Notes by Nev (Nevilluxury)
When your worlds square, you’re just living for cubes, corner Gigantic Days. The Punishment of Luxury musical world was full of new images of a future vision of how it would be when Fascicult Barbaraclique, (Fascist Cult a barbaric clique), were in control. The dusty surgeons cut out futures, the Emperor of Mediocrity rules the Empire of Idiots. Love decayed, Auschwitz remembered, repetition historic wimps waiting to return . In the real world where the unemployed, the untouchable and the excluded were called the filth and short sharp social shocks were the vogue, war was an extra flavour on the hopeless menu.
It seemed that the plants and insects, perhaps because of there tough shells and skins could resist the radiation and chemical warfare.
In this exceedingly bleak environment there was however hope, beyond the oppression, beyond the conspiracy theory, dark plans and cruel lips, there was a way forward in the Gigantic Days.
In a room in Jesmond, Newcastle, while touring with Mad Bongo theatre company 1977 (see drawings) Steve Sekrit and I discussed the possibilities of a visual production of Fascicult Barbaraclique. Some of the pram hood hat and cube head with wing mirrors concepts were inspired at that period along with the imagery of the huge dome, later to be the glass skinned sky or alien residency, a place where Fascicult slithered and the huge blood filled flies buzzed and gurgled.
Plants and Insects
Driven beneath the burning surface of the earth where all living dies the silent millions avoid the end. All life seems equal beneath the earth, where all the crawling survivors escape the pain, safe from the hate of Fascicult Babarclique.
Fascicult Barbaraclique
A concept of corporate oppression living under the acceptable skin of political institutions. When they have stock piled enough weapons, in their arrogance, they used them thinking they could survive and build a new world for themselves. Only selected people who passed through their social, spiritual template would be allowed to live in their own temple dome. Just as fascists believe in this master race madness, descent into a barbaric attitude quickly follows toward other races. Even if one regime is wiped out other ones will try the same sick trick. Divide and fool. History’s own repetition wimps, big boots little feat, (but they’ll never march again).
Love Decayed
I’ve experienced and witnessed homelessness in cities such Bombay (Mumbai), Belgrade and London and the stink is always the same. I’ve seen the demons, the screaming fiends that follow the phantasmogoriacs in tunnels and bridges. It’s like those who’ve felt the threat of the gun, the boot, the rejection can sleep, because fear is a cloak wrapped around them in the doorways, like a cozy coffin. Love seems like a thing unattainable to them yet somehow it’s deserved but rarely received. Outcasts, freaks, aliens, refugees, failures, fools, hopeless, abused, victims and the condemned. Yet through their eyes some see princes in rags and fools on thrones and at the same time wonder will they be the next rug that an opera goer trips over.. Some find junk some find Jesus. One day they’ll all be free. Love Decayed.
Empire of idiots
Where does the Emperor of Mediocrity rule? Who are his puppets, nodding dogs? How does this empire clique oppress its own people and plan to harm others. Enter the respectable raincoat, the dealer of vile weapons to help the small minded mans dreams come true. The soldiers of peace are receivers of bloated belly punishment, in a landscape of starved oppressed poor people, their sky darkened with the hollow balloon of false promises and coffin lid ideology. As the unnamed visionary said;
“The rich have become gas balloons, the poor, pointed sticks”.
No Admittance
The Punishment of gluttony on the desert landscape. No oasis.
Destiny
What price to enter the city? Only those would could afford it or bore the mark of the Barbaraclique . The excluded youth who were born in the darkness of the exile were considered dangerous as they seemed to have some hope and were not in awe of the empire, they were called the filth by the Mediocritics. These young people believed they had a different destiny than the one of rejection and poverty they experienced outside the city boundaries. They refused to wear the labels of worthlessness. They were aware of their potential in unity of purpose and realised that they could break the whole chain of oppression.
The truth was their strength, dreams were their inspiration, vision was the key.
Death and Boogie
Crush the dull roar. Tomorrow is no hopeless day. Wheels of misfortune no longer turn. Crystal Balls, rubbersoul. Let’s kick those statues down some say…Dead gods. Feels the dust in your hand. Gigantic days ahead. We have a gift so live.
Auschwitz
They said it couldn’t happen here. No repetition of this most hideous, cruel death camp. The old butchers heartless lips which gave those horrible commands. The persecuted, tortured, abused and murdered victims of the dead philosophy and venomvision of a fascist cult are remembered. In this song the conscious eye sees the trademark of the great deceivers and political conjurors and how they juggle with division and fear at the front while the beast they really create eventually appears from the rear to punish and annihilate those who were guilty of refusing to be moulded into a puppet life or simply belonged to the wrong race.
Although there are some reptiles of the mind who will seek to repeat the pain of gloom’s historic tricks a voice of resistance is still heard, a survivor, a warrior, an idealist, saying there’ll be no more Auschwitz. Just peace. New solutions. Our way. Some day.
All Change
All things must change and that’s for sure. This is a song of hope and vision. The Barbaraclique is exposed by those who are oppressed by it and they are unafraid to speak. The dusty surgeons in the dead empires who long to crush and cut out the truth still offer walk off parts in the government plays for those who will compromise. Their theories are challenged and propagated agendas congeal and turn to glue. Their banner of pride is now like a sticky fly paper flag where their army of huge blood filled flies crash and die. The ground begins to split and through the cracks the silent millions are free to watch the dome implode and an empire of hate in chaos. Some say they saw a reptile creature appear from the crumbling altars and statues and rise beyond the glass skinned sky into the naked black and red swirling clouds. The purpose of the oppression eventually fail, the dreams that money and death purchase are gone. Fascicult consumes one other in the hope of achieving more power more glory and of course survival, even a future. But there are many other survivors who begin to realise they are free, those who resisted, who never believed, who would not give in.
And the Millions crawl from the earth, like a sea of people to a new life, as plants and insects appear on the wild horizon of these Gigantic Days.