2008-02-23 13:21:44 ET|
[If you want to circulate my work around the Internet, please give me some fucking credit. K.Thx.Bye]
The Vanity Kills Guide to Dating Noise Boys
Are you tired of men that?
* Possess basic social skills
* Have a future
* Can hold their own in a fight.
If the answer is a resounding yes, then you need to find yourself a rare and elusive creature called a "Noise Boy".
Often found occupying Brooklyn basements, where they swill PBR and listen to the galling sounds of some quasi-right wing, 90 pound pipsqueak with a sampler and a vendetta against that Jewish girl that turned him down in high school. He now nurses that wound and his 15 fans have dubbed him a messiah. Cause no, nobody ever sampled "Triumph of the Will" before. And you better develop a taste for it, since that's precisely what you're getting yourself into.
Are you excited yet? Yes?! Good... Keep reading.
A word of advice before you take the journey where very few, oh so very few girls have gone before. He'll be amusing at first; you might even find the devotion to his "art" cute in some pathetic way. But buyer beware, a few months into this bizarre arrangement you might find yourself tired of turning every time you fuck into a "recording" session, you're sick of your private pictures being the cover artwork of his CD-R releases and telling you to wriggle like a fucking eel mid blowjob really kills the mood.
They're a "Love 'em and Leave 'em" breed for sure. Trust me, you don't want to date a guy who will forget your first anniversary and leave you cold, due to the fact that he was in the midst of composing his latest masterpiece, "The Ode to the Sine Wave". A year is a generous estimate, since you'll probably be good and ready to move on after the 3rd time he makes you watch a recorded performance of his favorite artist, Merzbow, the king of that East Asian archipelago that we all know and love.
Bonus points: He will write a CD devoted to you after you dump him. It will involve making love to your corpse, 'cause he's charming like that.
Remember, he's not the type of guy who has to beat ladies off with a stick. Thus, the memory of you will really linger. This should at least tickle your ego a bit. After all, you DO deserve some sort of recognition after spending your past 20 Saturday nights in his room, because every 6th day of the week was always "Obscure Swedish Noise Act" appreciation night. The first night you wore a corset, since you stupidly expected him to take you somewhere. He bitched about how long it took to remove it when he was FINALLY in the mood. Yeah, you most certainly DO deserve the credit, because quite frankly YOU
THE GOLDEN RULE OF DATING NOISE BOYS: His number of distortion pedals is inversely proportional to his number of past girlfriends.
Let's get to the meat of the matter now, shall we?
DETECTION: A trip to Mecca is in order. Attend a noise festival. North America and Europe offer a wide variety of choices throughout the year. The more arcane and off the wall the acts on the bill are, the better your chances of being the only female in attendance. It shouldn't really be an issue either way. Take it from someone who attends these things, they're fucking sausage parties.
DRESS APPROPRIATELY: Nothing captivates the heart of a socially awkward, elitist, self important prick more than a female who sports a girlie sized T-shirt of some obscure power electronic act. Don't have a favorite obscure power electronics act, you say? Then why the fuck go through all the trouble of dating noise nerds? You can just get yourself a nice rivet boy with a Claus Larsen haircut, a Skinny Puppy shirt and an IT day job. At least he'll buy you something once in a while, unlike the noise boy who pours all his money into buying rare vinyl and tape releases. Yes, the force of compulsive E-bay purchases is strong with this one. You'll also have to compete for attention with his many distortion pedals, but I digress.
TRACKING DOWN "THE ONE": Locate your target. Helpful Hint: Skip right over the guys who are in female presence in any shape or form. I assure you that those are the "girlfriends" who had to be dragged there kicking and screaming. The more agonizing the look on the girl's face, the longer they've been dating. The good news is a normal human being can only take so much of this aural punishment. So, if you have your heart set on a man that is already taken, don't fret. He'll most likely get dumped within a 6 month period. After that - GAME ON! For extra credit look for the ultra pretentious specimen of male. He'll be the guy wearing the shirt adorned with the logo of some Japnoise act that stopped putting anything out after 1989 and all their releases were tape only. Said shirt will probably have some form of dismembered animal on it. If that fails, simplify your life by finding the guy in the God Blast America T-shirt.
BAITING: Casually walk on over and as you near his vicinity, pretend to trip. He'll have to catch you. As he pulls you up, notice his shirt and compliment some random release in said act's discography. He will get an erection on sight, upon discovering that something with a vagina potentially shares his tastes in this bizarre subgenre of electronic music. His favorite, shitty, no name ensemble to boot. Pull this off correctly and you've just made yourself one hell of an impression. Don't forget to mention how you appreciate the fact that it's, "Oh so nice to meet someone who still appreciates music with some artistic merit to it". Also, mention how power noise is for "noobs" who have no clue. Try to ignore the obvious wet spot on his pants. Finally, a girl that "gets him".
