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Wednesday, 8 December 2010

Strength is born of necessity

"Strength is born of necessity"

A late night conversation a few days ago saw this little comment come out of me, practically without thought. And since, I have realised how true it is. The strength to endure the things that life throws at us is born out of the necessity to bear them. Without suffering, without fear and pain and grief, there is no strength. Without these things, we remain as weak and helpless as the day we were born.

Most of us go through times where things are so bad it seems impossible to bear. But you get through, because you have to, because there is no other option other than the complete submission of one’s dignity, pride and honour.

We endure because we must, but we must endure in order to become stronger.

Wednesday, 1 December 2010

BOOK REVIEW: A Fighter’s Heart by Sam Sheridan

A Fighter’s Heart is a fascinating journey through the world of professional fighting. The author, Sam Sheridan, finds himself in Australia with plenty of cash, a determination not to work until he has spent it all, and a single desire- to find out what makes two men want to get into a ring or a cage and inflict extreme physical harm upon one another, and then do it himself.

The narrative get’s going in Thailand, at a rural muay thai camp where the author has begun training. As someone who has been training muay thai for a few months now, and has his eye set on both Thai training camps and competitive fighting, I found this section interesting and informative, in the end only strengthening my desire to do both. Culminating in the author’s first ever fight, apparently against a Japanese heavyweight karate champion, this section of the book proves an excellent introduction to the devastating thai fighting style.

From here, Sheridan travels the globe pursuing the fighting arts. First off, a stint with MMA legend and so-called ’supercoach’ Pat Miletich (creator of the Miletich Fighting System and one of the pioneers of the new breed of ’can-do-everything’ fighters who are equally skilled in all elements of the game) in Iowa. Sheridan finds himself training with the likes of former UFC heavyweight champ Tim Sylvia, and takes part in his second fight, this time an MMA bout. Sheridan’s comments on the UFC and MMA in general make for some interesting reading, especially considering the progress the sport has made since.

This is where things stall a little. A shoulder injury early on in his stint in Brazil learning BJJ sees Sheridan sit out the majority of his time there, instead focusing on the fights of others, including an Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira fight against Fedor Emelianenko in Pride FC. Interesting though this is, the reader is left feeling Sheridan’s disappointment- watching other people do stuff is all well and good, but you can’t learn something as complex as Brazilian Jiu-jitsu without doing it yourself.

Returning to the States, the author spends a little time with tai chi master C.C Chen, whose no-bullshit take on using tai chi for fighting leads to some interesting insights, though the section feels too short to fully pursue them. Next, he trains boxing with Virgil Hunter, which offers further insights this time into the world of boxing, its evolution and decline, though much of what is said in truth cements my lack of interest in boxing compared to muay thai and MMA. So far, however, Sheridan has been kept out of the ring since his MMA fight, largely by injury, and though we are told the point of his boxing training is to compete in an amateur bout, Sheridan eventually disposes of this idea. Instead, he says, he will return to Thailand to train and (he hopes) fight in Burma (or Myanmar as it is referred to here) where the fights are similar to Thailand, but bare-knuckle and with head butts allowed. This restores the reader’s excitement in the author fighting- Burmese lethwe fighting is the raw, bloody edge of modern ring fighting, without the cushion of protective gloves and with that savage, primal attack- form. But, alas, the fight does not pan out, and he returns to the US.

Further chapters cover dog fighting- a subject I am instinctively averse to but which was covered in an informative way that highlights the difference between the popular notion of fight-dog breeders (who, according to one guy he meets, do not ‘love’ their dog as a true trainer should) and the ‘professionals’ to be found in places like the Philippines- and a stint working with Pat Miletich on a film set. Though interesting in their own way, particularly the section on ’gameness’- the willingness to carry on after enduring more punishment than should be possible that makes a true fighter- these two chapters do not fit with the purpose of the book, and feel a little like filler.

The book is closed with perhaps its most interesting chapter, pulling together Sheridan’s experiences along with various scientific, psychological and often poetic interpretations on man’s need to fight.

