In unrotten morbidity Mr. and Mrs.Fiend, Master of manic techno-punk, celebrated the charms of the paranormal. Hissing. Eccentric. Theatrical. Screaming, singing, writhing. Self-ironically. In any case, turns here for decades, the pointer to bizarre.
For support the Goths from England asked their young colleagues from France: The industrial-punk-goth band Dexy Corp developed their electronic aggression among the scenes of ASF, enriched with some even brought souvenir pieces. On CD the recipe may work with sharply cutting electronic dance-music, live, the concept seemed monotonous after a short time. The voice shouted deformed in the microphone. Strangely, though at times you listen to a fat sound, but you do not see the guitarists play. Well, a little retort can happen even once, the show was well received, one shouted: "Play something from the Stones!" The action was painless and unspectacular.
The Knust was filled with a black mass of dark folk. At first you could - approaching the club from the outside - even think about overcrowding, and the square in front was packed. But no, a soccer game was shown on a widescreen. The Hamburg Goths snaked through there and to the back (passing by the toilets), because even the front part, the bar, was switched to football.
Alien Sex Fiend - too techno to be goth, too goth to be sane. An old saying - quoted in mutation - characterizes what Fiend couple practiced for decades: Only love and humour may protect against intellectual spin. And music. As it turned out, was the fans present this at least as well acquainted as to their performers themselves, because they started with various songs during the first sounds of singing. In between choruses burst out with "Mrs.Fiend, Mrs.Fiend!" to celebrate the hidden sound-witch behind her ingredients of keyboards and electronics parts. Of course, even once "Mr.Fiend, Mr.Fiend" celebrated, which brought the Nosferatu-adapted, batcave-deformed shape to impress its two erogenous zones to massage.
The couple enjoyed with the familiar weird sounds that were danceable and more techno, the more the evening progressed, and even led to a rabid Pogo within the audience. The highlights were summoned, as to mention for the insider the large rubber banana, the ransack of the dustbin, the newspaper, the rat-snack. But the two were not the only noisemakers. In the background was still on another creature, a zombie-like veteran rock-guitar incarnated in endless psychedelic delirium, which merged with the electronic fantasies of Mrs.Fiend and worked as an acoustic hallucinogen.
After more than two hours Fiendshow dragged the writer of these lines his to be human-like bones on foot through the Hamburg port back into the home vault, past aggressive hordes of blood-sucking rabbits; and a glowing red moon behind the spiral nebulae industrial gas-pollution made the slavering werewolves howl what sounded like the squeak of the crane-winches.