Welcome to my house! Enter freely, go safely, and leave some of the happiness you bring! … I am our Lady of Shadows, and I bid you welcome to this palace of darkness and dust, Gorgo, Mormo, the moon of a thousand faces always shines yellow and malevolent upon its spires, a wraith awaits around every corner and a gypsy curse lies hidden behind each door ready to spring like a bloated spider from its secret trap, our beds are soiled with the blood of virgins, and if you stare through the windows you shan’t see the dreadful and nebulous landscapes you crossed to arrive to these steps, but inconceivable dimensions of madness and lust with which this palace communicates, a gift from forces beyond your understanding earned through the undertaking of a thousand perverse deeds, this is the stuff that nightmares are made of, but then are they not sweeter than the dirge of that grey reality with which most mortals have to contend?
I see you look unsettled, it does take some time getting accustomed to the darkness, here, I’ll leave you in the hands of the Children of the Night, they will help you feel at home, listen to them, what music they make!
Fan Death sound like a black cat with iridescent emerald eyes teasing a mouse prior to its cruel, playful but intensely focussed dismemberment, oh, and disco, that string motif that kicks off ‘Veronica’s Veil’ grabs us by the pink lapels, hurls us into the centre of the dancefloor and impales our flesh with a merciless swarm of arrows so that we can become the late 70s NYC equivalent of St. Sebastian as painted by il Sodoma, taken to a quasi-religious ecstasy by the incandescent brilliance of the music engulfing us. Black like sin and sweet like salvation.
Writing an exultant disco song about a legendary relic used to wipe Jesus’ blood and sweat during the Stations of the Cross strikes us a bit genius, as is the way in which they create an alternative night vision to that of our beloved Italian stars Glass Candy, perhaps more muscular and upbeat, tracing the path of progressive masters Cerrone or Rinder and Lewis after they got lost in the crimson halls of Helena Markos’ Palace. Just check out the rest of their stuff and understand why they might well be our new favourite band.
Gatekeeper should have hailed from Haddonfield, Illinois, all cramped muscles, tension and the paranoia of a nebulous hallucination forever dancing in the periphery of your vision, their icy synthetic progressions unfurl in front of us like black pillars of smoke rising in the desolate streets of an empty suburban landscape from which everyone disappeared one spring night, TV still on, dinner cooling on the kitchen table, swings in a garden creaking ever so slightly – we still wonder what happened.
Or a silver blade held by a velvet fist cast in iron essaying a message of pain in the vertebrae of your spine, but not quite willing to deliver it yet, it’s all dark, the way we like it.
As it is they come from Chicago, which suits us fine and makes sense inasmuch their music has something of the Warehouse, just listen to ‘Mirrors’, which comes across like some sort of nightmarish scenario where Nitzer Ebb jacked Philip Glass’ studio during the recording of the Candyman soundtrack to inflict upon us one of the most gloriously macabre pieces of synthetic horror music we have had the pleasure to enjoy for a while, we can imagine such tableaux of carnage to these sounds!
In a city that never sleeps where the icey rain washes away the blood from a thousand slayings of the innocent, Diamond Vampires work at nite, lit by the dark side of the Moon. They lounge in the penthouse of a monolithic citadel that towers over the blue glass and granite landscape, pale vampirian flesh as cold as the brushed steel of the synthesisers that hum and click in an obsidian refrain of maddening mid tempo terror.
Its Friday nite in the city and all hell will break loose past the midnite hour. But until then, Diamond Vampires begin the chase for blood by constructing musical crystals from the frozen liquid in the stratosphere that then rains down rhythmically onto the phosphorescent spires of the unholy churches chiming a deeply malevolent beat, punctuated with slow motion attacks from the shadows by pan-dimensional creatures.
The day draws in and the violence from the previous nite is left encased in crystalline structures, the faces of the victims twisted, wide mouthed and bug-eyed in the last moments of terror. To escape the piercing burn of the sun, Diamond Vampires have retreated to the basement where they conspire with a coven of cosmopolitan witches to bring about sheets of rolling thunder and daggers of jagged lightning that will dance across the city with static discopic energy.
Disco with a horror edge will always prick up the ears of your 2OJFG acolytes, and we thank the gods that Diamond Vampires have only just begun constructing the sound of Chromatics synths recreating the white noise in Ian Curtis’ head and then cross-processing it with the most potent strains of space disco viruses and recording the whole thing in black and white underground tunnels.