Overall, this is an intriguing work and sure to be a hit with any fan or practitioner  of martial arts and fighting, though falls short of wider mass appeal. It’s a shame we couldn’t see more of the author actually fighting, but that’s life as a fighter- injuries happen, you just gotta suck it up and get on. Sam Sheridan understands that more than most.

Sunday, 21 November 2010

The collective white guilt

In light of recent political events, this may seem a somewhat controversial, even dangerous subject. But that won’t stop me. It never will. The truth must be spoken.

The white race is suffering from a terrible malaise, a sickness that has hung around its neck for decades. This is the collective guilt for the actions of our ancestors, for slavery and colonialism, for the Great British Empire and others. In our multicultural society, it seems the celebration and pride in the white race is hidden behind guilty looks and disapproving pc-morons. Whereas black and asian communities are known for celebrating their roots, their traditions and culture, it seems we shy away from doing this ourselves.

Why is this? The immediate answer that jumps to mind is a deep-rooted terror and paranoia over anything that seems close to Nazism. But racial pride is NOT racial supremacy. A man can show pride in his race without believing it superior to all others. To further illustrate this problem, new UFC Heavyweight Champion, the Mexican-born Cain Velasquez, has a tattoo across his chest proclaiming, in big, bold letters, simply “Brown Pride.” Racial pride is no bad thing, so long as it doesn’t move into supremacy, but that’s not the problem. The problem, as far as I see, is the hypocrisy of people’s reaction to the tattoo. Velasquez is praised for his pride in his culture and heritage, but what would happen if say, Keith Jardine- a shaven-headed white guy- stepped  out with “White Pride” emblazoned across his flesh? The reaction, I’m sure, would be very different.

Perhaps this malaise is a side-effect of the permeation of the New Testament Christian theology throughout western society, destroying the Nietzschean noble morality in favour of the weak, submissive slave morality. But the effect of the forgiveness-religions are not restricted to the west, or by racial lines.

The complete answer is no doubt long and complex, but in an age where boundaries look increasingly likely to be redrawn along continental lines, where greedy, corrupt little politicians in Brussels threaten to undermine the very notion of a sovereign state and independent country, I hope we can recover from this sickness before it is too late.   

