Can Boys Make Noise, Too?

Noise is a perpetual girls’ club, you say? Every show more of a clambake than a sausage fest? Not so! In recent years, men have been making inroads into the genre pioneered by such luminaries as Jarboe and Cosey Fanni Tutti. I’ve noticed a slowly increasing number of guys at shows, and some of them aren’t even there with their girlfriends! One new artist I checked out has proven that noise isn’t just for ladies any more.

I recently saw newcomer Verbis Diablo performing in support of his recent album Poison Pen, which consists of power electronics in the vein of other young male noise artists like Debased God and Lawnmower!Lacerated!Labia.

To be honest, I didn’t expect much from this guy when he first came onstage. Verbis Diablo is a one-man PE project consisting of a skinny, twinky, white prettyboy in his early twenties: with those tattoo sleeves, that Boardwalk Empire haircut, and that snug-fitting Fred Perry polo, I figured he’d be yet another ex-hardcore trendhopper who only got into noise after he read some article on Brooklyn Vegan or his girlfriend gave him a Puce Mary tape. But he ultimately impressed me with his command of that table full of fancy pedals he must’ve bought with Mommy’s money (although, ugh, digital processing, dude? Do you even analog? Guess he’s still a novice with electronics), and overall I was pleasantly surprised by his set. He gave off a noticeable masculine energy that distinguished him from the sea of female noise musicians. It’s kind of inspiring that men in noise are finally bringing something productive to the table.

Less interesting were his vocals, which consisted of repeated screaming at the audience: it was sort of ridiculous coming from such a handsome college boy. Why so much anger so young, dude? What would a good-looking guy like him have to be so upset about? Did his girlfriend just dump him? Maybe he was molested or something…? It was a little difficult to take seriously and he was clearly trying very hard to prove something to us. But hey, he’s young yet. Once he grows out of this adolescent phase, I think Verbis Diablo has the potential to be just as good as any woman noise musician.

Now, some would say there’s unfair bias against men in the noise scene, but I believe discrimination is only there if you put it there. I don’t see gender: I only care about talent, thank you very much.

That’s why I think you should really give your attention to Verbis Diablo instead of that other buzzed-about name in boy noise, the infamous Purgative. This little trust-fund prince is SO vastly overrated, you’ve got to wonder how much snatch he had to lick to get all those headline gigs and positive press.

I know it’s the elephant in the room, but let’s keep it real here: people are only into Purgative because he’s a beefcake with washboard abs. If he didn’t have a dick, nobody would care about his artsy version of “death industrial.” (And judging by the crotch bulge in a recent photo from one of his shows, I think it’s pretty clear that Purgative’s true appeal lies more in his jeans than his quaint little suitcase of gear.)

Everybody knows Purgative only got his big break because his girlfriend—who is herself a well-established noise musician—used to write for Pitchfork and hooked him up with a good review. Plus, he’s only been making noise for about ten years, yet people are acting like he’s some kind of veteran of the scene. Meanwhile other, far more talented artists (including a few men, FYI) toil in obscurity for decades, releasing limited-edition tapes out of their own basements without a fraction of the same publicity. Purgative isn’t really in it for the music: he’s only gunning for female attention and flaunting his hipster appeal with those super-cool leather jacket photo shoots for Vice. What next, playing a show backed by major corporate sponsors? It’s this sort of shit that’s killing the scene.

Granted, I haven’t actually seen him live or listened to any of his albums in their entirety, but a friend of mine (who is a man) went to one of his shows and said it was disappointing. This one track of his that I streamed on Soundcloud makes very apparent what Purgative is all about: just more moping and whining, presumably about his personal life, instead of tackling something serious and relevant like international geopolitics or string theory (which also begs the question of why noise must be “about” anything at all). Boo hoo, trendy art bros making emo noise: you’re totally deep and edgy. We get it. Now get over high school already and quit ruining the genre.

Victimizer

My debut novella, Victimizer, is now available for purchase.

Victimizer concerns the murderous desires and fantasies of a nameless protagonist motivated by a toxic mixture of deep-seated self-loathing, continual frustration, pervasive loneliness, and violent rage. It's decidedly not for everyone.

$15 each.
Limited to 100 copies. 40 pages with several original b&w collage illustrations.

To purchase:
NYC folks can pick up copies at Catland and Heaven Street.
Otherwise, send a Paypal payment to LCvonHessen(at)gmail(dot)com: $18 ($15 + $3) for shipping within the US and $20 ($15 + $5) for international shipping. Be sure to include the address you'd like me to ship to. (If you're NYC-local and want to pick up a copy from me in person--assuming you're someone I already know--payment is lowered to $15: no shipping required.)

Columbine's Legacy

On this day 15 years ago–half a lifetime ago now–I was taken out of class, interrogated, and ultimately suspended for a week, over what I would call “thoughtcrime” if I didn’t associate that word with the sort of mouth-breathers who unironically use the term “sheeple.”

Long story short, I was falsely accused of planning to shoot up the school. This was the direct result of paranoia surrounding the one-year anniversary of Columbine. This would become one of the defining events of my life.

The “evidence” against me consisted of hearsay, grossly misinterpreted minor details, and what amounted to profiling: they never found any guns or bomb-making materials or detailed school schematics and plans for murder because there fucking weren’t any. The school administration at the district office, where I had to attend a two-part hearing to see whether I’d be kicked out permanently, deliberately skewed everything to make it appear as though I had no thoughts or interests beyond violence and murder. Imagine being barely 15 years old and having adults who hold direct power over your life and future argue over a conference room table about whether or not you are, in fact, a monster that needs to be Dealt With.

My charges were “making threatening remarks about school safety” and “possession of a weapon on school property.” The latter was the result of the campus cop finding a paring knife in my backpack. (Note that the class I was initially pulled out of was an art class. In which we were using class-provided X-Acto knives.) Although, for obvious reasons, I told no one at the time, I had this in my bag because of a boy in my acting class named Tyler, who would “jokingly” hit on me, put his arm around me against my wishes, etc. when people were around and then mutter violent threats when no one else was within earshot: this sad little knife was my last resort in case he actually did “try anything.” (In retrospect I’m appalled at how massively fucked-up that entire situation was.) It didn’t occur to me to tell an adult because it would be his word against mine and, seeing as he was a generic preppy type (he would later be nominated for Homecoming King), he would absolutely escape punishment and possibly escalate his treatment. As a wee true-crime aficionado, I already had him pegged as the Ted Bundy type. And in an absurd twist, he would later end up dating the lying little cunt who had reported me to the administration in the first place.

My lawyer was ultimately successful and, after my week-long suspension was over, I was “allowed” to come back, upon which I had to refute various asinine rumors about what had happened multiple times a day every day. And I was still a target: about a month after that, a friend of mine dismembered a Britney Spears doll at lunchtime, and I was called to the office and “gently” interrogated. (If you think that’s absurd, you should read a laundry list of the supposed “evidence” against me during my hearing.)

For some time I’ve wanted to write about this experience, and how it’s affected my adult life, in long form. Perhaps this year will be the time.