"On the Victim House-label, two days ago, Black Baron released a four-tracked album on cassette. An album titled “Divine Chains“, with agony channeled through a modest landscape of “dream”-punk and post-punk. One thing to note is their wonderful melodies, which sure are apt to be described as just dreamy. Which gives the “dream”-punk title more justice. Everything from the agonized vocals to the earnest intentions of the music, are incredible. They’re not the stiff incarnation of unoriginal post-punk that have been flooding the gates lately, because they’re kind of doing their own things, which gives a lot of pleasure to your ears. Instead of listening to the recanting of dozen post-punk bands out there.”
4 track album
This is one of my favourite tapes of the year. It’s especially refreshing with all this deathrock and post-punk revival, as this is one of the only things I’ve heard that isn’t gloomy in an edgy way. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the current revival in darker punk things, but c’mon…you’re not Rozz Williams, you’re not a witch, etc., etc. Anyway, I guess Black Baron is more reminiscent of The Cure, Slowdive, and such things, but their influences don’t take over their sound as they still manage to create something that’s uniquely theirs.
Get sad and grab a tape over at Victim House.
- That’s a nice watch, bitch.
- I said, that’s a nice fuckin’ watch. Won’t you let me try it on?
- No. It’s mine.
- Hey, I’m not gonna steal it or nothin’ I just wanna see it. Were friends, aren’t we?
Just then the boy with buzzed hair and a mean face thrust his knee up into the gut of his victim, causing him to squeal slightly and slink down farther against the wall. This gave the mean boy’s hands, which clenched at his victim’s collar, that much more power and inclination to waste the fool he held hostage.
- Nnnnnnhhhggghoow. Just let me go—I have to go to the washroom—really—really—I do really bad.
- Shut the fuck up.
Out from his pocket the buzzed, mean faced boy pulled a pocket knife and slowly traced the outlines of the victim’s slowly protruding Adam’s apple—treading the waters between detention and juvenile hall.
Now let me try your watch on.
Of course he gave him the watch.
Off he ran.
The boy with buzzed hair and mean face was an A.C.E. None of the children knew what the acronym actually stood for, but only that they were older kids on the verge of growing facial hair and were extensively cruel and ill-mannered. The A.C.E. classrooms were on the top floor of the school where elementary schoolers rarely roamed for fear of scrutinizing gazes and clenched fists—oh the looming threat of adolescent pubescence. Pricks will soon grow hair and popping pustules will soon alienate the face from confidence’s cold and loving embrace.
Stories often brew out of places that the eyes seldom see or where the feet fear to roam. The children of the classrooms below were united in their fear of the upper rooms of the old building because of the roaming rumours of murder and custodial torture chambers. The thought was enough to induce claustrophobia in the least claustrophobic of men and women. It was known that there had been a killing in the upper levels many years ago—that a disgruntled and bi-polar (or prone to bi-polar tendencies) janitor had ravaged a young boy in the mop closet and left him to bleed out until an untimely end. Many parents of the community would testify to this—and such is the duty of the parent to terrify youths into good behaviour. And so there grew a haunting air amongst the school which fueled childhood dreams of death and unholy apparitions.
The children would taunt and tease each other when passing the staircase that led one’s feet up to the A.C.E. classrooms. They’d push one another onto the stairs until some noise from above jaunted them into a hysterical outbreak of scampering and screaming down the halls.
- Weeeooooaaaaahhh-weeewaaaaaaa—He’s gonna getcha!
- No no no, he’s gonna get you! Outta my way!
- Gentlemen! Quit your incessant screaming and head to class. I’m tired of this—damn children yelling and screaming about as if possessed by the Fiend himself, for heaven’s sake.
But at night the children would dream of that haunting scene that played itself out so often in their minds. And thus begins one’s fascination with death and the dealings of dark shadows and fiends alike.”
Black Baron plays “The Cold Fluorescent Lights of Blinding Shame” @ This Aint Hollywood on June 18th 2013 in Hamilton, Ontario. More dates and a tape to come soon.
Victimhouse.com is temporarily down and out, but you can still buy stuff at victimhouse.bigcartel.com.