Thursday, 11 November 2010

REVIEW: The Forgotten Legion- Ben Kane

The turbulent history of ancient Rome has become a popular subject of late, with books, TV shows and films popping up consistently. Ben Kane’s The Forgotten Legion takes a slightly different tune than most.
Set in the latter years of the Republic, as the First Triumvirate of Caesar, Pompey and Crassus struggled for power, it centres on four main characters whose stories weave together in a fascinating way.
Romulus is a fiery young slave, sold to the Ludus (a gladiator school) at fourteen by his harsh master, who becomes disgusted by the practice of slavery in Rome and, inspired by the tale of Sparatacus, harbours a deep desire to lead a similar slave revolt. His twin-sister, Fabiola, is at the same time sold to a brothel, though her quest is more personal- discover the identity of the noble who raped her mother years ago, and exact revenge.
In his time at the Ludus, Romulus becomes close friends with Brennus, a fearsome Gaulish fighter and sole survivor of the Allobroges tribe, haunted by the Roman destruction of his people, and the killing of his younger brother, his wife and his child.
Finally, Traquinius, an Etruscan haruspex (or soothsayer) is introduced early on, but only about halfway through the story does he encounter Romulus and Brennus. He is driven by the need to preserve the legacy of his race and vocation, which have been all but subsumed into the Roman culture.
There is some feeling of stock character types to them- the fiery, noble youngster; the proud old warrior and mentor; the wizened mystic and the beautiful, tragic young woman. However, Kane weaves their stories together in a compelling fashion that overrides these concerns easily. Of course, readers of Bahktin will probably see the connection to his concept of how all folk tales- the source of our modern stories- are made up of the same set of character types, but that’s a question for another day.
One of the interesting things about this novel is that, though it begins in Rome, by the end of the book, the three male characters are half the world away, on the furthest fringes of the Parthian empire. I won’t spoil how they got there, but suffice to say that they are swept up in the disastrous invasion of Parthia by Crassus.
Fabiola, meanwhile, keeps us updated with events in Rome and provides an anchor to the adventures of Romulus, Brennus and Tarquinius, reminding the reader of where this story truly centres. By acquiring Brutus, Caesar’s closest friend and ally, as a lover, Fabiola gives the reader a glimpse into the goings on at the highest echelons of Roman politics and society. Also, by forming a relationship between a fictional character and a historical figure, Kane adds a sense of realism and involvement that might otherwise have been missing.  
Now, it is clear from the outset that this is going to be a long and involved tale. Standing at some 500 pages, this is just the first in a series. As the final sentence comes to a close, you realise the story has only just begun, leaving the reader with a deep desire to simply go out and buy the next book so one can continue reading with barely a pause. Job done there then.
Some reviewers have picked up on a few historical inaccuracies, however, though I am usually a stickler for detail and realism in my historical fiction, here this doesn’t overly bother me. The story is compelling enough and the backdrop- Crassus’ invasion and the struggles of the Triumvirate- are accurate enough to avoid grating.
However, there were two things that did jar slightly. Firstly, the consistent and startling accuracy of Tarquinius’ prophecies, made from examining weather patterns and animal guts. This asks for a suspension of belief that may be a little too much, and seems to direct the flow of the story. However, this small bugbear does little to detract from the quality of the novel.
Secondly, Fabiola’s quest for information regarding the noble who raped her mother- and who therefore, we are told, is father to herself and Romulus- leads to suspicion falling on Julius Caesar, yet to make an actual appearance in the tale (something I have a feeling will be coming later on). Of course, I cannot truly know what kind of man Gaius Julius Caesar was, but nothing I have read about him implies he was a rapist. Having said that, the Roman culture was far removed from our own, and a young patrician raping a slave wouldn’t be considered worthy of a mention.
Overall, this is an intriguing and compelling opening to what promises to be a truly epic saga- I look forward to reading the next instalment.

Sunday, 7 November 2010

The death of masculinity: what the fuck is wrong with the male race?

We’ve all seen them. We see them every day. Whether it’s some fake-tanned prissy boy with his designer gear, fancy highlights and shiny diamond stud, or some skinny emo kid wearing his mums pants and eyeliner, crying about how nobody understands him, it cannot be denied that the male race is at an all-time low.
It seems that notions of masculinity and manliness have drastically changed in our society. Now, it’s the norm for guys to use make-up and have manicures. I even saw on one guy carrying a Burberry fucking handbag! Not a rucksack, or even a satchel, but a frigging handbag. I laughed so hard it hurt.
Now, I’m all for freedom of expression and individuality. Truth be told, I’m probably somewhat off the ‘norm’ myself. I express myself how I see fit, and don’t give too shits about what society has to say about it.
I also like to fart and burp, to scratch my nuts and talk about tits. That’s when men do.
But now we come to the source of the problem. I cannot help but think that the overwhelming majority of guys who partake in the current metrosexual fad do so simply because it is the ‘in-thing’, it is what’s ‘cool’ right now. These vacuous morons would probably dress up as smurfs and act like they had tourrettes if some magazine told them it was cool or some celebrity started doing it.
The implications, however, are far worse than the tame submission to the ever-changing social and cultural standards and norms that have plagued the masses throughout history.
The fundamental traits of masculinity- strength, courage, self-sufficiency and, of course, the urge to procreate (though no socio-cultural standard has managed to keep that in check)- are vital instincts that has allowed our species to survive and thrive. In the age of technological convenience, what would happen if we were suddenly left to fend for ourselves, without the modern trappings that make our lives so easy? In a near-apocalyptic scenario, would any of these wusses be capable of gathering food and providing shelter, protecting themselves and their ‘herd’ from enemies and predators? Something tells me no. I fear for what we may have already lost, and fervently hope the male race can find its balls once more.

Friday, 29 October 2010

The need to fight part II

Throughout history, human beings have fought, maimed and killed one another for a variety of reasons. From the first territorial skirmishes between prehistoric tribes through thousands of years of warfare as countless empires and civilisations rose and fell, to the distant, mechanical methods of war employed today, history has been shaped by violence.

