crankstuf: marmelade, makka, kransekake
speedfreak Front 242: take a walk
Nutrition Facts: Agurknytt: Mr. Chips

Christian Erik Mumford, a.k.a. Charlie Yuga, NJ, 1993

"Harvest Of The Innocent"

It seems to be about time to pull this old chestnut of a tale from my youth out of the vaults. Just go for a big old helping off that massive mouth watering roasted leg of lamb stuffed with all that fresh garlic clove and parsley, or at least just pull yourself together like a man of common royalty during this sort of irritangly late easter season celebration.

'a true deadhead autobigraphy from 1994 and 1995 served up like the kind of porkchop you only cook by yourself'

...presenting my own story of women and drugs and rock music and things like that as presented in the name of Jesus Christ and The Devil in two a part live action expose...

'One dollar hot dog'

I just stuck my hand down her beautiful shaven crotch when I undressed her and unbuckled her overalls and said she was just a beautiful naked girl I had never met. She had a Danzig skull tattoo over her ass. After many adventures together we eventually wound up spending alot of time together either just hanging out together to get away from roomates and even getting naked together after escaping a party or two we just had to do it anyway. I loved licking her in the face, sucking on her chin and her crazy old wart and just cleaning her entire mouth with my tongue and digging her missing tooth while fingering her ass from behind as we fucked in intimate extatacy for hours on end to not only satisfy myself but also to please my woman during all those many long and draining hours we spent screwing like that we became so dry in our mouths and so comfortably fatigued that we sometimes suffered together while laying together talking and touching eacother in the secret campfire setting on the floor of the trip room being so in love you think are so engulfed in Krsna death and forever so deeply in love you never think a human body was even made for such intensely painful states of unbearable pleasure and longing for closeness. Eventually we moved in together and by that time she had dyed her hair black and turned desperately macho, running around with some kind of butch heavy metal attitude and stuff and I figured she was going through some kind of gothic kind of obsession or even a crazy kind of insane hippy phase wearing those stylish little flares I liked so much, and seeing her getting fucked up on dope and being really pissed off. I let her run loose at night like some kind of crazy animal anyway if she really thought she had to get out of the house or whatever between our long and healthy sessions of Krsna intercourse. I even sometimes tried to cook up something light and for me and her with her being a chicken vegetarian and everything making her little tummy so much harder to please, I just wanted to make to make my old honey happy again after all this time. I eventually just gave her a silver Jormundgand serpent as she occasionally wore a slave bracelet which she talked about once or twice to me, and since she liked silver, and as I had always too, I simply tried saying I still loved her as like the day we first met, as if we had gotten older together, keeping a Mj°lne Thor's hammer for myself. Because of the slave bracelet, I figured she was a punk in Hinduism and heavy metal and I thus claimed her as a deadhead dude in hardcore. We had actually had a great time once tripping on mescaline together and fucking in total ecstacy to Hawkwind's "Electric Tepee" album on my bed during a trip at our old house before we had moved in together, and I wanted to commemorate the occasion as some kind of ancient Hawkwind deadhead. I suppose I somehow own a girl with a Danzig tattoo over her ass because I still do anything for her sorry ass go-go dancing heavy metal fallout biker casualty any time, and I damn well do what I want to do because own her sorry heroin loser ass until the day I die in bed painfully spanking my sorry old Nazarene warrior self to its final throes of death in Krsna extacy as someting along those lines just to commemorate my old lady, Dorothea.

'Hundred dollar paella'

I had done Jenny only once because I had to. I almost forced her after our pleasantly intimate and otherwise memorable moments together and I didn't understand why she was so afraid of me. She had even told me once that she had been abused by an older cousin as a child and I didn't understand what she was talking about. She had scars all over her body from some kind of bone operation as a child. It was just kind of weird. I didn't even know she was a virgin until she told me and then I thought if that should even matter to any of us or then I guess she has to accept some kind of fact that if she's so serious with me then she has to at least say she is open to things. I'd never really told her about Dorothea because it was weird to talk about things like heavy metal or hardcore to a nice little Swedish girl like Jenny. I just thought she was some kind of weird new age earth spirit or something like that inside because she was Swedish. She pretty much knew I was some kind of crazy guy who had had some kind of previous sexual affairs or had done alot of crazy drugs or whatever she thought I was in her different kind of world she came from. I was actually a pretty hardcore psychopath inside in the company of her friends. From the very start I had pretty much said that if she hangs with me then she better take some kind of message unless she is an idiot or something. Sometimes she could look so damn stupid I swore she was a little bit retarded or something. Years later I just had pretty much already decided she had to die in Buddhism because she was a liar to my face about even remotely liking me as a person despite her constant interest in me after I pretty much left her thinking her some kind of crazy little idiot trying to drive me insane, and because I already had wanted to trash her anyway from day one because she was some kind of stupid virgin cow at some point and a just some kind of whore anyway in my presence, and even though she was a sweet girl, she really just asked me to die or something. So I did her once and trashed her years later with an unstamped FedEx envelope marked "LSD" containing all her completely uninteresting and sickening little love letters. I had been some kind of hippy for years anyway.

article (c) 2001-2002 Charlie Yuga



image (c) Christian Mumford/Aural Innovations 1998

"Harvest Of The Innocent" - Cleopatra records and why they are scum

Like a fucking warrior I have to present this article to somebody or anybody somewhere still close to the war. It is probably still of major interest to those last remaining few survivors here who still truly walk among us... stay dead or just enjoy at your own risk. Yes, I used to be John Bonham, you know... but then I have to be Rob Halford all over again... fucking Discharge... dead Iron Maiden!

