Sigh
Hail Horror Hail

THE REVIEW

“It’s hard to learn your place in the world.” (Paul Nizan)

I was bad too.

I also hated without reason, spat on the comfortable certainties of righteous people, scratched even the eyes that caressed me.

I also hid my fears behind studs and metal and black leather.

I cursed. I despised wisdom and common sense.

I too desperately loved a little blonde in the second row who didn’t even glance at me.

I watched my father go to work every day and return every evening more and more tired.

I too wanted to be seen, even at the cost of burning the world down.

“I was twenty. I won’t let anyone say that this is the best age of life.”

(Again Nizan, and again “Aden Arabia”, if you haven’t read it, read it).

And I needed “fierce” music, because it’s sad to scream alone.

I looked for the records of the ugliest, dirtiest, meanest ones.

Extreme music. Brutal, Death, Gore and off with the acronyms and labels.

Outcasts who raised hymns to blood, death, and sex. Guts, spit, sperm.

And, above all, worshippers of Evil.

It didn’t take long, really, to realize it was all a circus; that everyone went home, washed off the makeup and fake blood and counted the money earned. This didn’t hurt me, it hurt me more to know that some people really believed it.

The Greeks called this thing “catharsis”; if done well it works. It worked then, it works now.

If done well.

Because of this, at one point, I started seeking those who did it well. So: away with the satanists, the Nazis, the enthusiasts of Nordic legends, the Vikings, the warriors, the macho men, those dressed up like fools, those who drank blood, those who dissected corpses, the magicians and experts of ancient cults, the necrophiles, the fantasy fans.

In short, there were few left.

Because Evil is a serious thing.

Try explaining to those satanic fools that fear and anguish are God’s most faithful allies. Make them understand that Evil, understood as a simple opposition to Good, is destined – ontologically – to defeat. They forget that Polemos is the father of all things.

Losers.

In the end, only the Japanese remained for me.

The Japanese and their Pantheon with hundreds of thousands of Demons, who live with us in the Naka No Kuni, the Middle Earth.

The Yurei, the Youkai, and the Oni, are not good or bad; they are the spiritual representation of the forces of nature: neither cruel nor benevolent, indifferent.

And that’s how I came across Sigh. And it was a revelation: I had never heard anything like it. Growls and downtuned guitars, heavy and claustrophobic riffs and – suddenly – blinding melodic openings, prog redundancies, glimpses of psychedelia, disorienting noises, oriental chants.

Mirai Kawashima, Satoshi Fujinami, and Kazuki (a drummer who will soon disappear without trace) and the sinuous Dr. Mikannibal, after the first more canonical records, evolved into something else that you may like or dislike, but it doesn’t leave you indifferent.

Mikannibal, covered in bodily fluids and strips of skin, is a keyboardist and saxophonist original and a singer capable of an erotic and unsettling growl, the group’s catalyst center.

She is a Kitsune, the fox-woman, a deceitful and seductive spirit. The Kitsune, beautiful and cruel, are often vengeful with their lovers. But Mirai is not afraid.

From ’93 to today they have recorded ten albums, all of good quality, but – for me – the one to listen to is this “Hail Horror Hail.”

Why? Because it’s my favorite.

They aren’t truly bad, Evil – the real one – is something else, but they are good, or at least original. With them, I can scream without feeling too ridiculous.

It’s catharsis, remember? It’s theater, it’s all fake. But if done well, it works.

As for me, I’ve simply grown up. Disdain has become misanthropy, anger, cynical detachment. The lack of empathy mistaken for depth. Age and my job allow me the pose of libertine and immoral, scornful in discussions, cruel in jokes. Indifferent.

Harmless.

To some, I even seem likeable.

But inside, I still curse at the silent full moon, against the sky watching this “opaque atom of evil” silently.

I haven’t changed; under the velvet suits, there is still black leather.

And I hate you, I hate you all.

Oh, and that little blonde bitch from the second row, I fucked her.

She was even married.

To someone I knew.