How differently might history have gone where it not for the likes of Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan and the numerous great Roman conquerors, such as Caesar, Pompey and Marius? If these men had been content to sit at home and while away their lives, dying old and content rather than striving constantly to achieve their grand ambitions, the history of our species would be much different, and much duller.

What is it that drives some of us to push ever onwards, to test mind and body beyond what most could endure, to always look to the next conquest? Alexander the Great, the Lion of Macedon, led his men to India and back in one the most stunning series of military campaigns ever seen. Genghis Khan united disparate tribes that had warred for centuries into a single, powerful nation, through little more than his indomitable will and sheer ruthlessness. The Mongol nation brought the ancient and powerful Chin empire to its knees, before marching east into modern day Iraq and Afghanistan, decimating huge armies and numerous cities along the way. Millions died by the word of the Great Khan.

Let us not forget the human scale of what such warfare means. Death, suffering and misery are the output of conquest. But, as it often is with humankind, one must accept these hard truths to see how vital such things are to our species. In a utopian world, where violence and suffering were but distant memories, where would we see the courage, honour, comradeship and self-sacrifice that are an indelible part of war? In an uncaring universe where all of our history is but the blink of an eye, only those species with the will and power to become ever stronger can hope to prosper. What would happen to us if, in this age of convenience and technological reliance, we lost that primitive, fundamental urge? If we ever do discover sentient, advanced life on another planet, our history indicates that violence sooner or later would be probable. Would we have the strength to prevail?

Sunday, 24 October 2010

The nature of death metal

I have been asked many times what exactly death metal is. This question has come from a variety of people, most of whom had little or no idea this type of music existed. It is not surprising that few outside of death metal circles know about it. The genre is, by its nature, somewhat reclusive and inward-looking. Disdaining popular forms of media, the genre has created its own niche where the bands, fans, critics and media are drawn from the same collective. For example, I consider myself first and foremost a fan of death metal. It is the music form that speaks to me more than any other, and that I would choose to listen to every time. I also create death metal, blasting out with my bro Micky in Decapitated Saint. Finally, I debate and analyse the genre, with my webzine’ Exclusive Extremity as well as this, and hopefully further, posts. This is something you would not see with many other genres, where the performers are too rich and ’famous’ to stand in a sweaty crowd like normal fans, and critics speak from behind faceless newspapers and magazines.

 

The reasons for this are obvious if you look into the history of death metal. In the mid-80’s, bands such as Deicide, Cannibal Corpse, Obituary and others had shaped death metal into an emergent and powerful genre, in the process making sales far exceeding any modern death metal band true to the name. Unsurprisingly, numerous clones sprang up seeking to emulate their success with uninspired rip-offs. Death metal began to stagnate artistically, until it practically died out with the emergence of black metal in the early ‘90‘s.

It would be some time before death metal arose again, but, led by bands such as Nile, Devourment and Dying Fetus, and with a thriving underground, death metal has been born anew. Eschewing the trappings and popularity that once brought it low, death metal now stands proudly separated from the growing cesspit of modern popular music. Long may it stay that way.





But what is death metal. That is the question I am here to answer. Well, I can only answer with what death metal means to me. Death metal is a pure, undiluted expression of the primitive, bestial nature that runs through our species and yet which, since the Enlightenment and the dominance of New Testament theology- Nietzsche‘s slave morality- we have done our best to convince ourselves does not exist. It is not so much a railing against the sickening nature of the modern music ’industry’, as a constant dismissal and therefore independence from it. Death metal exists and shall live or die upon its’ own merit, independent of anything outside of itself. That is how it must be.  

Aside from that, I can’t deny that I just fucking love to headbang till my neck hurts and slam some people in the moshpit to some brutal ass shit. After all, I doubt I would be listening to death metal if I didn’t enjoy it so damn much.

