Human to Zombie
- Box o Skulls
- I Paid someone to poison me
- Zombie on a stick
- Take the Radio
- Confessions and a power tool
- Zombie spider fella
- Horra fugue in X
- Curious George (lizard snake man)
- Human to Zombie mid conversation
- Love and Damage
- Bedevilled organ
- Human to Zombie mid conversation pt 2
- The Exit from Zombie pit
- I cut a smile into my Face
- Zombia flesh eatio
- Leave her dead
- Majick calming potion
It was a hot November day in the hills of Lyndoch. The apple trees wilt, pre-maturely dropping their fruit into the rotting jam carpet below, crows tear hot rotting flesh from the roadkill that sizzles on the melting bitumen. Inside a dilapidated dying building, old greying huntsman spiders writher in their nest of dried flies and spider shit. The screeching of the old hammond organ , the death drum thud from the pearl export and the throb of the fender precision stirred the prehistoric eightlegged freaks from their ancient holding cells. Through a myriad of cracks and rat holes poured a murder of quivering arachnid, their minds befuddled by an air thick with soundwaves of such high decibel levels that the dead who rest in their bellies would have awaken, had they not been turned to liquid.
The arrival of the uninvited did not go unnoticed by the three piece band. Horrahedd, as they were known to a select few, had spent a number of jittery minutes surveying the carpet of legs that disgorged itself from the studios wounds, it added to the uneasiness that they were trying to capture in the performance of their latest release ‘Human to Zombie’. ‘Don’t worry about the spiders” Said the organ grinder .”the heat will probably kill them” . He was right. Although the temperature was 32 degrees , only 2 degrees above average, inside horrastudios the thermometer had already topped 47, and the temperature at spider height was higher than the cheap as chips thermometer would read. A plethora of alcohols were on hand to trick the mind into not giving a fuck, Coopers sparkling, Jack Daniel’s and the ever reliable cheap scotch. A dusty hot wind blew in through a hole that use to be the west wall, previously a ghost toyota with a bad handbrake decided to obey the laws of gravity and roll down the hill at great speed, using horrastudios west wall as its prime means of stopping. Even though the missing wall let trees animals and minerals easy access to the studio it also enabled large hammond organs a comfortable entry.
A 1964 L100 Hammond organ was hissing and spitting its song into the hot dirty breeze as the dust rose from its burning valves. Was that sweat running down the neck or did the kick drum dislodge a spider from the rafters. 10 months of writing and recording was coming to a head, and today the last of the songs were to be finished. Etched into the walls were hieroglyphic scribbles , Sharps and flats , rhythmic patterns, graphic images of smiling slaughtered corpse’s, Dancing zombies, faces that showed their dehumanising path to zombieness. All these signs were arranged to give the minstrels the means in which to produce the music. Traditional sheet music lacked terms like, to scrape blade along spinal chord, or slit windpipe, or disassemble abdomen with angle grinder, so the inner skin of Horrastudios was therefore plastered with these images . “ Tell Me again” Mickey Rat Cutter spat “ What the fuck is melting flesh in C Sharp supposed to sound like” The bass line written before his eyes looked nothing like the lines and dots he normally reads. It looked more like the lines you would find carved into the torso of a torture victim. “FORGET ALL THAT HAS COME BEFORE HORRAHEDD” Mr Glenn shouted above the scream of the Hammond. The Rat Cutter took a deep smoke filled breath, let the omnipresent wall show its truth, and then played his bass. Colonel Dale, Drummer extradonaire, meanwhile was having no trouble with the filth on the walls. He had his back to it. The Colonel didn’t have to read the wall, He just fed off the organ. If the Organ played a passage of Flesh unknitting then the Colonel would play unknitting flesh, If the organ played the dance of a maggot filled brain then the Colonel would beat out a rhythm worthy of a thousand ravenous larvae.
Throughout the day the three played on. Microphones capturing all, and in spite of the heat, the spiders and the sparkling ale, or because of it, the trio greeted midnight with the recordings of Human To Zombie completed.
Epilogue
During the 10 months it took to complete Human to Zombie, quietly swinging from the rafters of Horrastudios, was The Entity that is Horrahedd. A six foot tall rag doll dressed in wino clothes with ping pong ball eyes, set deep inside its 1970’s cheesy werewolf mask, starring intensely upon all the studios proceedings. Its head all full of chook wire, spiders, polystyrene and bloodied cheesy intent. Not a creative moment went past without its gaze influencing the course of the recording. All musicians who entered the studio felt the hand of horrahedd upon them. All those who leave horrastudios leave with a peace of horrahedd in them. And with every recording completed in his presents Horrahedd grows stronger.