Cripple Bastards / Suppression LP
Giulio the Bastard – vocals
Alberto the Crippler – guitar
Eduardo ‘o’ Brazil – bass
Michele Hoffman – drums
Label: Bovine Records
> Recorded in 1995 in Alpignano (Torino), “Acqualuce Studios”, by Marco Milanesio & CB
> Released in 1997, BO36, 2000 copies. no re-presses, no ltd editions on colored wax
> 1 insert x band – the CB’s one including all lyrics/commentaries
- 1. My Serenity / Dealing With A Pressing Problem
- 2. Walk Away
- 3. Italia Di Merda
- 4. Living Monuments
- 5. What I Thought
- 6. Imposed Mortification
- 7. Rating
- 8. War Spoils
- 9. Bonds Of Enmity
- 10. September, 18th 1993
- 11. Intransigent Simpathy
- 12. More Frustations
- 13. Vital Dreams
- 14. Padroni
- 15. Grimcorpses
- 16. Intelligence Means…
- 17. Danas Je Dan Za Lijencine
- 18. More Restrictions. Why?
- 19. My Mind Invades
- 20. Images Of War / Images Of Pain
- 21. Prejudices & Walls
- 22. Irenic
- 23. Paranoiac
the stuff featured on this record is simply different remixes of songs selected from the “Your lies in check” session w/ some unreleased intros added. Why re-issuing music we had already put on other records? “Your lies in check” was out on 2 european labels. In order to get a bigger US distribution, we decided to make a specific release mainly pointed to the US scene. This kinda policy was partially inspired by Hadzo, the guitarist of Patareni – which was very close to GTB at those times. The remix on this album sounds ways rawer and grind-oriented than the excessively clean edge of “Your lies..”. After putting together the master, we weren’t satisfied at all, so we passed everything from DAT to a normal audiocassette, than from one tape to another re-equalizing it according to our taste, then back to DAT… This demential process turned the sound into the level of filthiness we wanted to reach. The CB / Suppression Split sold at the speed of light, both bands were highly appreciated, Bovine was one of the best extreme HC labels around in the american scene… today we certainly regret we didn’t use completely unreleased tunes on this, but anyway – it stands as a classic in the ’90s Grindcore panorama.
If you wish to read the lyrics of these songs, you can find them all checking the “Your lies in check”‘s page.The following is simply a list of commentaries we had added in the Split LP insert in order to explain in detail what each track was about.
Find yourself alone, lying on a bed in a dark room. Stare wide-eyed… your life, your sights. Feel oppressed. Serenity abandoning you tear by tear, dropping down like a dead bird. “About to die / won’t step aside”… it’s your conflict.
Murders and xenophobic violence, injustices and social disparity. Factious medias, immigration, unemployement — common indifference. Ask yourself why the world we live in is still ruled by intolerant cultures. Ask yourself what can be done… today.
Left behind in the abyss of despair – too far from your phallic reality, where ideas and spontaneity are replaced by cold carnal contacts.
Italy in my eyes. Sadness, annihilation, passive people. Happiness chained to a fuckin’ TV screen, to a football match, to a night in the disco. New generations – brainless zombies… inoffensive and oppressive. Feel my life drown in this indelible shit.
’70s/’80s are gone; what’s left… scars printed on your skin, slivers of remote struggles. Your revolt is lost. Sunless shadows are still walking around today, hateful uniforms beating my friends with bars and cudgels. Come back in the streets, the fight for freedom has no age.
Lacking enthusiasm and individuality, feel the usefulness of “being against”, disappear in a non-protesting crowd. Punk seen as a childish fashion. Museum-freak.
A desert of cement, a colourless sky occasionally crossed by hungry vultures. Society levels out, enforcing new tactics to channel our lives into blind conformism.
Creativity against passive dependence, diversion against imposed standardization. Give the right value to individuality… don’t fall in the nullity of a speechless crowd. “Looking for alternatives, inventing one’s life, this means living”.
War is business, war is fashion. Find it on magazines, TV, clothes, modern culture in general. Find it on the records of 1000 Dis-clones… painters of a reality they’ve never faced, pain-reproducers just to fit to an empty cliché. War spoils.