Monday, 11 October 2010

The need to fight part I

For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated with the human need to visit violence upon one another. Don't get me wrong, I'm a quiet, peaceful guy, I don't go round picking fights and I'd rather get along with people. But I have always held this deep interest in the propensity our species displays to fight one another.



From a one-on-one fist fight to all out warfare, fighting is a fundamental part of human nature. Ever since the first caveman decided to hit his neighbour over the head with a big rock, human beings have fought one another for almost every reason imaginable. Honour, greed, pride, religion, love, fear, the list is endless.

My interest in fighting began at a young age. A love of Bruce Lee and Claude van Damme films led to me taking up Shotokan Karate at five. I spent five years doing karate, reaching 2nd Kyu Brown and White belt.

For a few years I didn't really train any martial arts, though I maintained an avid interest in fighting and war, particularly ancient military history.

In University, I took up Ninjitsu which involved an interesting mix of techniques, from pressure points and grappling to weapons training. Ninjitsu is one the few martial arts that teaches weapon use from the beginning, mainly the bokken (wooden training sword around the size and shape of a katana), tanto dagger and bo staff. Ninjitsu was a great experience, but I had yet to find the fighting style truly perfect for me.



This finally happened about a year ago, when the Tony Jaa film Ong Bak sparked an interest in Thai martial arts, particuarly Muay Thai and Muay Boran (the collection of techniques used in Thai boxing prior to the introduction of modern equipment and rules). Mixed with a growing passion for MMA, I began to feel a strong need to start training once again. The obvious choice was Muay Thai, and I have the fortune of living less than two minutes walk to a top notch Thai gym, the Shor-Chana School of Thai Boxing. I have been training there for a few months now, and love every minute of it. Muay Thai is the perfect martial art for me, and I intend to be doing it for many years to come.

LIVE REVIEW- Dead Haggis Deathfest, 28th August 2010, London

DEAD HAGGIS DEATHFEST- 28th August 2010, The Underworld, Camden, London

It’s about 2:10 pm and, after a long coach ride down from Preston followed by a couple of pints and a bacon butty for breakfast, things are about to kick off for the inaugural Dead Haggis Deathfest. With a line-up like this one, it's no wonder there is already an atmosphere of tense expectation. The kings of slam are finally coming to town. But preceding that, we have a stellar collection of bands to enjoy.

Hull’s INTRORECTALGESTATION open proceedings. Reduced to a three-piece, they demonstrate how they have matured as a band since I last saw them, a good couple of years ago at Satan’s Hollow. Their brand of fast paced deathgrind clearly pays homage to the likes of Morbid Angel and Crytopsy, yet retains that uniquely British sound.

Locals EMBRYONIC DEPRAVITY have been making some waves in the death metal world of late. And judging from their performance today, it's easy to see why. Their music is a twisting, blasting wall of sound that yet retains audibility and doesn’t cover the obvious technicality of their work in impenetrable fuzz (big props also to the soundman, who performed as well as any of the bands). Rob Newson’s vocals are a guttural sludge a la Disgorge (US), and the whole thing ties together very nicely.

Due to the late cancellation of Repulsive Dissection (due to those pesky immigration officials again!!), INFECTED DISARRAY follow their fellow Londoners. Featuring alumni of Gorerotted, Detrimentum, Beef Conspiracy and Twitch of the Death Nerve, Infected Disarray have a clear death metal pedigree. However, their non-stop, churning, technical and complex-as-hell tracks often lack the savage simplicity that makes so much death metal sound great live. This isn’t to say the music, and the performance, isn’t worthwhile. It’s good stuff. But a little more variety and some easier to follow sections would go down better live.

This is exactly what Swiss band CARNAL DECAY bring. Their mix of Dying Fetus-esque chopping grind and ‘so heavy it nearly goes through the floor’ slams are an absolute treat. These guys take things back to basics, with simple yet highly enjoyable slams and a kinda old school feel to some sections. This savage simplicity can be seen in song titles too, such as Chopping Off the Head (the name of their new album too), giving a Cannibal Corpse-esque feel.  Michael Kern is an enjoyable front man with a terrific voice, who keeps the growing crowd lively.  Their final track is, apparently, “all about titties”, which is always a good thing in my book. Watch out for these guys.