It's his lucky day indeed.
INSERTING "THE HOOK": Our hero is quite used to lovely, young ladies such as yourself falling asleep while standing, as he goes on about the virtues of trading tapes with his "soccer dad by day/ harsh noise douche bag every 3rd Saturday of the month" Internet friends in Portland. You will score a lot of points with him by pretending that you actually give a damn. You too can look interested on the outside while crying on the inside by following a few simple steps:
1. Smiling and nodding. Insert a token "Wow" or "That's awesome" when he stops rambling on about nonsense to take a breath. When he resumes [Oh and he will!], continue with the smiling and nodding, throwing in a random monosyllabic expression of forced awe when appropriate. It will make him feel wise and artistic.
2. To enhance his ego tenfold, by making him believe that you are truly floored by hearing his drivel, tilt your head a little to the right, while continuing to nod slightly. Follow that by arching your eyebrows and opening your eyes alertly, almost slightly bulging them to make yourself look like you're really paying attention. I have learned this trick at Goth clubs, when cornered by vampire types, left alone to fend for myself with no girlfriend to rescue me. It works great for all those times when you want to tune someone out yet still look like you're listening.
Upon getting to know him better you will find out that he DJs power electronics once a month in a run down bar in the seediest possible part of town[Surprise 1]. He also has a project of his own [Surprise 2]. Naturally, you've never heard of it and it's quite logical to assume that it sucks. A word to the wise, don't pretend that you heard either his so called DJ-ing or his joke of an act. He will easily smell a rat, because he lives to call people out and his main thrill in life is to prove to the world just how much obscure noise knowledge he possesses. If you claim to know and like his stuff, be sure that he will ask what the name of his first CD-R release limited to 5 copies distributed through his best friend's basement label was. If you fail to deliver the correct answer, his respect for you will be lost immediately and you best find yourself another victim. Keep in mind that he will question your own musical taste, so you best have some noise boy approved conversation topics ready. Good subjects to discuss are: "Neofolk as a refreshing alternative to the repetitive themes and cliché-ness of post industrial or Renn faire butt pirate music", "Pre versus post Peter Sotos Whitehouse" and "Why cultural terrorism makes the world a better place". No matter what you end up talking about, ultimately the conversation will always flow back to his favorite topic, his band. It's his raison d'etre [no pun intended] and the love of his life. He proceeds with slowly explaining to you how nothing in life other than death is certain and how we begin the process of maturation and slow decay the second that we are born. Evidently, he's convinced that he's the first jackass to discover the fact that the human body goes through the aging process, which he repeatedly refers to as "the cruel joke of time". That's his favorite phrase and he seems to find new and creative uses for sprucing up sentences with it. Which brings on an hour long monologue pertaining to how he developed his sound and christened his musical effort. Apparently, his one man wonder is called "The Nick of Time" and most of his sound sources are samples of amplified vintage clocks ticking. His name also happens to be Nick, which in his mind's eye makes him extra witty [Surprise 3]. Since you did such a good job when it came to faking interest by night's end he shoves a homemade, Xeroxed flyer in your hand. Apparently, he's playing some dive bar next Saturday night and since you're strangely attracted to him for some peculiar reason, against your better judgment you decide to go.
SHOW TIME: It's a date, boys and girls, but you really shouldn't treat it as one. Keep your cutest clubbing outfits, fancy hairstyles and festive makeup at home. Your safety depends on it. The bar he's playing at is in the absolute worst part of Brooklyn, it's a 2 hour train ride and you'll get dropped off a half mile away from the venue. Unless you like the local bums throwing $5 bills your way and demanding some head in return, I'd skip dressing up. Remember, your intended audience won't appreciate it anyway.
You arrive at the designated hole in the wall and upon entering you realize that getting sexually harassed on the train was oh so worth it. Consider this a preview of the rest of your relationship. The entire place is one giant health code violation that only serves warm PBR, because they cannot afford a refrigerator and you're not even sure if there is a bathroom. As you hold back nausea, you are greeted by the object of your misplaced affections, who immediately starts gushing about how the headliner for tonight is some guy from Norway who is known for his 3rd rate power electronics act which is nothing more than a fusion of Hanson songs and news reports about Catholic priests touching little boys. Somehow this is still considered groundbreaking. All of his friends pooled their money to buy him a plane ticket and thus you are witnessing the highlight of their
collective miserable lives.
BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE: The Norwegian guy doesn't go on 'till 4:00 a.m., so you have the pleasure of sitting through 6 opening acts which consist of 5 guys in different combinations. The stage setup consist of Band A unplugging their pedals and Band B plugging theirs in. The excitement is akin to watching paint dry or waiting for shit to load on a 56k modem. And to think that you turned down your girlfriends for a night of clubbing and martini drinking. You can't really tell how any of the acts sound different from one another. Save for Nick's clock fixation, it all just sounds like a Grey Wolves tribute night to you. You curse yourself for not bringing ear plugs, because any sort of production is a cardinal sin to these guys and thus you feel an aneurysm coming on from listening to something that sounds like amplified flatulence for 5 hours straight. Finally, at 5:30 in the morning he is ready to leave, but not without spending $100 on his Viking friend's "exclusive tour merch" which consist of "limited edition" DIY shirts done with puff paint. You get the honor of hauling his equipment out of the pub and onto the train. The Norwegian bids you goodbye by slapping your ass on the way out.
SWEET, SWEET LOVIN: You shouldn't be surprised to discover that his bedroom is located down in the basement of his Mother's house. Flyers of noise shows past decorate his walls along with crime scene photos and propaganda posters. A good 3/4 of his subterranean apartment is a shrine to out of print industrial records. After some small talk, the conversation turns to Szkieve and he shows you the 3". To be quite frank, you're not impressed with the CD either. Now is the time to lie on your back and count the tiles on his drop ceiling for a good 5 minutes or so. Yes, he's rather bland in bed, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Matter of factly, you should count your lucky stars to be with one of the vanilla ones. Always keep in mind the music that he listens to. Would you rather have him ask you to fulfill his latent oedipal fantasies by dressing up in his Mom's church clothes? Didn't think so. If you see him put on an IRM CD, get dressed at once and run as far away as fast as you can. Your dignity will thank you.
WELCOME TO THE REST OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP: It's been a few days/weeks/months and you're just a little bit tired of being with a man who considers arguing with random people on Internet forums about the "true meaning of noise" a good way to spend a weekend. You have to pay for everything, because all of his money goes to his releases, equipment and exceptionally abominable and out of print demos of his favorite bands that he religiously digs up on some Bulgarian distro's website. Not to mention the fact that he's still paying off his personal loan for funding an obscure, Scandinavian power electronics festival on North American soil. Alas, the the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back came in the form of discovering the fact that all of his effects pedals have girls' names. All this from a man who doesn't even know what color your eyes are. Enough is enough and you have had it. He's so absorbed with his efforts to write a 7" split in collaboration with one of his noise message board friends in Winnipeg, that attempts to break up with him in a traditional matter would go right over his head. Jumping this ship will require the right amount of bitchy finesse, but when it comes to noise boys the word subtle isn't exactly in their vocabulary. Get prepared to end this clusterfuck in a blaze of glory.
DENOUMENT: Patience is the key to success. Wait for an opportune moment such as a mid week show of his favorite act that he cannot attend due to the fact that he has no more days off work. Playing bullshit shows for 5 people in Pennsylvania on a Wednesday night really kills those vacation days. Make sure to find yourself in attendance of said show without your boyfriend's knowledge. While in Rome, don't turn down that out of place, lost looking rivet head guy in a generic power noise T-shirt, who is conveniently tempting you with free drink offers. He's pretty cute and since he's not really into harsh noise or power electronics he's a lot let less socially retarded than everyone else at the gig. Ironically, your new friend is the same guy that Nick got into a multi-thread flame war last week for posting Combichrist show flyers in his Live Journal noise community. Get a few free drinks in yourself courtesy of your noise challenged admirer and then proceed to plant yourself directly in front of the stage before his beloved ensemble goes on. Make sure to conveniently align your physical self right in front of the camera lens of whoever is photographing the show for the band's website. As the music plays, go ahead and obnoxiously make out with the guy you just met, making sure that you end up in some of the shots from the show that will be posted. As you know, Nick will be dying to see live pictures from the show that he tragically missed as soon as possible. What he'll find is you making out with some stranger. To make matters worse, it's a guy in a power noise T-shirt. That in itself is unforgivable. Expect shit to really hit the fan when suddenly he makes the connection between the Live Journal icon of his new Internet arch enemy and the guy that his girlfriend is sucking face with in those pictures. You're bound to get an overly dramatic "How could you? It's over. You only pretended to really get me and my music, while lying to me and frolicking with posers" phone call or e-mail in no time.
SURROGATE STRATEGY: If the above approach seems like too much work for you, there's a simpler, surefire way to get him to never speak to you again. It's as straightforward as inviting him over and leaving a Combichrist CD in plain sight. I assure you that from that day forward he'll be a ghost.
AFTERMATH: He'll turn all his inner rage , venom and all other noise boy versions of a broken heart into writing a CD dedicated to just how much of a bitch you are and how he'd slowly like to vivisect you. Naturally, this will make all of his friends curious about you, which will result in them looking you up on MySpace and masturbating to your pictures. Believe it or not, this will only simplify dating for you. You will be drenched with stigma and infamy of heartlessness which turns them on, so from this point on you will have your pick of the litter. This doesn't really say much, nor is it anything to brag about, but if you just can't help falling for guys with questionable music tastes and the personality of a plate it doesn't really get better than this.