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Dann Says: Mommy, Can I Go Out And Do Pleasant Things Tonight?

Good evening Beijing (you might not be reading this in the evening but it sound creepier or whatever).Once again we unfold the story of All Hallows’ Eve, that most brutal and shocking of days that descends on our sinister city once a year. Razor blade sin moon cakes and pumpkin kings and queens in the hutongs. Well, probably not if truth be told, just a lot of twats in costumes getting absurdly drunk in the same bars they always get absurdly drunk in, except this time they can dress up like their favourite Disney princess. Still, in celebration of this annual ritual of retardation this is a special themed edition of Dann Says featuring the lyrics of the most brutal and awesome of punk bands, The Misfits. Exceptall the lyrics I have chosen are Michael Graves era Misfits. Not a Danzig eralyric in sight. Yep. Happy Halloween!

Thursday: I really think MichaelGraves is a misunderstood genius of his generation. Aside from his airy-fairystage presence and his questionable right wing politics that he insists onbringing into his music, and his massively annoying face, he is actually amaster songsmith. “Anything is what she is, anywhere is where she's from,anything is what she'll be, anything as long as it's mine”...which reads likethe opening passage of the Great American Novel which has yet to be written.Maybe Michael Graves will write it. I think he will. He can do Anything.Meanwhile Danzig will still be masturbating over his rubbish fetish comicbooks. Anyway you can catch Japan’s Sabu Toyozumi, a like totally rad free jazzdrummer at School at 8pm, while Czech prog rockers Uz Jsme Doma will be taking it to the river at Temple from 9p.m, and at DDC you can dig Norwegian touring acts Postiljonen, SivJakobsen, and Pandreas from 8p.m.

Friday: “Whaaoo descending angel stand by myside, whaaoo we'll face the night, descending angel whaaoo, who guard the gates of hell, just one more night, whaaoo” ... You see, those “whaaoo” sare deep, man. They could really be taken as metaphors for the suffering of allhumanity past, present and future. Graves really knew how to nail them. I mean how many Danzig songs can you think of that have “whaaoo”s in them? That’s right, not many. So, first of all take your sorry behind to Fruity shop for the ghoulishly rad lineup of GUIGUISUISUI ,Meng Qi, Filthy Bill and Pussy Catastrophe which all kicks off from 8p.m. It’s going to a horror show of weird sounds and twisted performance, all in celebration of the latest GUIGUISUISUI EP, a limited run of 30 split tapes with Black Science from New Zealand. Get on it. Meanwhile over at MAO it’s Devil’s Night O’Clock with Scare The Children、Bloody Woods, Crack, Punisher and Zuriaake as part of 330 metal fest, like a special day-before-Halloween thing. Looks rad. 8p.m start. And out at Moron *cough*, sorry, I mean MODERN Sky Lab there’ll be a show that has ef all to do with Halloween but some strong crossdressing vibes with Wusoazi, TheHarridans, Time Capsule, and Irreversible from 8p.m.

Saturday :“ There's 52 ways to murder anyone ,one or two are the same, and they both work as well , I'm coming clean for Amy, Julie doesn't scream as well ,and the cops won't listen all night and so maybe, maybe I'll be over, just as soon as I fill them all in” Yes, that’s right, we’re going to crying on a Saturday night. Crying because Michael Graves isn’t as big as Justin Bieber , even though he should be. Sob. Alright, alright first up go to Temple for the annual Halloween hoedown. They’re pre-gaming with a screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and then it’s a cascade of power chords and full frontal nudity with Beijing Misfits, Fanzui Xiangfa, Bad Nerve, and Quick Shot from 10p.m. Meanwhile MAO is going big, starting from 5p.m with the killer line up of Fastkill, Explosicum, Demerit, Bad Manasan, Scare The Children, Hell City, Excited Insects, Skullcrusher, Cars Cars Cars, Miss Mix and Tumour Boy. God Lord! And hey, School are hosting Japanese folk artist Kan Mikami, something which has nothing to do with Halloween from 8p.m. Respect for taking it in another direction.

Sunday :“ People dying every night, mutilation's aterrible sight, look 'round the victims real hard, scarecrow's death, strawcalling card...” How’s that hangover going? Hungover and still covered in face paint, winning combo, right? Yeah I thought so. Well, once you put yourself back together you could take a trip to Yungong Yishan to check out Anu Junnonen, a Finnish vocalist who is apparently pretty damn good. Not as good as Michael Graves though. 8p.m doors.

Next week : “ Of all the things they taught you, I'm tellingyou this, son: all the wars fought before won't compare to this one, giant spiders prepare...to take over” Man, I know I keep going on about this but the literary allusions Graves gives us in these songs...once again, misunderstood in our time, but mark my words future generations will uncover unparalleled depths in this master pieces. Anyway, Monday, nothing. Brush your teeth. Get some sleep. Shrug.