Violent culture flogging my ideas, middle-class arrogance screwing my life. I can’t resign, my conflict goes on. I assert my rights; sunk in their shit… clinged to my freedom..
Human infidelity losing naturalness, sexual freedom destroyed by synthetic customs. September, 18th 1993. A simple story of wiped out friendship turns into the worst common nightmare.
Your eyes – repugnant triangles scratching my face. Intransigent – promulgator of a well-mannered mentality, too mediocre for being assimilated. People smiling, inside disgusted. Hating me, the infected.
Not simply a song-title, nor a bad joke to create a sick/morbid image around us. Frustrations are our daily bread, the skeleton of our pain, the ugly side of our reality… the essence of our existences – even if too many people are afraid/ashamed to admit it. The bearing framework of our society. Frustrations. Society made of vicious circles. Vicious circles made of inputs and no outbursts. Frustrations.
1989, the story of a social climber, a girl candidate in a fascist list. Behind the facts, a background of mental hybernation, prejudices and insecurities. Being there just to see us living on her wastes. “I can’t feel simple antipathy. My hate is brutal, homicidal. Sulphuric acid spit on her eyes.”
Masters and slaves representing social normality, like always. Work to fatten a piggish boss and starve your hopes, your will to live. Year by year, age by age… minds reduced to static circuits. Where money is the only voice, passivity the only blood and plastic the only happiness.
This one has no lyrics/words. I scream carelessly. Voice can be an instrument too. “Grimcorpses” is the name of our earlier band, back in 1987, when we were 13/15 years old and we used to rehearse in a dusty room at the top of a gristmill. This song belongs to those tragic/peaceful days.
A cross between perfection and disgrace – intelligence; the only hand driving our fates, the only presence marking our lives. Like a double edged knife, glittering on one side and bloodstained on the other… Development and positive culture in eternal contrast with lies, cruelties and deadly power. Choose your own progress-line.
“Give me a moment’s respite, embrace this sweet-uncertain chest, make me feel… at least something – Stain me with sex, deep down… No fun. No pleasure. I need nothing but normality.” Work burns out. Repetitive actions whitered a lovely mind, fragmentary comforts dug a deep grave. And now… “zajebat lijudi je znacenije tvog zivota”.
Exposed to militarization… a slight chance of arresting our cancer / their involved attempt to suffocate youth’s strenght to protest, disagree, show dissent, live on the opposite bank of the river. “No disciplines”??? no respect for their vicious plans. “No army” ?? no play to their “shut up and pay” policy. Subjected to the therapy our disease will fuckin’ survive.
Adrenaline explodes, thirst for revenge runs all over my nerves. Analysing your insecurities I built a barrier of anger, pure mental strenght to face a multitude of blind servants. Think smart – learn not to share your life with others.
The game has been the same for centuries; players change, masters change, weapons develop, but the result is always the same: murder. There’s nothing progressive, nothing good, just suffering, fear and pain. On every side victims… here from communism to nationalism, there from democracy to leftists or nazis, rightists or stalinists, capitalists etc. etc. … It’s all the same, the only thing that changes is the iconography. Killers became heroes, heroes became kings, liars became lawyers, real men became traitors and cowards.
What an irony (taken from B.Z.R.’s Split LP with NULA, Croatia)
Grown up with a knife pointed at my throat, in a town ruled by morals and bigotry, where black windows hide millions eyes. My existence on constant trial. Grown up with hatred, defeat… bitter tears. People are walls, the walls of my jail.
Now I’m here with you, sat on a foreland, staring at the sea of our enemies’ blood. Flashbacks, inner peace reached through orgies of social dejection. “Irenic” to describe a dream of freedom, promptly suppressed by human obligations.
Soaked to the bone – I still remember the day you found my body collapsed on the floor, decayed. Shattered by depression – I still remember the exact moment. You shaked your head and choosed to pass on. Careless – disturbed – invariable. Recollecting your face today, I’m still here with the same, inflexible hate.