from Lydia Lunch’s concert review of Big Black at CBGB’s 1/2/87
RAM-BATTERING WITH BRUTALLY BUTT-FUCKING GUT-BUSTERING BALLS-OUT BLITZKRIEGS OF SHEER POETRY AND PAIN, I WAS PULVERIZED INTO NEAR OBLIVION AS WALL AFTER WALL OF FRUSTRATION, HEARTACHE, HATRED, DEATH, DISEASE, DIS-USE, DISGUST, MISTRUST, & MAELSTROM STORMED THE STAGE WAGING WAR WITH MILITARY PRECISION INSISTENTLY INVADING EVERY OPEN ORIFICE WITH THE STRENGTH OF TEN THOUSAND BULLS, AS JACK-HAMMERING ON THE BASE OF MY SPINE WITH A BUCK KNIFE-BURNED THE DREAM OF MY HANDS WRUNG FIRMLY AROUND HIS THROAT. PARKED IN PITCH-BLACK OVERLOOKING SOME STINKING, USELESS, LIFELESS HELLHOLE GARBAGEPLOT WHERE NEITHER OF US WANTED TO LIVE OR DIE, WHERE FOR 32 SECONDS OF HIS MEASLY LOUSY LIFE HE WASN’T IN TOTAL CONTROL OF HIS SKINNY, TIGHT NECK, TAUT, POWERFUL, RHYTHMIC THRASHINGS, THOSE IRRESISTIBLE REPETITIONS, SUCKING YOU INTO AN INCREDIBLE POUNDING LIKE A HEAD AGAINST A WINDSHIELD OVER & OVER & OVER THE BANGING BRUTALITY, SQUEEZING, FORCE-FEEDING HIM HIS OWN LOVE/HATE/LIFE/DEATHTRIP FLIRTATIONS IN REVERSAL. TO DO TO HIM WHAT HE DOES TO ME. A REAL LIVE BLISTERING “HAMMER PARTY” & THE BEAUTY OF THE BEATING, A SMOULDERING SUFFOCATION. BONE-CRUSHING BANG-GANG WHERE ALL MOTIVES ARE AS ONE, A LOADED GUN CRAMMED INTO THE CENTER OF HIS BRAIN, SCREAMING PULL THE TRIGGER, PULL THE TRIGGER, PULL THE TRIGGER. BIG FUCKING BLACK, MAN. KILL.
from Lydia Lunch’s concert review of Big Black at CBGB’s 1/2/87
RAM-BATTERING WITH BRUTALLY BUTT-FUCKING GUT-BUSTERING BALLS-OUT BLITZKRIEGS OF SHEER POETRY AND PAIN, I WAS PULVERIZED INTO NEAR OBLIVION AS WALL AFTER WALL OF FRUSTRATION, HEARTACHE, HATRED, DEATH, DISEASE, DIS-USE, DISGUST, MISTRUST, & MAELSTROM STORMED THE STAGE WAGING WAR WITH MILITARY PRECISION INSISTENTLY INVADING EVERY OPEN ORIFICE WITH THE STRENGTH OF TEN THOUSAND BULLS, AS JACK-HAMMERING ON THE BASE OF MY SPINE WITH A BUCK KNIFE-BURNED THE DREAM OF MY HANDS WRUNG FIRMLY AROUND HIS THROAT. PARKED IN PITCH-BLACK OVERLOOKING SOME STINKING, USELESS, LIFELESS HELLHOLE GARBAGEPLOT WHERE NEITHER OF US WANTED TO LIVE OR DIE, WHERE FOR 32 SECONDS OF HIS MEASLY LOUSY LIFE HE WASN’T IN TOTAL CONTROL OF HIS SKINNY, TIGHT NECK, TAUT, POWERFUL, RHYTHMIC THRASHINGS, THOSE IRRESISTIBLE REPETITIONS, SUCKING YOU INTO AN INCREDIBLE POUNDING LIKE A HEAD AGAINST A WINDSHIELD OVER & OVER & OVER THE BANGING BRUTALITY, SQUEEZING, FORCE-FEEDING HIM HIS OWN LOVE/HATE/LIFE/DEATHTRIP FLIRTATIONS IN REVERSAL. TO DO TO HIM WHAT HE DOES TO ME. A REAL LIVE BLISTERING “HAMMER PARTY” & THE BEAUTY OF THE BEATING, A SMOULDERING SUFFOCATION. BONE-CRUSHING BANG-GANG WHERE ALL MOTIVES ARE AS ONE, A LOADED GUN CRAMMED INTO THE CENTER OF HIS BRAIN, SCREAMING PULL THE TRIGGER, PULL THE TRIGGER, PULL THE TRIGGER. BIG FUCKING BLACK, MAN. KILL.