Glasgow-based CEREBRAL BORE are up next. Guitarist Paul McGuire is the man responsible for this gig, but Cerebral Bore show this had nothing to do with them playing this high up the set list. Having seen them a couple years ago and found them not to my personal taste, I was pleasantly surprised to find Cerebral Bore have expanded and evolved their sound, keeping the best bits of the old and adding in a whole host of the new. First and foremost, the vocals (always a deal-breaker for me and one of the things that put me off previously) are superb. I was even more surprised when I realised they were coming from a female, new vocalist Simone "Som" Pluijmers. The music too is more varied, mature and memorable. Another excellent set and this thing is really getting into swing now.

AMAGORTIS, another Swiss group, are up next. Playing the tried and tested mixture of guttural vocals and huge slams, they execute a memorable set that avoids the tired blandness that perpetuates amongst the horde of wannabe slam bands who can only crow in frustration at their lack of creativity. Amagortis are well above this pack, taking us on a tour of some of the best elements of this style, from huge, chunky slams to Crepitation-esque, high-pitched squeals.  Recently signed to Brutal Bands Records, and pushing new album Intrinsic Indecency, this is no less than expected both in style and quality. New track Carnivorous Crackpipe Consumption, in particular, is impressive.
So far, the quality of death metal on display here has been top notch. But something a little different feels needed at this point, something to shake things up a little.

Israeli act VISCERA TRAIL provide it with perfect timing. Vocalist Sharaf Ostfeld leaps around the stage wearing what appears to be an over-sized nappy smeared with...well I don’t really want to know to be honest! His infectious energy, shared by the other members, wild caveman-like hair and frog-burp vocals (reminiscent of Cerebral Effusion) turns up the temperature a notch, and the crowd respond enthusiastically. My only criticism is I am really not a fan of shouted backing vocals, something guitarist Tomer Hasenfratz makes frequent use of.    

Another Brutal Bands signing, HUMAN MINCER, follow. The Spanish quartet are the first band to play an extended set (45 mins opposed to 25 mins for the previous sets), but the time simply flies by as they pummel the audience with more brutal sickness. Taking a step backwards (time-wise that is) from the modern focus on technicality and huge, stomping breakdowns, Human Mincer show glimpses of Suffocation and Hate Eternal, maintaining a near constant barrage of blastbeats and shredding riffage. Human Mincer are yet another top-quality band, and provide another quality performance.

The time is nearly upon us, but first we have one of the fastest rising, and most impressive, death metal bands in Europe- Italy’s PUTRIDITY. Promoting their second full-length, Degenerating Anthropophagical Euphoria, Putridity are, in a word, awesome. Slab after slab of chunky, slam-filled musical madness are churned out, accompanied by some sick gurgling from vocalist, Paolo. Whilst there is a bit of a feeling that people are saving themselves a little for what is to come next, Putridity still get a great, and much deserved, response.

As the stage is prepared, a palpable sense of excitement can be felt in every corner of the venue. From the last second of Putridity’s set, few people even leave the room for a smoke, such is the excitement at what is to come. Despite being formed fifteen years ago and the fact they have been considered the kings of brutal slamming death metal for much of that time, DEVOURMENT had yet to play on English shores (though this was in no small part do to British immigration officials). Now, that has been set straight. Devourment are simply incredible. Every track is top-quality. From old-classics like Festering Vomitous Mass to new tracks, such as Fed to the Pigs, from new album Unleash the Carnivore, everything simply rules. The band are clearly as excited to be here as we are to have them, and are whirlwind of energy. The crowd go utterly insane, stage-diving left and right and putting on by far the biggest pit of the night. An early one-two of Babykiller and Masturbating at the Slab (my two favourite Devourment tracks) is the highlight of the entire night. And what a night, and day, it has been. After top-notch displays by some of the best underground death metal bands around, Devourment cap things off perfectly. The Texans prove, once again, that not only are they the first kings of guttural slamming death metal, they are still the kings of kings. And boy do we love to worship at their throne.