Cripple Bastards – “Life’s Built On Thoughts” 7″
release date:
Late 1993
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LINE-UP:
Giulio the Bastard – vocals
Alberto the Crippler – guitar
Michele Hoffman – drums
Label: A-Wat Records
Recorded in 1993
> Released in late 1993, no cat. # mentioned, 1000 copies made out of 2 different pressings. no ltd editions on colored wax.
> The 1st pressing (500 copies) has “LIFES” instead of “LIFE’ S” written on the front cover and has a 1-sided b/w insert with lyrics + the flyer of a studio for graphic design enclosed // the 2nd pressing (500 copies) has the front cover title written correctly and includes a different lyric-sheet printed on both sides.
TRACKLIST
- 1. S.L.U.T.S.
- 2. Living Monuments
- 3. Radije Volim…
- 4. Offensive Death
- 5. 0:01
- 6. Bonds Of Enmity
- 7. Miniaturized Eden
- 8. Prisons
- 9. The Opinion Of The Poor
- 10. Stimmung
- 11. Imposed Mortification
- 12. Vital Dreams
- 13. More Frustations
- 14. Falling Wish
- 15. My Serenity – Dealing With A Pressing Problem
A milestone of lo-fi diy Grindcore. In positive or negative, nothing sounds like this. Chris Dodge reviewed it as reported:
“This Italian outfit is the ultimate personification of unadulterated rage. 16 bursts of primitive angst. Raw, uncompromising hatred is seething from the cracks of every track. For example, the lyrics to S.L.U.T.S. – read: South Leads Us To Shit (then no lyrics just vocalized hatred)! Is that awesome or what? Musically, it’s homespun, basement Punk that explodes into unpredictable bursts of pure, trillion-m.p.h. Noise. For those who remember first hearing the SOLGER 7″ in the early ’80s, this is a ’90s version of that experience; a combined feeling of “what the fuck?” and”hey, this is cool.”
Recorded at Michele Hoffman’s practice-room placing few mikes next to drums & guitar/vocals thru a mixer connected to a good cassette deck… the guitar onslaught created by passing ATC’s excess of distortion-pedals thru the mixer (with no amp) gave birth to a unique home-made feel never equaled by others and peculiar to many CB records of that period.The style was a cross between Grind/Fastcore and italian ’82 filth-punk at its rawest form. Front cover photo shows a Bosniac mujahideen holding the decapitated head of a Serbian soldier, once again to point out the horrors of the atrocious war afflicting GTB’s beloved country.
LYRICS
South Leads Us To Shit …
(Then no lyrics; just vocalized hatred)
PUNISH ME …
Suppressed remonstrances,a sorrowful sunset,
the extinction of my sectarian infestation.
Empty squares,slivers of vitreous collisions
left on this afflicted ground.
Channelled fear controlled by mechanized steps,
the word “LAW” becomes a synonim of “DEATH”.
PUNISH ME.
Comment:
Cesto,na zalost,nama prekine cak i jednostavni i prirodni osecaj
kao sto je dusevni mir,i tako i mi smo umesani u ove vrste masovne histerije,
koja nas ne pusti vise u miru niti za trenutak; i nas vodi,
iz dana u dan,da sam sebe potcenjivamo,da upropastimo nase zivce,
da pretvorimo nase oblicje u jednu sablasnu masku,
puna napetosti i bijesa.
(Just few words,taken from this comment,are present in the lyrics of the song)
Fights/Plans
… Bursts into my room.
Trapped in this bed/”Health reasons”
… 18 wasted years.
Problems/Suspended.
… My friends forgot me.
Life/Sad game that can’t be won.
———–Unrestrainable———–
Another day passed in fear.
Suffered characters engraved in my nerves.
Don’t ask me the reason … Verify:
my conflict goes on,I assert my rights.
I ASSERT MY RIGHTS – Disconnection.
I ASSERT MY RIGHTS – Separation.
I ASSERT MY RIGHTS – Violation.
I ASSERT MY RIGHTS – Usurpation.
Miniaturized eden: post-working gratification.
Unchained perversion imprisoned in a silent bedroom.
Miniaturized eden: the short triumph of our screwed working-classes.
Prisons: the cause of these hysterical masses.
Everyday we live personally jobberies,disagreements,discussions.
Everyday we have to face common prejudices,
everyday we have to suffer wrongs…. (x2)
We’re imprisoned in factories,offices,schools…
wasting our time like animals in captivity.
(Instrumental)
Stimmung:
Who has decided this way?
I can’t scream .. >>.. stuck-throat.
A natural image, – a stabbing pain in my sad soul.
Two separated warm hands,then a look behind a pane,
then a wet presence on my face,
then the silence of my narcotic world …
Who has decided this way?
I can’t sleep … I’m so alone.
I visualize your face, – and I think that my life’s gone.
Firstly I see your tearful eyes, then the barred doors of a train
I don’t think about suicide – ‘coz I know,we’ll meet again.
Spiritual masochism:
In this world can’t exist a god.
Spiritual masochism slit this throat.
It’s a sort of self-excitement …
A macabre repertory under my modest clothes.
I think about all these days
brushing against my old cicatrixes
I try to go back … to conventionality.
But I think it’s so unfair … I can’t give a fuck.
A bitter shit to swallow,living in costant hate.
The eternal wall,the populated solitude.
Imposed mortification – Imposed mortification.
Selected method to win my attitudes.
Comment:
Era l’ultima cosa che dovevi imparare.
Scansare il tuo sguardo dal mio,non incontrare più i miei occhi,
che sono capaci di guardare dietro ai tuoi.
Ora sei perfetta. Tutti sono contenti di te.
Ti stai realizzando. Peccato che non esista più alcun pensiero nella tua testa.
Consumare,eliminare,scopare-venire,dormire(??) … é la tua vita.
Forse anche i sogni hanno abbandonato la tua camera …
Ti odio. Non provo una semplice antipatia nei tuoi confronti:
il mio é odio brutale,omicida. É acido solforico sputato sui tuoi occhi.
Ho paura di te. Penso che un giorno sarai tra di loro.
La mia vita dipenderá dai tuoi interessi.
Costretto ad accettare le tue decisioni volute dalla maggioranza.
Costretto a mangiare la tua merda per farti star meglio.
Costretto a passare notti insonni abbandonato dai miei sogni,
credo che ti daró la mia vita.
Meglio esser fatto di carne morta che di plastica.
More frustrations – Cells… agape… without… drugs.
More frustrations – Eyes… bloodstained… without… tears.
More frustrations – Perversions… satisfied… without… sex.
More frustrations – More… frustrations… less… shit.
My frustrations… make me think.
My frustrations… teach me how to live.
Take me away.
I’ve a raving world at my back. My mind bursts into cold tears.
Another day ended in pain. This is a routine that will go on year after year.
When I am enveloped by darkness my eyes continue to see,
there’s a wall in front of me,a wall that obstructs my plans.
When the silence absorbs my room,my mind is deep in thought.
My protest died,but my hate survived and it’ll prevent me from falling asleep.
My serenity is about to die.
My serenity can’t step aside.
A bled,faded woman dressed in black,
a barrier of cement – your cadaveric paper-smiles.
– We can’t be on overtime.
– We can’t be on overtime.
Baseless problems giving more and more discontent;
and you present your nationalist ideology as “a simple solution to the deep economic crisis”.
I look upon myself: “We can’t unleash our words”. Why?
I look upon myself: “We can’t overstep the mark settled by our exasperation”. Why?
In reality racism and nazism are nothing else but violence,oppression and systemised prejudice.
– We can’t be on overtime.
– We can’t be on overtime.