Grindcore / Hardcore / Punk • Re: Extreme Noise Terror

The show began. The audience were seated in rows, dressed as
fabulously as their status demanded and looking effortlessly nonchalant
whenever a TV camera turned toward them. The KLF were announced as
the opening act and the audience cheered and applauded, seemingly
delighted. Bill and Jimmy walked out onto the stage. They were
accompanied by Extreme Noise Terror, a grindcore band from Ipswich.
At the time, the existence of such extreme metal bands was all but
unknown to the mainstream audience. Bands like Extreme Noise Terror and
Slayer had been played on John Peel’s radio show, and the Midlands band
Napalm Death had appeared in a BBC Arena documentary, but beyond a
small group of serious music fans most people had no idea that such an
extreme type of music even existed. To those unfamiliar with the genre, it
did not even appear to be music. It was noise, and it was a shock to realize
just how deeply unpleasant noise could be. In an age when speed metal is
used to sell energy drinks, it is perhaps hard to appreciate just how
incomprehensible bands like Extreme Noise Terror were at that time. With
all due respect, they were not how the British Music Industry wanted to
showcase British music to a watching TV audience of nine million people
in the UK alone.
The band erupted into a thrash metal version of 3am Eternal, although
there were few in the audience who recognized it. Extreme Noise Terror
had two vocalists, each barking lyrics in incomprehensible, atavistic grunts
that sounded somewhere between Beelzebub and the Cookie Monster.
Between them stood Bill Drummond, leaning on a crutch and smoking a fat
cigar. He wore a kilt of Drummond tartan that he received on his 21st
birthday and the battered leather overcoat that Martin Boorman wore when
he escaped to Bolivia. He meant business. He spat out new lyrics, full of
references to the BPI and the Brits, but the exact words were indecipherable
under the volume, speed, and sheer presence of the music.
Drummond’s interest in Extreme Noise Terror came after he heard them
on the John Peel show. He and Cauty had been planning a hard rock follow
up to The White Room called The Black Room, and had approached
Motörhead about a collaboration. Motörhead declined, knowing full well
that their solid metal audience would never forgive them for working with a
“dance music” band. Drummond then called Extreme Noise Terror but the
message he left, “from Bill of The KLF,” was initially ignored as it was
misheard as “Bill from the ALF,” or the Animal Liberation Front. Extreme
Noise Terror were deeply into the animal rights scene and were
considerably more likely to be called by the ALF than The KLF. Eventually,
though, they connected, and the two bands started working on The Black
Room sessions. That album was never finished.
Earlier that morning, Drummond had driven to an abattoir in Alan Moore’s
hometown of Northampton and bought a dead sheep and eight gallons of
blood. The plan was that he and Cauty would dismember the corpse on
stage. The KLF had used sheep imagery throughout their career, ever since
they appeared on the cover of Chill Out, so destroying one like this had
obvious symbolic meaning. They had huge butcher knives ready, and
planned to throw hunks of carcass into the audience. It was intended to be
an act so appalling that they would never have been forgiven for it. Jimmy
also goaded Bill by suggesting that Drummond could cut his own hand off
as well. This was dangerous talk, given how psyched the pair were. They
both knew as they suggested ideas that there was a danger that they would
carry them out.
Cauty’s suggestion reminded Drummond of the Red Hand of Ulster. In
Irish legend there was a race across the sea from Scotland, and the first
competitor to touch the land was to be declared the King of Ireland. One
potential king was behind in the race, so he cut his hand off and threw it
ahead of his rivals, onto the shore, and in doing so claimed the land as his
own. When Cauty suggested that Drummond could cut his own hand off
and throw it into the audience, the idea interested Drummond because he
immediately saw it as in some way claiming the music industry for himself.
Drummond’s actions were being dictated by his symbolic interpretation of
events, as always, but this potent form of internal logic seemed to be
pushing them into darker and more dangerous territory. Drummond’s train
of thought was, needless to say, not a normal reaction to being asked to cut
off your own hand.
Rumors about the dead sheep had spread during the day, thanks to their
publicist Mick Houghton wisely informing the press in order to sabotage
their plans. Jonathan King and the BBC were horrified and made it clear
that no such act could be allowed, and certainly not televised. Extreme
Noise Terror weren’t too impressed either, some of them being extreme
vegetarians who were known to vandalize butcher shops. The sheep
remained in the van during the performance, only to reappear later that
night dumped on the steps outside the aftershow party tagged with a note
that read, “I died for ewe.” The prompt arrival of the police prevented the
eight gallons of blood joining the sheep on the hotel steps. Like so many
other times, Drummond and Cauty had failed to implement their plans and
been left with no choice but to improvise.