I have suddenly lost all feeling in my limbs; soft, leaden teams of slugs wander where my feet once lived. I have suddenly lost my sight; an ink of confusion splashes the inside of my eyelids. My spit has turned to icy jelly. My nose is a long, thin antenna, stretching into a whorl of the unknown... My consciousness has been altered! By narcotics, perhaps? Is my brain clutched in the sweaty fist of fever? No, it is all simply due to the fact that Cinema Strange has started to play on the stereo. How about that?
Now then, it's been a year and a half since I last reported on the secret enclave of lace-ninjas that we all know as Cinema Strange. The band has made certain progressions in that time, and I'd like to summarize, but first a brief history of the project for those who are unaware...
Starting as a four-piece in 1994, they excreted a cacophonous blend of punk and death-rock and played local venues for the benefit of their very strange friends. That lasted about six months. After the original incarnation dissolved, a year passed before Seriousness reared its Picasso-drawn head and commanded the bassist, Daniel Ribiat, and the singer, Lucas Lanthier, to start up again. So they did, playing their first show as a two-piece in late '96, opening up for Human Drama. They got famous after that, eventually recruiting the dread pirate Mik Silver (or Michael Ribiat, depending on who you're talking to) for various guitar duties. They released two vinyl seven-inches on their own. They sold (and are still selling) CDs on MP3.com. They signed to a German record label in the year 2000, releasing their first full-length album (a compilation of earlier material) in June of that year. The exposure from that contract led to their first European performance in September, 2000, at the famous Zwischenfall club in Bochum, Germany. Now for the recent stuff. In early 2001 they made their first European tour, leaving the crowds in each city confused and ecstatic and half-crazed with passion and maniacal fervour (or so I'm told). Also, in June of 2001 was the tenth Wave-Gotik-Treffen festival in Leipzig, Germany. C.S. played opening night at the biggest venue in town for several thousand people and didn't seem to bat a heavily-mascara-coated eyelash. What snobs. And presently, they're preparing to release their second full-length album, which will undoubtedly surprise and elate me in new and soon to be fashionable ways.
Now then, vast multitudes of angry persons assail the Cinema Strange e-mail account every day asking, "Where in the United States of America can I get your CD, you silly troupe of tutu-wearing death-tarts?" And there is always a reply that describes the situation thusly (and I quote from the very kind Doctor Ludowic von Ecke): "The Cinema Strange self-titled CD is only available in America via the internet (try www.MiddlePillar.com) or through very select record boutiques, such as Vinyl Fetish in Hollywood, CA. We are sorry for this inconvenience, but the band is presently signed to a foreign label, and hence, their material is more readily available to a foreign audience. Please consult www.cinemastrange.com for more details on merchandise that is locally available." I see. So when could one expect to see C.S. albums on the shelves of American record stores? And again, a few words from the good Doctor: "Who the hell knows? Not me." Very good! Thank-you, Doctor von Ecke!
Now then, Cinema Strange plays music that sounds like it's from 1983. That, and the fact that they dress like they're Jonny Slut's nephews has led people to assume they are promoting a New Batcave. They certainly don't deny it, but the music, admittedly antique-sounding, is more than a continuation of what Nik Fiend had a clawed hand in. They are melodic. They are bizarre. They are circus calliopists and gypsy minstrels. They sing alternately about half-dead organ grinders and lost dollies and what makes these themes successful is the fact that there is absolutely no doubt in one's mind, while listening, that three half-dead organ grinders are actually lurking there, just underneath the plastered-on face paint and torn stockings of the Cinema Strange personnel. But then, deep inside, aren't we all a bunch of half-dead organ grinders?
Look in your heart. Spend all the time you want, but when you're through, take a quick glance underneath that thumping, palpating vessel and let your fingers assail the sticky warmth in the dark down there. That's the mud on the stagecoach wheels of Cinema Strange's Musical Macabre (express overnight to London). And the uniqueness of their vehicle not only explains their infamy, but also assures it.
-Retch Dempsey, July, 2001