(Image from Jodorowsky & Giménez’ Metabarons)
Rude 66’s cybernetic filth is an iron fist cast in leather pointing at the parallelisms between the dance cellar and the gothic catacomb. Metal and smoke, liquids changing colours under warped lights, bodies moving in and out of the shadows, faces gleaming with bodily fluids, mad eyes, teeth, cackling, cackling, cackling.
In a previous blurt included in the Sadistic Tendencies album, he took an early Jean Michel Jarre style ecological angel, clad it in a gimp suit, made its eyes strobe venom, and send it flying over the terrorized crowds like sort of anti-phoenix pterodactyl, he bad man, we love him so much.
He remains up to no good. In his most recent release in our admired Gooiland Elektro label, he generates one of those operatic body (horror) musiks that have been a constant presence in the history of this blog, and that could have been in the soundtrack of Ghosts of Mars if that film hadn’t been pants, in the soundtrack of Event Horizon if that film hadn’t been a comedy, or in the soundtrack of the first Dead Space game, if it had been a Kinect-integrated rhythm action game.
Hell is only a word. Dance, on the other hand…