Cripple Bastards / Präparation-H 7″


release date:

Late 1995


Giulio the Bastard – vocals
Alberto the Crippler – guitar
Eduardo ‘O’ Brazil – bass
Michele Hoffman – drums
Label: Vicious Intereference Records
recorded in 1995 at Acqualuce studios / Alpignano, Torino.
Sound engineer: Marco Milanesio

> released in 1996, no cat. # mentioned, 2000 copies (?) out of different pressings, no ltd editions on colored wax
> double-sided cover jacket with CB lyrics in the inner side.
A4 insert including a huge CB statement


  • 1. Sexist Society… Must Destroy It!!
  • 2. Miniaturized Eden
  • 3. Cormorant
  • 4. Disagreeable Selections
  • 5. Incorporated Grave
  • 6. Useful / Useless
  • 7. Ragman
  • 8. Without A Shadow Of Justice
  • 9. Round Table
  • 10. Hydrophobic Web

This apparently looks like the most political and morally correct record CB ever did. In reality, it’s just a misunderstood attempt to express a concept that wasn’t clear enough in the scene. Sexism. Our aim never succeded. GTB’s opinion on feminism and woman’s liberation was plain and simple…: equal rights? Prove you’re equal and gain your respectable place, stop the bullshit on female = fragile, weak, sweet or whatever. Fight with the same weapons, show you’re not on an inferior level, even having a cultural background pointed against your status. The long written article included in the record’s insert was mainly to explain what the word sexism exactly meant, since there were too many people using that word just to fill empty political talks + doing witch-hunt vs bands not conforming that mandatory standard to be in a certain elite. The end-result of this record was disastrous. None got the message and CB made a real “own goal” so far as this EP turned into a proof of mere contraddiction with the attitude they assumed later… which isn’t plainly sexist, but simply “bolenje kurca” aka “don’t-give-a-shit”.. apolitical to the bone. Few years later GTB asked the label to stop re-pressing it due to a ton of reasons.. CB and politics didn’t match at all, probably the whole HC/Grind thing shouldn’t get mixed with issues creating barriers and hostility like this one. As a matter of fact, few years later the “who’s sexist” diatribe exploded in Italian HC, first with the band CRUNCH – after one of their buddies got naked in front of a girl after a show + the silly content of their records, and later with CB themselves (the infamous “Who’s got the 50 DM..” patch, then the “Almost human” CD cover and so on). It would take a full book to describe all the crap happened from ’97 to the final CB decision to stay away from that kinda scene. Anyway, the political content of this record was a real “own goal” and we almost regret it now. Sexism is just a weapon for scene-cops, but reality is ways distant from this whole talk. A funny story about the CB front-cover on this: GTB & ATC found a huge porno VHS collection hidden in a room of GTB’s dad. Over 200 tapes. In summer ’96 when he was out on holidays, we took’em all on a large table and made the photo we used on the record’s cover. Bullshit on bullshit. Looking back at how this was done, everything looks so sick now.
Musically, the stuff featured here is just different re-mixes of trax out of “your lies in check” ‘s session. This is the first of 4 releases including remixes from it (split LP w/ Suppression, split boot. EP w/ Wretched, a couple comp.s on vinyl) …


You try to consolidate people’s infedelities…
sex seen as a dope-type recreation, an inalienable diversion..
..or a technique to exalt the nearly always trampled female ego.
“She feels reborn…” …in the guise of a fucking bitch.
A parallel form of humiliation, in fact (this time) self-humiliation.
And your pseudo-pornographic freedom won’t stand up.
Next door.
Your profit’s results spread like wildfire…
The last uncontaminated feelings… ???thrown away,
spit down, straight down to your packed-out W.C.
Love, friendship, respect, sincerity… ???out of fashion.
Sometimes I need someone to embrace,
not necessarily someone to fuck.
Next door.
Your shitty sexist propaganda…
sponsored by falsity, exhibitionism and mental backwardness.
But now… now I can feel the strongest will joining my rage,
the will of smashing this shit down, the will of voicing my dissent
against your ignorance and mediocrity,
the will of screamin’ till I see blood pouring from my mouth…:
MUST DESTROY IT!!!!!!!!!!!
(Some parts of this commentary constitute the words in the song)

Miniaturized Eden: post-working gratification.
Unchained perversion imprisoned in a silent bedroom.
Miniaturized Eden: the short triumph of our screwed working-classes.

Your scared eyes closed by humans’ brutality,
but my sadness can’t cause a resurrection. NO!!!

Frantic crowds of suit and tie idiots,
and the sickening threat of being like them,
trapped into their aseptic models.
Something I can’t call freedom… too rigid.
..but where’s a smile among those upset screens,
always standing on the same old picture: money.
Disagreeable selections:
-You die in comfortable emptiness /
-I live my tragic oddness, alone but free.

Talking eyes, epicentre of torpor. Rain on an impatient web.
Your hate sleeps in the incorporated grave of your contempt,
its desire of being in action sleeps on the definiteness of your silence.
Break the seals, don’t bury your light.

12/5/1989… You’re accused of “rolling”.
I know, my noise can’t debase your life.
But your vectors won’t change my introspections.

Born in your shit, I can’t enjoy the colors of grace and beauty,
I can’t feel anything but this uniform-unfailing sense of nausea…
“Her eyes… so lovely,
that you’re askin’ yourself how can tears…………………………..
Her body… so perfect,
that you’re askin’ yourself how can shit……………………………”
“Her brain… so empty,
that I’m askin’ myself how can thoughts……………………………
Her life… so senseless,
that I’m askin’ myself how boring should be……………………..”
The colors of grace and beauty won’t fit in my picture;
diping my brush in your shit I’ll paint a life of kicks,
intimidations, self-relegation.
I’m a ragman and I love my putrid clothes
weared out by thousands generations.
You’re something worst… corrupted perfection;
the static divinity of perfumed trash.
(Some parts of this commentary constitute the words in the song)

Yesterday I sat on this ground, waiting for a reconciliatory look.
I waited… in the hope of seeing it.
(But my optimistic enthusiasm was broken off…)
Without a shadow of justice
When “someone” will call down his revenge,
upon these grey, rotting walls…
(…your innocent world will break down)
I’m waiting… in the hope of seeing “him”.
Without a shadow of justice

Catch this message, continue my silent war.
There’s a round table against something
that can hurt their stupid world.
It’s time to put our cards on that table….

Invisible chip of emotions projected in the human sphere,
uncertainty or sadness are the only reactions of a fanciful mind;
Sense of perversion, aggressive hate…
stagnant feelings entangled in sinews.
My brain’s wrapped by hydrophobic webs.
Your plastic existence will conduct it near the nervous breakdown.
My conformity would mean complete annihilation, mental blackout.
Suicide left as the ultimate act of freedom, escape. But no, not for you.
Where people see a promising future
I can only discern an endless abyss.
(Some parts of this commentary constitute the words in the song)