Issue 7. June 2000
Sorry for the wait but here, finally, is Issue 7. All the wordage on the trauma that has been the first half of Y2K. So that'll be about Y1 then.
Bookmark this page so that you can enjoy a SCARY on-line experience at a click of your hand rodent.
Roj Butler-Ellis slumps onto the sofa at Glen Studios and closes his eyes for a moment. Then he leans forward and yells ...
"IN THEE WHITE ROOM! WITH BLACK CURRRRRTAINS! AT THE STAY-SHUNNNNNNN!"
There are various symptoms associated with that dreaded condition, 'frustration' - shifty eyes, a general nervous demeanour. But howling choruses from rawk classics that comment wryly on your current situation, at ear-ringing level!?!
The band are in disarray, the cherry-popping publicised gig has grounded, they still rock as a duo and the electrics are failing all around them.
Do they despair? Do they wail and gash their teeth? Do they buggery. They sack their manager. That's Rock 'n' Roll, that's SCARY.
So, Music Live then. I understand that the City of York held it's own 'York Live' to provide the punters with their very own 'Perfect day'. So where the **** were you Roj?
"Well, Paul was in Barcelona so we couldn't do a gig. However, I was part of a crowd that rushed passed the dance music tent in the Museum Gardens, carefully avoiding outbreaks of sporadic fighting and dodgy blokes with beer cans, to embrace the relative calm that was Chris Helme doing his acoustic thing at the Theatre Royal."
"First act on was the Lo Beams, and a damn fine band they were too. Bit of a cross between the Longpigs, MSP and, dare I say it, The Seahorses. Second band were Mostly Autumn, now I really liked them. They only did four songs but each one was about ten minutes long. Very '70s, very psychedelic. Sort of early Pink Floyd/Mike Oldfield/Steve Hillage. Then the man himself, brilliant as usual. Totally half-cocked. Don't bother with the set list, that's for wimps, I'm in charge and I'll sing/play what I damn well please. Bit confusing for the band mind. An encore? That's bollocks. I go off, you clap and chant, I come back on again and give you three more songs. Sod that. He saves our hands and voices and it really is the end. Nice one Chris."/
Roj leans back, rubs his hand over his chin then literally jumps to his feet and is out the door.
"I'm off can't sit around here all day." And he's gone. He'll be back.
SCARY is a rock band based in York, England. The band currently consists of two full-time members; lead guitarist Paul "Noodler" Martin and rhythm guitarist Roger "Sorry" Butler-Ellis. They both double up on vocals.
No band can exist in isolation, and even musical minimalists such as SCARY need a back-up team to provide vital assistance. So here are the folks that help make us rock:-
SCARY have put the boot into DJ Shaggy following months of internal wrangling. Shaggy was sent back to his Mystery Machine at the end of May leaving the band once more manager-less. Paul commented;
"We've done it before, and we'll do it again. There is no room in this band for slackers, everyone has to pull maximum weight. They don't call us the hardest working band in York for nothing!"
When asked how they would cope without a manager, Paul said that they were perfectly capable of managing themselves.
The first publicly advertised SCARY gig has had to be dropped due to other touring commitments. Things started to crack at the seams when first the date of the gig had to be moved, then the promoters wanted to change the venue.
The band were unable to reschedule the gig as they will soon be embarking on a US and Scottish tour during the summer months. SCARY co-front-man Roj made the following statement:
"We are sorry to have to let the fans down but this comes as a bitter disappoint to us as well. We had distributed a large number of flyers for the gig and personally put a great deal of time and effort into our preparations.
The US and Scottish tours now make it impossible for us to commit to another English date until September at the earliest. Obviously we have asked to be dropped from the festival listings as well
However, our micro-gigs will continue. We intend to compensate loyal fans by offering free entrance to our next three micro-gigs. You know where we play. Get along and get in free."
Ah, the creaking vastness of space. Just in case you've omitted to dwell on the fact of your being a mere random particle in the infinite cosmic miasma lately, here come SCARY, beamed down to reacquaint you with the exhilaration of oblivion. Or something.
Nobody could have imagined that the Yellow Brick Road would lead this far. Here we are, whirled away by a symphonic tornado and planted slap bang in the middle of this Techni-phonic euphoria, when everyone knows that true proto-rock is meant to be a black-and-white public service. Nobody told the SCARY-blokes.
One song in, and ... they've mangled their equipment so badly it looks like they can't continue. Two songs later, Roj is kicking his mixer trying to goad it back into life. There's a hurried re-patch, this is disaster recovery at a fever pitch, and twenty seconds later you realise they've started another song.
Let's not skirt the issue here: ... SCARY are brilliant. Right this second, they're the greatest rock 'n' roll band on this planet: a chaotic, messed-up, flailing-limbed eruption of white noise and kinetic energy (that's my favourite type of energy). They make The Who look like Belle & Sebastian on Vallium. Basically, they rock like Satan's cradle!
Each band member sings his favourite song, so Roj and Paul are constantly swapping roles, desperately trying to outdo each other as they writhe and thrash and scream their way through each song. Everything they play sounds like a mini detonation in your head, crescendos of feedback crashing into layers and layers of underlying power chords.
By the time they reach their closing number, Roj is screaming into a mic held with one hand and playing his guitar with the other. The stage crew quickly draw a curtain over the stage. The feedback's still cascading from the amps. Somehow you knew it would be. SCARY have left the building.
Tiberius Kirk