HEX
FILES: DAMIEN YOUTH by Mick Mercer (UK) (Taken from the book HEX FILES) |
And here he is, the real star of the book, right at the end of it all. Edgar Allen Poe just picked up a guitar. Damien, you will be relieved to hear, can create songs that are totally 1996 - stalking through the fog of distorted electrics - and also 1669, as he strums his way into the center of your soul. He is highly unusual. The Westgate Gallery says "Damien weaves ballads of love and melancholy... like a ghost wind that caresses from afar" ...he is the voice of the '90s, and beyond, with the presence and depth to tap into and awaken the spiritual essence of all mankind. Blimey, you're all thinking, what a load of cobblers! Think again. |
| Strange
as it may seem, everything claimed for this man is true. I'm even prepared
to believe that small children stop him in the streets, if they have streets
in the backwoods of Hammond, Louisiana, and gasp '"Say mister, aren't
you a chrysalis of flame?" |
| He has a quite astonishing range of styles, although at the heart of it all is his majestically lush voice, and a winning way of teasing beautiful melodies from an acoustic guitar! Instead of being folk (music that generally makes you want to attack those responsible), this is a timeless approach . It stirs an instant emotional effect, partly because of it's superbly interesting lyrics, but also because while the man is totally unconventional in the way that he is doing things, there is a conventional aspect here which means he can appeal to everyone from the underground to the mainstream. You can adapt easily to whatever it is he is doing and lose yourself in his inventive stories. (Halfway between the Salem witch trials and the X-Files, his beady eyes notice everything.) |
| Previously involved with things called Insect Chandelier and Strychnine Temple, he now has two releases available under his own name, CANDLE ROOM and FESTIVAL OF DEATH. I've virtually glued his tapes into my walkman since I received them and you'll do the same, as both will hang you up by your ribcage on a little hook, where you can froth and writhe about in stark amazement at just what emerges. Nobody does it better, but then again, nobody does it like this. NOBODY! |