once again in the great American cultural wilderness. Meaning, it became my duty to assemble the liner notes to this particular Crowning of Their Glory, phase one, THE T.G. GREATEST HITS compilation-combination platter, an oeuvre representing a few unforgettable and unrepeatable years of brave and gallant Art (and enemy)- Making, a sort of giant Panorama of majestic audio nightmares hopelessly entwined with shards of unbearable beauty. Yes Sir as well as an admittedly upfront scheme to unburden you from the custody of your happy-go-lucky, here-today-gone-tomorrow dollars, your ugly stinking wrinkled badly designed rapidly-devaluated lovely charming proud and reliable Greenbacks, yes your silly seminal smackeroos that can be exchanged for red Port as well as Moet Chandon, heroin as well as granola, flecks of Buddha wisdom as well as inside info on the Robed One's Second Coming. And it is not for us to inquire as to the use the T.G. camp will make of them, be assured that the little buggers will be exchanged against sterling pounds and will lose all emotional attachment they may have had for the cosiness of your pockets or imitation baby seal wallets. Do let them go with a clear conscience, it is out of your hands. Now you too must see how I had been granted a forewarning of the task to come, a mere task of the challenge that would face me one day when the multitudes of beach handbangers, Hollywood Boulevard Alleys headbangers and no-fixed aboders would look up blinded with rage suspicious of grave double-crossing, and, shaking this very sleeve in disgust, shout: "O Kick, who art in England, why hast Thou forsaken us, doubly now as Thou deigned to bless this horrid art-damaged, pogo-killing disease of the soundwaves, this most un-American sample of bad vibes peeking thru synthesizer weirdness and possible gayness, now that Thou hast blessed the bleeder with your nicotine-stained thumb by drawing the sign of the x on the surface of its left pupil? Why? Why? What has thus crept into Thee, O Face??"

The cherry on top of the cake

How mysterious and considerate are the ways in which life constantly drops hints and clues for us to decipher and perhaps benefit from...(pregnant silence in the congregation)...For it was only two months ago that yours truly, still totally unaware of any involvement with this here product, spent the better part of what slower societies referred to as "lunch hour" heatedly arguing the "Throbbing Gristle case" (Need I say on the side of the defence) against the rather hostile and derogatory accusations a colleague of mine (gone are the days of solo flights and Clint Eastwoody entrances) was levelling at the Awesome Foursome. Naturally the charges being made were most specious and lacking in solidity, but in spite of having heard it all before in other corners of this grating Barnum and Bailey scene no-nonsense adults used to look down upon as "that rock and roll gutter world" (but now no-nonsense adults are no more and the youth, musical or not, often exudes an air of senility and decay anyway); here I still was passionately defusing slimey statements of a very high prejudice content, striking back every few seconds at the philistine peon with sweeping overstatements (my speciality) that not only justified T.G´s aesthetic stand but reached as far as matters of politics and philosophy, spitting fire and boiling oil at the heathen with a generosity I had not thought myself capable of in this latest phase in my cyclical life. As the argument turned more and more into some sort of closing statement and epilogue in a prophetic paperback of the cut up variety (something like Nostradamus opting for the Sulphate-powered fanzine as his next vehicle) I privately marvelled at such un-asked for energy and commitment which certainly went way beyond the call of friendship and loyalty to fellow patients, and even wondered what the throb it was all about... If there was an answer to be heard then, the sound of my own voice drowned it under the crashing of metaphors. Now, dear fans, followers, freak show amateurs of the New World, now I know what this incident signified, and this is why I most matter-of-factly gave my consent when recently my dear friend and most respected superior in the Physic Youth hierarchy Genesis Pee Orridge The First inquired as to my willingness and mental ability (he knows, he knows) to introduce (and stamp with the necessary approval, affidavits and sworn statements) this here product to the untamed packs roaming once again in the great American cultural wilderness. Meaning, it became my duty to assemble the liner notes to this particular Crowning of Their Glory, phase one, THE T.G. GREATEST HITS compilation-combination platter, an oeuvre representing a few unforgettable and unrepeatable years of brave and gallant Art (and enemy)- Making, a sort of giant Panorama of majestic audio nightmares hopelessly entwined with shards of unbearable beauty. Yes Sir as well as an admittedly upfront scheme to unburden you from the custody of your happy-go-lucky, here-today-gone-tomorrow dollars, your ugly stinking wrinkled badly designed rapidly-devaluated lovely charming proud and reliable Greenbacks, yes your silly seminal smackeroos that can be exchanged for red Port as well as Moet Chandon, heroin as well as granola, flecks of Buddha wisdom as well as inside info on the Robed One's Second Coming. And it is not for us to inquire as to the use the T.G. camp will make of them, be assured that the little buggers will be exchanged against sterling pounds and will lose all emotional attachment they may have had