Image: Michael Tewes gratuitous picture of maximilian hecker here				albums, may 2003: Zeigenbock Kopf // The Darkness // Yeah Yeah Yeahs // Maximilian Hecker// Numbers zeigenbock kopf/ nocturnal submissions/(tigerbeat 6)Sometimes - very rarely - ok, just this once - the press release says it SO MUCH BETTER than any pseudo-music writer slash web yuppie slash fanzine sap ever could. So I quote: 'This is dirty fucking homo-electro cock fucking scum music for burnt-out overweight fuckers…the sound of a spastically pulsating prostate…they will tear you a new earhole while showing you the difference between your orifices. Polymously perverse crunchy waveforms and harsh minimal early industrial booty with Krautcock vox 100% Rectum rockin'!' Like, YEAH! It's horrible! It's throbbing nasty beats and a vile soulless sounding German man going on about how the bass is too loud and gives him pain inside his brain, and affects his dick and his balls, and…. song titles include 'Sex With a Man', 'Fag Hag', 'Leather Gloves', and 'Get Your Dicks In The Mix'. "*the* soundtrack for your fucked-up lusts - the ones that disgust even yourself" You wouldn't exactly listen to it for fun - we're talking the filthiest most fucked and distorted bass you ever did hear, scary vocoder mutterings, evil bleeps and squeals - but when you're, say, stranded at East Croydon station on your horrible commute back from your web yuppie job in the country wearing a black suit and ankle-mangling heels this is *the* soundtrack for your loathing of humanity and your fucked-up lusts that disgust even yourself. Sample lyrics? 'I put on my leather gloves / and prepare for a night of drugs / it doesn't mean a thing / all night and into the next day / leather gloves / more more drugs / now I've got your gloves / in my mouth / keeps me quiet / I won't make a sound / hold on tight / all through the night / leather gloves / leather gloves / night of drugs / it doesn't mean a thing.' Don't you SEE? This is music for MEN. I wanna git me some of that! //
		the darkness/ growing on me (e.p)/(must destroy music) Yay! THE DARKNESS! AMP's love for the Top Forty rocksters is no secret, unless you didn't like give a shit what AMP thinks or read Bizarre which is, quite frankly, entirely, eminently possible, indeed, desirable. BUT! The Darkness are like a distillation of every single track on the Dazed and Confused (THE FILM, FUCKWADS, not the crap mag) soundtrack put in a shaker and whirled around and argh. Guitars, guitars, done right they're the greatest thing on earth. It's so rare. We don't like it rough. We like it slick and complex. They gotta practise for years in their bedrooms. We don't want no punk aesthetic. We want perfection. Ok. 'Growing On Me' is Justin yelping through some basic love song about him and some chick fancying each other. Doh. It's fast and riffy and shit like that. Yeah. "top shop faux-mullet metal? yes PLEASE!" The next one is all about this young girl - 'there's so much of you I can't wait to see' - cuz she's like fifteen and so our valiant brave and pure hero is resisting his manly urges to fuck her even though she's 'laid it all out on a plate' which 'flies in the face of all that is good and right'. Ain't he a god? Ain't he the best? Quelle knight in shining armour! There's a great arm-waving chorus in which we all just gotta singalonga about how he can't wait to fuck her 'when her halo slips'. It's, uh, mid-tempo and utterly fabulous. She's taunting him and calling him 'slow'. And he's warbling in his ear-splitting, wailing falsetto - does he even have balls to fuck her with? You know it. Sweeter than candy, baby! And the final track - I can't find the sleeve so we'll call it, ohh, track three - is this Status Quo axe-off which reigns supreme. Can't wait for the album and the tour. Etching tats on my arms as we speak. Top Shop faux-mullet metal? Yes PLEASE! //
				yeah yeah yeahs/ fever to tell/ (dress up) There are men out there who get boners off this stuff, you know. O, ENERGY! O, gutter-trash POETRY! O VIBRANCY!!!!! There are men out there who want Karen to walk on their backs in pointy boots. There are girls out there who want to MELD WITH HER. But they didn't have my mother. I can't take women screaming. You want a proper review? Get tae fuck. "O, ENERGY! O, gutter-trash POETRY! O, VIBRANCY!" Hey! To WIN WIN WIN a copy of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs album, send AMP a most disgusting and vile and amusing fantasy about Karen O. 500 words or less. The winner of the most gross-out and despicable story gets Fever to Tell AND a copy of their single Date With The Night. Send to amp at ampnet dot co dot uk. Go!!!!! //
