Blog of the week: “Black Metallers Doing Normal Stuff”. Plus, Black Metal in London and a “Satan save the Queen” exclusive poster (featuring Burzum).
I have been living in Norway for a while, back in the day; great country, producing great things – music – and bad things – beer and prawn-flavoured cheese.
I was living in Bergen, the place to be if you are into Black Metal, rain, or both. Church burning is alright, but I’ve always been more interested in what Black Metal-heads do on Sundays. When I found “Black Metallers Doing Normal Stuff” I thought: “They do normal shit. Cool.”
Now I live in London, so I thought: “What about the Black Metal scene here?” We’ve already posted something about Satan-East London here some time ago, but we wanted to know more about it.
I Googled “Black Metal in London”, and, among other things, the following pictures appeared.
A recycled cd clock with two buses and two black metal hands.
A “Satanic Whitechapel” t-shirt.
The Black Metal Burger King.
A picture of people disliking Ikea.
Three vintage nurses.
Finally, here’s a poster we made for this year’s Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, with a Burzum twist.
EAST LONDON’S DANDIES - THE TRIUMPH OF FAT-SHION.
BANKSY WHO? The alternative London street art scene.
What about this piece, lost somewhere in South London? Free, at last.
Who the fuck is Camilo? A cool dude, with a linear yet sophisticated style.
‘Jesus is alive’, just like Big Paul from Leeds and Big Rick from Bradford, mate.
NO, YOU CAN’T.
This is an interesting one; the only good thing about council flats is the tiny garden in the back, with pigeons roaming through the rubbish, but no ball games and no dogs are allowed.
Therefore, kids can stay there as long as they do nothing, and dogs can only dream about running wild in the green.
It looks like they are taking the piss.
Get rid of the fucking garden, if no dogs, no kids, nobody and nothing is going to use it.
Another one for the dogs. I do not understand the sentence, but I do get the sense of it.
This time, the chav who owns a dodgy-looking, misshaped-faced Staffordshire Terrier, probably high on Stella Artwat or Carling, felt he had to be heard by the authority, so he erased some words from the sign.
Result: a senseless cacophony of nonexistent terms and vocables.
Danger! If you are stupid enough to try to get your ass inside one of them containers for second-hand clothes, then you could be trapped for life.
In fact, in an area in which the majority of people are skint drop-outs on benefits, who is going to dump broken shoes? And who is going to collect them? No-fucking-body, that is the right answer.