for the cosiness of your pockets or imitation baby seal wallets. Do let them go with a clear conscience, it is out of your hands. Now you too must see how I had been granted a forewarning of the task to come, a mere task of the challenge that would face me one day when the multitudes of beach handbangers, Hollywood Boulevard Alleys headbangers and no-fixed aboders would look up blinded with rage suspicious of grave double-crossing, and, shaking this very sleeve in disgust, shout: "O Kick, who art in England, why hast Thou forsaken us, doubly now as Thou deigned to bless this horrid art-damaged, pogo-killing disease of the soundwaves, this most un-American sample of bad vibes peeking thru synthesizer weirdness and possible gayness, now that Thou hast blessed the bleeder with your nicotine-stained thumb by drawing the sign of the x on the surface of its left pupil? Why? Why? What has thus crept into Thee, O Face??"	Liner notes to "ENTERTAINMENT THROUGH PAIN" Throbbing Gristle´s Greatest Hits (Rough Trade)	And I, peering down at the multitudes while faintly glowing with infinite wisdom and general goodwill, shall bellow the soon-to-be-sacred words upon which foundations better be laid, stones turned into temples stalls and booths and badge stands installed and some serious business started: "Because" I shall bellow "O Ye rabble of small inner capacities who are my people nevertheless, because it is good for you to hurt a little, and in the end it is the Others who will hurt more, and by then you shall be Immune, and some of you, yes some of you (You know who you are Matthew Mark Luke John Peter Paul Thomas Judas and the others) will even become practitioners in these Arts, and when the time comes to unleash the Last Racket, You shall be at the controls, real nonchalant, and in charge, and you shall inflict Havoc, such as the fish and the trilobites have not yet seen, nor even dreamt of. "Keep this to yourselves for now". And that is why you are mouthing these very words now, that is why I am here next to you, man to man, on some back cover of some old world thingy and not in some yellow bundle of chewed-up tree-fibres all smudged with gooey ink and deep fryer coagulant. Beware Beastly Brethren of latecomers and altered definitions beware of everything , IT´S ALL TRUE and then some more you don't know, Throbbing Gristle knows, their files are engorged, their proofs are accumulating and pouring in, the Knowledge grows, that is why the Gristle throbs. Yes, that is why an isolated incident got to mean a lot, and the lot showed me the reason why, and the reason why enabled me to serenely embark upon this present mission and simply say unto you: "Genesis, Sleazy, Chris and Cosey are good for you"- the little pain you may feel upon impact soon subsides, a mere trickle of quickly drying blood perhaps a vague numbness on the outer rim, and this pittance of a fee in exchange for what gifts! What power! What holy cacophony and what inspiring words to play with, meditate upon, toss about, stick your head in or drop directly upon the cranium of a loved one or a barely-tolerated one! And contemplate the wealth of styles to choose from, this arsenal of impact-geared explosives, remote control detonation systems, slow and untraceable contamination programs; Truly, music for every occasion. I envy you. Oh to be young again and, like you have today, receive this exotic bouquet of T.G. sounds, all arranged so nicely and lovingly. (Note the new threads proudly worn by the band - these people care!) A real high class offering like this is what I would pick up as inaugurative event of my new life, if I were given a new one to defile and desecrate. But be crushed, hopes! Stop fluttering, heart! I am sadly somewhat overdrawn, my credit is not at it's peak right now, and it was more like centuries ago when my very own FIRST Throbbing Gristle Highlight burst thru the darkness: A cold and windy November night in North London actually, some seasons back, and I entered the dark and oozing underground caves that lay hidden under an abandoned churchlet of dubious denomination. In one corner a foot or so above the assembly a man named Genesis P-Orridge was trying to die and share his first-hand observations, while a lady named like an ice-cream for bed-ridden convalescents and two young men abnormally intent on appearing normal thoroughly ignored his condition while minding the stoves...But this is indeed another story. Now it is time for funtime with T.G. Quiet times too, Hamburger Lady Times, Subhuman Times...See, that is where the good times have gone, really, other trends and rockasilly-with-a-dash-of-refried-romantics were a DECOY, a false hint, a trick to separate the shaft from the weed. Now you are ready, the minute alterations to your personal wiring and circuitry went virtually unnoticed and you can feel that yes, by golly, these are indeed the good times. Yea yea twist again better than we did last summer, laughing in the face of all rock and roll historians collectors revivalists purists inquisition-members puritans bores creeps and not forgetting the fussy midgets with obscene hairdos. Ha ha ha ha. What will happen next in Throbbing Gristle matters is between the lady and gentleman and the gods themselves. Just pray that it does affect you. What you own now is the only Help-From-Above scheduled for your life-time, bub. The chariot of fire with the fancy pinstriping was last time, this time it´s a gristle. It does work in mysterious ways...This wheel's burning, this gristle's throbbing, as long as something is doing something you better be diggin, dig?