		maximilian hecker / rose / (kitty-yo) Ohhhhhhhh Maxipad. Another smooth and peachy crooner from the stable of Kitty-Yo. Like Louie Austen if he was young and lovely and had no sense of humour. Like Gonzales if something had gone horribly, horribly wrong, and he'd been stripped of his hair and flair and sex. Maxipad, maxipad, do you even have sex, do you? Maxipad, maxipoo, what is your problem? How. Can. Anything. Be. Wrong. In. Your. Life. You are beautiful and young and talented. Your songs are gorgeous, sparkling little electro-acoustic diamonds. Maxi, the world swings its lighter in the air and the sparks fly off and they make a garland for your head. Maxi, we love you. Maxi, you model for Prada. Maxi, any girl lucky enough to get with you would cup your hairless balls in her hand and would peel hand off and sniff the scent and never wash hand ever, not ever Maxi, not ever. In short: I DON'T BELIEVE YOU. I don't believe IN you, Maxi. Not any more. "bullshit, mister hecker" Infinite Love Songs? Fuck yeah. You were the soundtrack to last year's big whappety-boom breakup wrench of FUCKED UP RUINED LIFE, Maxi. The days were long and filled with pain, Maxi, and your tear-drenched epics ran rings around my sodden heart. But I'm better now, Maxi, and you should be too. Listen to yourself! 'You don't want me / you don't need me / you don't love me / you don't please me / you will laugh at me and walk away.' NO. THEY. WON'T. Argh! Take a look at yourself! You're a fake and a fraud, Maxi. You wallow in peril. You romanticise pain and I ain't talkin' the fun kind, sweetpea, I'm talkin' EMOTIONAL PAIN. BulllllSHIT, Mister Hecker. You're lying to yourself and worse than that, you're lying to ME. Nobody likes a whinger, Hecker. Stiff upper lip, Hecker. Tell the truth, Hecker. The truth about your life. I've seen your girlfriend, Hecker, and she's LOVELY. //
				numbers / death / (tigerbeat 6) Argh! That'll teach me not to read the fucking press release or even the goddamn sleeve. That'll teach me to just hurl the cd in a pile going 'EW NUMBERS TIGERBEAT 6'S TOKEN GUITAR GROUP BRRRR'. O, I love being wrong I so I do I love being wrong. I flip it in thinking 'god I need a pee god shall I go have lunch now or shall I just play this first I dunno. What if I go have lunch and then I come back and I wanna have a wank and then I fall asleep for like fifteen minutes and then when I wake up I don't feel like writin no more that happens every day when you're freelancing missy you know it you do you know it you just know' and then… Gold CHAINS? Whu? The fuck? What's he talkin' about? Remix album? Club track? Telling them to get rid of their ratty-ass amplifier? Get rid of the filters on the keyboard? Whu? WHAT? Kid 606? What? ELECTRONICAT? Huh? Kit Klayton GD Luxxe Dat Politics Zeigenbock Kopf WHAT? I've been conned!!!! This is this is this is DANCE MUSIC! Ok ohhhh-kayyyye. RADICAL REMODELLING. Turns out this is a remix of their album 'Life' (clever, huh? Did you see what they did there?) by various Tigerbeat hipsters. Aha! "gold CHAINS? whu? the fuck? What's he talkin' about?" Electronicat's version of that one they always play at the electro clubs ('Driving Song') is RIGHT ON THE MONEY. The voice is still there, snarling and snappish, but low in the mix, being forced to the floor by Electronicat's dirty rape-bass, and it builds and builds up faster and faster and faster in time with the 'der-ner / der-ners' till you're just this little mess on the dance-floor. The Dat Politics remix of the same song is as crisp and cheeky as you might expect from the masters of bleep but the arcane guitar riff is preserved in its full powerful purity before the vocals are blipped and stretched to chewing-gum fuck. It pulsates like a penis jiggling to erection before getting wrenched and stretched like play-doh thin. And then it turns into one of those little balls attached to a ping-pong bat by elastic and it's BOPPED INTO YOUR FACE IN YOUR EYE UNTIL YOU SCREAM. Which is, like, enormously fucking sweet. And then, then Zeigenbock Kopf dude comes on like the Incredible Hulk crossed with Steelgate crossed with the Hunchback of Notre Dam bragging about being the 'young man abuser' and 'sex with some abandoned asswipe / deadly diseases / put my body to the test ' and all the rest of his aforementioned usual vile debauched ergh on his version of 'I Like Having These Things'. Faaaack. I've got to go and have that lie-down now. 'Death' by Numbers gets a MILLION out of ten! Whoa. Miss AMP, May 2003. //
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MUSIC: FOOD OF LOVE. NOT AS GOOD AS REAL FOOD, THOUGH. Angie Reed Presents Barbara Brockhaus: Barbara Brockhaus is a saucy secretary who makes very good electro-karaoke records... May 2003 Rekkid Reviews: Zeigenbock Kopf, Numbers, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Maximilian Hecker, The Darkness. Guess which is the odd one out because it sucks SO HARD!!!??!!??!! Plus: WIN the Yeah Yeah Yeahs album! wHy i h8 nU mEtAl tEeNz, bY mIsS aMp Death to those with pink hair and massive strides and self-inflicted scarz! Gonzales Miss AMP gets overly excited by a big hairy Jewish rapper. The Gold Chains Guide to Treating Your Lady's Coochie Like A Maze Learn from the master, peasants! Le Tigre: They're Grrrrrrrrreat! No drummer, just a dat, some samples, and three kick-ass muscians /art activists. Yay! Reviews: Things That Do Not Suck Magazines beginning with the letter 'C'. Saf Sees Iggy Saf checks out an exhibition of Iggy Pop pictures at the Scala club in London Ten Benson Suki gets a boner under heavy riffage. The Runaways Riffs! Eyeliner! Oestrogen! Joe Pop on the greatest girl-group EVA! Whilst tripping off his tits at 3am, Brian Wilson bought a telescope shop, because it pissed him off that there were no telescope shops open at that time of night. Rrriight.