Phobophobes: The sound of plain misery
Alejandro De Luna
“We’re just a bunch of fucking weirdos you wouldn’t let anywhere near your kids”, says Chris O-C (organ/synth keys/backing vocals) from Phobophobes – an outrageous and perverse gang of reverberating misery and decadent but endangered coolness. Certainly, one of the hidden and underrated gems in Britain’s “barren” music scene.
“Most people consider us ‘psych’ but I think it’s more early-80s post-punk. Who cares”, states our insider in the band. And it´s true. Who cares? In Phobophobes what matter´s the message: hate and indifference overlapped in beautiful textures of creepy noises and spooky voices. We can talk about garage, psych, and post-punk but Phobophobes – looking (and sounding) like they will not make it for tomorrow – brings a mixture of torment and human degeneration immortalized in recorded noise and sinister shows.
Composed by five (occasionally six) members, Phobophobes has some headmasters that shaped this syndicate of madness: “lots of influences, like Suicide, some Iranian psych guy called Kourosh-something from the 70s, and old South American bands like Los Saicos and Los Yorks”. Surprisingly, they have idols too: “Leila Khaled, the guy from Suicide, The man Dan Lyons” and another miserable, decadent but genius called Diego Armando Maradona.
“None of us really like the name Phobophobes, but, as is the nature of a phobophobe, we are too scared to change it to anything else”, recalls Chris, and it seems that they may have a point regarding such a bizarre and phobic band name. The sound coming out of the speakers is truly perverse and full of horror-like textures reminiscent of a B movie from Ed Wood or another wacko with similar intentions – maybe a step forward when thinking in The Cramps´ fascination with horror and kitsch.“I think parts of our music sounds like it’s from a George Romero film or something. It’s sleazy/perverse”, proudly says Chris, who also hints the inspiration of their disgusting and perverse image that seems to work as an album cover: “It is a still from Häxan – Witchcraft Through The Ages; a silent movie by Benjamin Christensen made in 1922 that had a remake in the 60’s with a jazz score and narrated by William S. Borroughs.” It is unquestionably, a disturbing image.
Ragged clothes; cheap, filthy shoes; an I don´t give a fuck approach, and a mammoth sound. Who the fuck are these guys that look like they escape from a mental hospital just a couple of hours ago? And from where they obtain this incredible sound? It´s better an accurate description from our insider, so here it is the honourable members´ profile:
- George Elliot (guitar) – “alcohol sweats and valium drool”
- Jack Everett (drums) – “home made tattoos and extremist Islamic catchphrases”
- Elliot Nash (bass) -“fuzzy bass/buzzy face”
- Christo (occasional guest guitar) – “angel fallen from some psyched out heaven”
- Chris O-C (organ/synth keys/backing vocals) – “long haired latino sleaze” and with a “militant Islamic approach to religion, sex, drugs and politics.”
- Jamie Taylor (vocals/guitar) – “aka Dreamy Taylor, aka Motor-Home Taylor, aka Chin Curry, the Crooner” or as I would say, a mixture between Jim Morrison´s drunk crooning, Ian Curtis´ despise for life and Alan Vega´s schizophrenic tones.
While Jamie writes lyrics that reflect his “own inability to find true love on an Omaha porch during his long sojourns in the United States”, and besides that George´s an “alcoholic” and “likes nothing more than to beat up homeless people on the way home from the pub”, the rest of these misfits are “really into ice sculpture and Sufi teachings.” At least that´s what Chris believes.
Any interests? Religion? Sex? Drugs? Politics? “I think these topics are all results of the decadence of the human race”, suggests Chris, and he goes even further: “how much of an egotist do you have to be in order to believe some divine being’s greatest achievement was creating your shitty self?.” Something to think about it…
I saw this bunch of mental patients at the rotten and rancid Windmill in Brixton a couple of weeks ago, and if you think that they can´t go any further than their catalogue in Soundcloud, then you need to experience them live. The guitarist looks like a fucked up (obviously) and undesired son of Johnny Thunders. Chris´ organ and synths are certainly what gives to Phobophobes this perverse and scary phobia-like sound. Bass player´s shy but uncompromised with dense and power bass lines while the drummer´s looking like he was a good, clean and decent guy before meeting these anguished souls… but now´s too late for him. Finally, the singer´s phantasmagorical tones, static performance and frustrated riffs complete the line-up of this club of psychos.
Just listen to “Advertise your life”, what it seems to be a straight attack against snobs, fakers and posers. Or “No Flavour”, with its depressing and filthy organs, thundering reverbs, wacky drums and a vocal tribute to Alan Vega while Jamie´s crying for help. “Chucetta” – with its Morrison-esque intonation – can´t bring less hope with phrases like ‘together it could be so much better…for you.’ However, if there´s one track that summarizes Phobophobes´despise for everything, is “Running On The Spot”, a brilliant track where these mental patients hide between layers of resounding perturbation.
With an upcoming “disgusting video” for “Make A Person”, the inclusion of some of their tracks in a compilation and “an EP which is going to be released by Trashmouth Records”, this band that threat their FB fans with phrases like “BE THERE [at the show] OR I´LL KILL YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY” is ready. If not to conquer the digestible and “barren” music scene, certainly to disturb minds with misery impersonated in music.
A band that hates “most things”, that defines London like a “a brutal and committed predator”, and that they do not have anything to recommend rather than typing ‘botfly removal’ on youtube. They´re humorous, decadent, dirty and certainly disturbing. For them, an optimistic future is not an option. They look that they are just lucky (or unlucky?) of being half-alive. They don´t give a single fuck if you like them but probably they already hate you. Welcome to one of the hidden and underrated gems in London: The sound of plain misery proudly presented by Phobophobes.