The frequently rather flimsy and somewhat unserious reputation of the American Cleopatra record label continues to disgust fans and insult artists alike with unbeleivably crap artwork, but they may be getting better, according to some fans and random eyewitnesses alike... With their unforgivably shoddy and generally nauseating habit of releasing and packaging so many of their CD's in crap computer artwork so laughably ugly and so unforgivably cheap and tacky looking that their otherwise generally unedible obsession with sleazy gothic script or primitive science fiction fonts still clash and blur in spindly digital collages, their trademarked computer generated style lending their many releases the unique Cleopatra look. Often mixing random or obscure biblical or mythological imagery to create images of some kind of cosmic or profound interest or value, the typically spidery line artwork and uniquely artificial color schemes on many Cleopatra releases are easily considered just as tacky and substandard to the gifted as to the mad, as many of their generally far simpler outer space type covers prove, often being just a crazy looking collage with a big floating head somewhere, or just some kind of clunky spaceship image or a stupid computer generated robot motif, or even some kind of big empty meteorite storm type thing, a decent composition seems to equal some kind of blurry inertia on most of their cheaper looking releases. The US label first reared their head in the early 90's with Hawkwind founder Nik Turner's rerecorded "Sphynx" album, Cleopatra also housing industrial hardcore pioneers Pressurehed for their three classic and well packaged albums, and while Cleopatra's frontier attitude to the mass market and in-house approach to their product admirably being as DIY as anything else equally mainstream existing in the industrial, psychedelic or gothic underground at the time, their independent role in the record industry certainly lending the label an extent of credit and credibility with such a star roster of artists such as Nik Turner, Psychic TV and Chrome. Despite their otherwise interesting reputation as a label in all their healthy and crass commercialism, promoting their broadened and streamlined genre of industrial rock and beyond to a market so ready for their product and vision that there is no way they can fail, while the underbelly of Cleopatra's otherwise visionary role in the US record industry and the underground music scene in general remains reflected in their blatantly tasteless sleaze machine recycling of the underground just to line their pockets for a quick fix off the commercially marketable chunk of modern underground off which they leech off this brand of subculture, this modern equivilant of human fallout to be cynically and cheaply exploited in the wake of mass marketing, to be systematically consumerized like and exploited like a bunch of fucking jews by a bunch of fucking jews in buddhism peddling their otherwise reputable and adult product being continuously packaged and repackaged in pitiful and cheap artwork to their increasingly thriving juvenile market eating out of their hands much to the disgust of an older or wiser group of fans and artists, and as with so many of Cleopatra's numerous dodgy cash-in compilations and crappy reissues floating around in stores as some kind of indication of their real intentions as a ripoff operation of profiteers appearing as something of an amateur phenomena when it boils down to the bare facts, as a label catering so much of their potentially interesting quality product to the less gifted of music fans with alot of cheap looking garbage not only insulting the standard intelligence level of the average connisseur or collector of quality music with flimsy looking reissues and cheap compilations, but as a label Cleopatra openly serving up most of their trash product to this kind of low brow high school halloween scene and down to a gutless idiot level of parody of the cutting edge culture which they claim to promote, and as if such a shamelessly cheap and rickety looking underground scene really exists or ever has existed, then it looks like Cleopatra seem to make some kind of bizarre or drunken claim to it in the mass clearance bins of shopping malls and second-hand record stores all across America. While Cleopatra as a label still demonstrate their otherwise misplaced intentions and dishonest interests with an attitude of record disregard of integrity so staggering in its mass harvest of the innocent that it still demonstrates that as this still reluctantly respected and increasingly celebrated label's checkered past and rather flimsy reputation and rank amateur attitude still remains embroiled in some kind of perverted or polluted ideals still somehow rooted in an almost childlike artistic innocence and interest in quality music, Cleopatra's original vision of course being founded in a very narrow cultural segment of the music market which still only speaks for the label with some amounts of respect still intact in the wake of all their shoddy rip-offs and bum deals, their otherwise disrespectable record of terrible taste and unfashionable tendencies ever present since their conception, Cleopatra at their worst reaching record highs of disgust and disrespect, cheapening not only the industry in general, but also so many of their artists with their somewhat laughable and dodgy reputation, a label known to fleece the underground music scene as often as they can and in as many ways as possible and without any regard to common human decency or real interest of the fans, they sure run their operation as best they can without a shred of honesty, but as we all know, with such a ragtag roster of artists and such an array of completely crap releases under their belt, inbetween the odd artistic gem or the rare shimmering demonstration of genius, they still fucking suck like the maggot infested pile of dead idiot liar goths from America they truly seem to be to most of us who still like a bit of fucking music. Sieg Heil!

article (c) 2002, Charlie Yuga



image (c) Christian Mumford 1998


"A 'Bowie-Shag' is when you miss your vein."
- Dr. Crabstix, Nazi Deadhead Commando And Paramedic Hippy Emergency General

"You can take the Beatle out of Uncle Charlie, but you can't take Uncle Charlie out of The Beatles!"
- Bastard Ceremonial Proverb Of The Immortal Blasphemers Of Sodom

"There remains nothing but juggernauting the Apocalypse ▄bersoul through the constant avalanche of dying bodies!"
- Tubrok The Alterer, Paramilitary Ascendant Archangel Of Christ And Avenging Jehovah Of The Revalations

"I actually saw Mot÷rhead play at least seven fucking times, right, but I only remembered to bring my fucking woman along just once!"
- The Cannibal Swinger, King Of Romania

"Mahatma please go die of AIDS or something, you are a disgusting little man dreaming about the world like a filthy little kike, you are so queer, you're a flaming homosexual, you're a sissy, a liar and a thief. You'll never die beautiful like a poet."
- an unknown little soldier in The Jehovahs Witnesses