Tuesday, 16 February 2010

Karjalan Sissit

Martial industrial music was an interesting proposition for a while. Industrial noises, militaristic drumming, historical samples - perfect for us who overdosed on historical documentaries and war simulations when we were younger. But like any genre, it soon became flooded with cheap clones. It seemed like any kid with a computer, access to The History Channel and a few unsavoury books was cranking out some drum machine sequences drenched in Hitler samples.

So when Albin Julius, leader of Der Blutharsch, in many ways the genre's best band, stated that "Martial industrial is dead", you just knew the martial party was over (while the party obviously continues over at Der Blutharsch's house, where they now play groovy psychedelic rock).

That doesn't mean Mr. Julius was entirely right, though. For even if a genre dies, it doesn't mean that the best bands in it also have to go the way of the dodo. And just as AC/DC and Motorhead have survived any number of backlashes against hairy hard rock, there are some martial industrial bands so enjoyable that they'll be immortal.

One of these is Karjalan Sissit.

Karjalan Sissit is what you get when you take a Finn that seems kind of pissed off that the Winter War ended before he was even born, and pissed that black metal ended before he could burn a church, but mostly pissed on Koskenkorva, and transplant him to Sweden. There you let him have access to Peter Bjargö's Erebus Odora studio. And the rest if, if not exactly musical history (Bach it ain't), then at least tremendously enjoyable. Here's an interesting interview, by the way. And we here at the Chronicles particularily recommend the debut album on Cold Spring - if you can get hold of it.

As the videos above indicate, Karjalan Sissit give some of the most demented concerts imaginable, and Lord Bassington-Bassington is happy that he has been lucky enough to catch them on stage once.

These videos are from a gig in Eskilstuna, and no, we here at the Chronicles don't know where the band ends and the drunken audience begins, either.

And no, we don't recognise any songs, either.


It's almost enough to give one back faith in martial industrial...

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