Satanicide

It's dark, smoky, and loud in here. I push my way to the front where Devlin's leg is riding the back of a sound monitor. My friend Ali presses by whooping and reaching for Devlin's body. I scream. He glares straight at me, points a finger and snarls, "If you can't quiet down I'm going to have to take you backstage after the show and give you a private performance." Aleister Cradley jabs his spandex-covered legs into the air as skull-toting Tiki torches shoot sparks out the tops of their heads and the shrieking electric guitar, deafening bass, and blinding cymbal crashes tear into Satanicide's "United We Fall!"

Popular on the current New York music scene, this irreverent, demonic death-metal turned glam turned cock-rock band spawns a certain mood in their performances that supports not only their raucous music, but also a wildly funny, exaggerated stage show with improvised audience embellishment.

Strutting around the stage, occasionally licking a finger and stroking the outline of a large sock stuffed inside the crotch of his glittering black leggings, the Baron Klaus Von Goaten brandishes leather-studded straps on his forearms, a silver half-mask, and long, swinging, black cape with a shiny, red lining. The Baron has "actually convinced the band that he's German, but nobody else. In the same way that Aleister has convinced the band he's straight, but everybody else knows [he's gay]" (Vader 2001). Aleister's act used to consist of him jumping around unashamedly in a pair of leopard print speedos, but he has since transformed into a wide-eyed, wide-mouthed rocker who dubs the groupies "Cupcake" and threatens them with a stern "cockin' to" when they yank down his spandex to expose dirty white butt cheeks. Lead singer Devlin Mayhem with his "hard-on for rock" sports long, thick, curly, hair and heavy, skull-studded knuckles as he brashly apologizes to the "ladies" because sometimes he uses "a word that starts with P and ends with -ussy" (Satanicide 2000). Finally, the drummer, Sloth Vader, lashes out at his set with all the gusto of a traditional heavy metal alcoholic. By flaunting all the elements of a classic heavy metal band, Satanicide both celebrates and mocks heavy metal culture.

1.

Satanicide at the Bowery Ballroom, New York City, 2001. From left to right: Aleister Cradley, Devlin Mayhem, and the Baron Klaus Von Goaten. (Photo by David Velez)

On top of the real music and ironic act, Satanicide has to deal with the logistics of their rock show: "We found out very early on that it's quite silly to be setting up equipment dressed as the band. It kind of gave the joke away and it was also very silly. So [Devlin] hit upon the idea that we could be our own roadies (Vader 2001).

In bluish gray union suits that read "Satanicide" across the back, the men set up their own equipment yet flip into the joke of a slow-witted crew who "borrow" the band's instruments from time to time and pump out rap with a funky beat. It's a good game that pretends everything except that the game exists; it has no illusions about not being a game because it's obvious we know that they know that we know the joke, and vice versa. And that's part of the charm. It's fucking obvious.

This lends a playfully disingenuous tone to the performance that alters the consequences of not only the band's actions, but those of the audience too. The entire event enters a zone keenly reminiscent of child's play. This play creates an enclosed space-time in which the players play themselves as they themselves are not, in situations in which they are not. At a Satanicide concert the band opens up this zone by playing themselves, a New York rock band, as they are not, under the loose cover of a souped-up heavy metal band from "Jer-Z." Because of the entirely self-reflexive quality of their...