Tuesday, Dream Horse and One Hung Low at DDC from 8p.m. When I lived in South Korea I used to work for a man who constantly maderacist / sexist/ homophobic jokes. One of them was to “not let your girlfriend hang out with your Chinese friend Hung Tu Long”. When I see One Hung Low I can’t help but think of that vile joke and I really hope my ex-boss is writhing inagony somewhere. Prick. I’m also reminded of when he told me he had some really “far out” music in his iTunes library (alarm bells right there: somebody who claimed to have been the editor of a music magazine and yet had no physical music artifacts anywhere in his depressing hole of a house). His “far out” collection basically consisted of Jason Mraz, U2 and The Beatles. Whao. WHAO! Hang on there buddy, you are indeed melting my feeble mind with your outlandish musical tastes! I think of this because The Beijing Beatles will be playing DDC next Wednesday from 8p.m. I hope their music collections exist outside of iTunes.

That’s it Beijing...I’ll be seeing you again...in Taco Bell! (HA!)


The pig charged forward, thrusting his rake into a huddle of robed monstrosities. Lightning crackled around the rake’s head, discharging as it made contact with he belly of an acolyte. White light exploded out of its hood and it fell limp to the ground, plumes of smoke bellowing from within the robe. The pig charged on down the murky candlelight tunnel, swinging the rake from side to side. The cat followed behind, writing brush in hand. Her left ear twitched to the side momentarily and without a thought she wheeled around on her heel, tearing through the air with the brush, an arc of white light cutting through the air and slicing a bloated figure wielding an axe straight down the middle. She turned and continued on as the two halves of the corpse thudded against the filthy flag stones.

At the end of the dim passage way they came to a narrow staircase that spiraled down into the guts of the necropolis. The cat went first, lighting their way with the brush. Down and down they went into darkness, which ever the cat’s eyes struggled with. The way was cramped and narrow, the ancient bricks coated in a green slime that oozed down the steps, making them precariously slippery underfoot. Occasionally a brick would be loose or cracked and they had to hang out to the equally slippery walls to stop them tumbling down the curved stairway. Down, down, down, deep into the pit they went. It got hotter and the air began to taste stale, yet there was no time to spare as they knew the minions of the Necropolis wouldn’t be far behind.

Suddenly the cat stopped. The pig bumped into the back of her, almost sending them both tumbling forward. The cat slowly turned to the pig and raised a single digit to her black lips. They stood very still in the dark, with the heat and the sickly sweet of the thick air. The cat crouched down and her ears twitched back and forth as she listened to sounds reflecting up the stairs. Then she straightened up and began whipping the writing brush back and forth through the air. A stallion made of burning light exploded into the cramped confines of the stairway, blasting radiant light into the darkness. It reared up on the steps in front of them, the top of its fiery mane licking the bricks of the ceiling. The heat blasted off of it, causing the cat and pig to turn away. The horse galloped away down the stairs, its flaming hooves didn’t even touch the steps as it rounded the tight corner and disappeared, leaving them with the dim glow of the brush’s ember once again. They stood and listened to the sound of fire swooshing through the dead air, growing fainter and fainter. A little while later a chorus of agonised screams echoed up the staircase, followed by silence. The cat and pig continued their descent.

When a sickly, pale light began to creep up the stairs they knew they had reached the bottom. They found themselves in a small room, dusty mustard bricks making up the floor, walls and ceiling. On either side of the room dozen of emancipated arms issued out from the walls, no more than bones wrapped in leather-like flesh. Draped in cobwebs gnarled hands hung limp. Upon the cat and pig’s entrance many of their hands started to animate, reaching out, broken fingers clawing at the air with a painful, arthritic sluggishness. At the other end of the room the center piece hung down from the ceiling: a sack of dark brown flesh, covered in black sinew. It was supported by a hammock of tubes and veins through which liquids flowed. It gave off a sickyl luminescence that was lighting the room, the light pulsing as it heaved in and out, as if breathing.

Directly beneath the sack and framed between the clawing hands was a door cut into the wall. In fact it wasn’t so much a door as more of a section of brick that had been cut away and then replaced again. I was far too small for a normal sized person to fit through, only somebody on their hands and knees could possibly enter or exit. The cat knew straight away what she was looking at. She turned and poked the pig’s flabby side through the folds of his disgusting robes and pointed at the tiny door. The pig took a moment to survey the scene before them and then shrugged. He waddled forward, passing beneath the heaving sack, which seemed to expand and contract more quickly as he approached. He shrugged off the decaying fingers clawing at his robes and arrived at the tiny entrance way. He turned , dropped the head of the rake to the ground and gave it one hard swing. It connected with the brick and lightning flashed. Brick and mortar exploded past the pig, debris and dust raining down and coated everything in the room. The pig knelt down and reached into the hole he’d smashed in the wall. He struggled with something inside, his large backside wobbling from side to side. He pulled something out and stood up. Turning he walked back towards the cat, rake in one hand, a slimy mess in the other. The hands scratched frantically at him as he passed and the the sack began pulsating very quickly, causing the light to blink on and off rapidly.

The pig dropped the slimy mess at the cat’s feet. She knelt down and inspected the mangle of gunk, tubes, and sinew. She reached out and began clawing the filth away, and dirtied fur began to emerge. She wiped away more and suddenly discovered the terrified face of a hare looking back at her. It’s red eyes met with her tea coloured ones. Its voice came out in a spluttered whisper,

“Who are you?”

“Somebody who needs your help.”