Southern Death Cult | Cult-ural Meltdown

David Dorrell says pow-wow, but not Bow Bow Bow

Article published in NME, 5th June 1982

Southern Death Cult | Cult-ural Meltdown | IN BRADFORD the dark satanic mills are closing down and the pubs opening up. Curry houses and working men’s clubs vie for custom and dole money in every cobbled lane. Everywhere looks poor and only the Tetley Bittermen can afford to “sup wi’ lads”.

But while working waists become Bittermen bulges, a handful of people are striving to achieve something more. The Southern Death Cult are cutting up the body politic and people are looking forward to the inquest.

For a four-piece band, the inquest looks interesting. Aky, Barry, Buzz and Ian: drums, bass, guitar and vocals —respectively. Respect is something you must have for these four 20-year-olds —together for a year, on the circuit since October and already a Theatre Of Hate tour under their belts.

Hype? Not a chance, they can (get ready) play their instruments —forceful drumming offset by subtle guitar work and rich bass lines, with lyrics that are forced upon the unsuspecting with a relentless, wave-like battering. Screamed by this rough-voiced preacher, clicks and chirps are thrown around as though by a demonic dawn chorus and the shrill, piercing screams are echoed to full effect at the end of the set.

Redskin Rockers

TSDC spells Death for Southern Cults. Already they ardently desire to dispel the myth that has been perpetrated by the London Press — that they are the new warriors, that they are heavyweight ‘Redskin Rockers’. The Southern Death Cult have an acute awareness that they cannot afford the growth-stunting cancer that all such tags contain.

Indians are Ian’s department, but don’t put him in the same kennel as Bow Wow Wow — he was playing with Pawnees before the Worlds End began. Whilst living in Canada as a child, Ian became friends with the Indians on a local reservation; since then, he claims, his life has revolved around their lifestyle — a true soul brother.

Ian’s lyrics cover a broad framework of ideas that range from an anti-vivisection song (‘Vivisection’) that does actually make you think to a stream of songs (or so it seems) that decry the United States (‘Moya’, ‘Or Glory’) for its perversion of the Indian faith and the propaganda used to influence both the Canadians and the Amerindian youth. On top of this is a musically daubed canvas — a stark arrangement of subtle steps and crudely forced beat, a malignant yet awesome effect.

The intricacies of the music are reflected within the band —the music and the men are inextricably linked in a melting pot of culture. TSDC becomes a meeting point where Orient meets Occident and survives without accident.

Southern Death Cult | Cult-ural Meltdown

It is probably fair to say that TSDC represent a microcosmic view of Bradford cultures. Aky is a Pakistani and Ian is a traveller of nomadic status. Although their individual lifestyles are different, both Ian and Aky share a common strength through their cultures — but they are also eager to point out the weaknesses. It is these weaknesses that are captured within songs like ‘Moya’, a harsh indictment of the Americanization of Canada.

Ian has bad memories of Canada. “It scares me — and it’s happening here. Hamburger chains, roller skates, videos —the Canadians didn’t know, it just happened and now they’re completely smothered, just out of touch.”

Aky echoes Ian’s sentiments. “I still adhere to my parents’ values. I’ve taken some big steps away but I’m still basically a Muslim. I’m proud of my religion — I’ve got something to hold onto. People living a nine to five life haven’t anything; they stop questioning and keep on falling.”

Aky has broken the typical Asian mould. He doesn’t wear high heeled boots nor the proverbial checked flares — and in Bradford that is taking seven league steps.

Head to toe against another culture stands Barry — he laughs with a Northern confidence at the music companies who like to think of the band as dumb Tykes.

“Record companies come along with all these plans — they yap on in their CBS language, their bullshit language — so we just nod and sound like we’re innocent young things . . . then we go out and piss ourselves. They really think that we’re thick.”

Burning Rome

In fact Southern Death Cult are due to release a single on their own label under the auspices of Burning Rome.

“We know that we would sell more records with a Burning Rome label but we don’t want to come under the Theatre Of Hate banner. After doing the tour with them it would be simple for people to see us as the Indians to the TOH Westworld cowboys.”

With this cautious approach the band will hopefully escape the exploitation and pigeon shit holing that most new faces attract from the music business. The band have an optimism born out of what the band see as their chance in the cyclic music process.

“This is as much ’72 as ’82 —the scene is stagnant. This fresh young pop music is an illusion. Something new is coming — and we could be it, or at least part of it.”

Aky (who sleeps with a copy of the Monsoon single—hopelessly in love) has his own view of the future. “I think that chappati rock is the next big thing.”

Whatever the future, The Southern Death Cult are intent on being there adding spice to our lives — Tetleys, papadums, Bradford and the Cult. A taste of the North that smacks of the East and West.