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Botch: We are the Romans
15/12/09 || Khlysty
On the front porch of his dilapidated farm-house, old man Botch sits and grumbles. The rocking chair he’s sitting on is old, made of unfinished wood and creaks painfully with each small move the guy makes. The front lawn of the house is a jigsaw puzzle of yellowed turf, anemic hedges and soil the color of blasted earth. The house hasn’t felt the hand of a painter or, for that matter, of any handyman for a really long time. And it clearly shows.
Old man Botch’s face is lined and grizzled. The oil-stained cap he wears on his almost-hairless head –thin strands of yellowish hair pop out here and there- nearly covers his bitter eyes, the color of moldy fruit. His lean –to the point of near-emaciation- body is covered with dirty denim overalls. His feet are tucked in scuffed black-leather work-boots. On his bony knees rests an evil-looking double-barrel. From his whole posture, one can easily deduct that the gun is loaded and primed.
The day is sunny and a light breeze breaks the heat of the sun. Old man Botch seems to neither feel nor care about the beautiful weather. His eyes set on a point towards infinity, he just mumbles and grumbles to himself…
Goddam bastids, alla ‘em. Goddam dogfuckin’ bastids an’ then some. Knew it, though, just knew that sumpthin’ like this woulda happen. ‘S all the same story every-goddam-where. Knew it, though. Shouldna lettit happen…
Was young ‘n’ foolish. Reckoned I could change them rules, make everythin’ go which-way as I pleased. Reckoned I could give ‘em hardcore boys a run for their money, huh? Reckoned I was top a’ tha hill, king a’ tha world, huh? An’ here’s wha’ happens to me…
Metalcore. Fuckin’ metalcore happens to me. Fuckin’ poster-boys wi’ guitars and, how do ‘em lizard-fuckin’ muso journalists call it? Ah, yeah, and “angular” playin’ and crazy, all-the-ways-at-once tempos an’ shitfuckshit like ‘at. Where’s the hooks, motherfukcas? Where’s the ideas? Where’s the fuckin’ HARDCORE, huh?…
Shoulda seen it comin’, though. “Before its time”, they said ‘bout me. “Too complex”. “Too strange”. “Too I-don’t-know-what”. Yeah, fuckers? An’ now you’re lickin’ the balls of each an’ anyone who plays all this “too difficult” music. I busted my balls and, for what? For metalcore? Jesus fuckin’ Christ on a mule-cart!!!…
I was th’ real mccoy. But did anyone gimme any attention? Nah, was “too crazy” for ‘em tastes. “Too gnarly”, “too mathy”. Fuck, what does a man have to do to make ‘em understand? How many hooks can ‘e put in one fucker of a song for the fucktards to get it? How much melody? How much moshing potential? How much sweat an’ blood is required for the deaf cattle to fuckin’ get it? Bah…
An’ then everybody stole from me. The crazy tempos. The super-heavy guitars. The screamo-hardcore vocals. The electronic noise-thingies. The hooks. The ideas. Every-fuckin’-thing. And they said it was theirs to keep. Fuckers. Lizard-fuckers. Alla ‘em…
‘S good that I left the scene, before it got totally turd-like. Was too much for ‘em. Too much. An’ now, everyone name-checks ME as an influence. Well, go to Fucksville, you douchebags. Where were you when I was doing it in tha first place? What the fuck were you listening to? Huh? Huh? HUH?
No good. No good thinkin’ ‘bout what it coulda been. No good tryin’ to make amends for what happen’d. But, maybe I could get one, too. Lessee, mayhap one of ‘em emo-math-noise-metal-core boys will lose ‘is way an’ comes here. An’ then… Oh, an’ then… (strokes the double-barrel)
- Information
- Released: 1999
- Label: Hydra Head
- Website: Botch MySpace
- Band
- Dave Verellen: vocals
- Dave Knudson: guitar
- Tim Latona: drums
- Brian Cook: bass
- Tracklist
- 01. To Our Friends in the Great White North
- 02. Mondrian Was a Liar
- 03. Transitions from Persona to Object
- 04. Swimming the Channel Vs. Driving the Chunnel
- 05. C. Thomas Howell as the “Soul Man”
- 06. Saint Matthew Returns to the Womb
- 07. Frequency Ass Bandit
- 08. I Wanna Be a Sex Symbol on My Own Terms
- 09. Man the Ramparts
- 10. Thank God for Worker Bees (remix) (hidden track)
