DIRTY SLUT 3D INTERVIEW
It says in your bio that 'the glamour has gone from this town.' Do you
believe that? What are you going to do about it?
RAAAAAAHHH!!!!!! Glamour, don’t talk to me about glamour you sniveling porcine hack! The closest you will ever get to glamour is to wear the same rags as some other bromide blonde straight from the Mens Magazines. Since my dearest Aristotle O. died, no-one gives a decent party anymore, not like the one going on in my Pineal Gland anyway. So get the fuck away from me and let me get back to my power launch - I have some iced lobster flesh, hand-picked by 14 year old Vogue models, that I need to go roll in.
I'm assuming that your parents aren't Mr and Mrs Slut, and that they didn't
christen you 'Dirty.' Why that name?
Nominative Determinism has far deeper reaching consequences than most people might expect. Surges of Prophetic Lust, Flashes of diabolic inspiration, all these guide us through the process of harnessing our real desires, grasping the plurality of existence, and playing with ourselves in the sense of that most fundamental part - our identities. Who are you now? Who are you when you fuck, who are you when you pick your nose, who are you when no-one knows who you are, who are you when you don’t want to be yourself?
Which is sexier - music or sex?
The sweet sound of the muffled yells from the Gimp, as the rope dangling from your lovers bruised perineum cuts into yet another sad refugee from the dating game, hung like a piece of meat over the bars on the back deck. That tender moan as your thumb and middle finger meet, with naught but half a cm of warm flesh to keep them apart. The thrub and the pummel of being caught in a wall of eye-watering sub. Losing yourself in the sensoria of your lovers caress, spilling over into the auditory hallucinations of a trickle of blood down yellowed parchment. All this and more can combine, co-mingle and add to the beatific drama of the synths, the soothing inevitability off the kick. Weakness in the face of beauty. Power in the realms of reason.
Why techno?
What’s Techno? Stupid question. Next.
If I was a bloody minded, anal, trainspotting technohead, what would you say
to me?
Come lay down, sweetie. Here drink this, the cleaners have learnt to be very discreet with what they find here in the mornings.
If you weren't doing what you're doing, what would you be doing?
What? You mean as opposed to filling out a moronic questionnaire designed to reduce a galaxy of multiplicity of experience into a marketable, pre-digested, brain-sappingly un-original commodity so that you can fit it into the framework of your pitiful rag and thereby justify your existence? Is that what you mean? Oh, I don’t know, probably feeding the Knife-fish.
Studio or live - which is better and why?
Ah, now finally an interesting question. Studio or Live. Well, let me see. Well, my studio has a few facilities that most stages don’t have – the rigging points for the racks, the deep grooves in the floor to let the blood drain away, the rotating heart shaped water bed on top of the Amazonian Knife Fish tank, the keyboard and pedals to my 400 ft scent organ, y’know, the little things needed to inspire the creative soul. On the other hand, where else can you go to let 800 perfect strangers admire you while you hump your sampler. I mean the girls have to be strict, they only drag those on stage who show a propensity for spontaneous nudity and have the wit and the physique to match. Performing live always involves the un-expected, the novel. In my own highly controlled environment, an endless succession of manicured and worked on flesh eventually becomes numbing and you just ache for that slight imperfection, that unshaven jowl, that ever so subtle hint of cellulite to indicate the one you are currently wrenching through a post orgasmic stupor is actually a real Post Graduate Physics student and not just a lollypop.
What do you like most about performing live?
The Showers afterwards. Although on occasion it’s nice to step out onto the dance-floor where it’s a little less crowded.
What are we getting ourselves into when we go to a Dirty Slut gig?
Whatever you (and the dirty girls) allow yourselves to get into. How far can you go?
What can you tell us about your album?
Ah, a small trained marmoset bearing a message has just arrived – this must mean some of my Saudi friends are in town, must rush, tata!!
