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Hi,
you can call me Bond, James...no, Charlie Bond 007.
That's what I call myself right now, because I don't know exactly, how my
bosses have christened me. They haven't told me yet, like they never
communicate very much with me anyway, exept taking the piss outta me with
a glued beard made of tesafilm. Very annoying indeed, that I got stuck to
a microphone. I did complain, but I couldn't help it. At least I got an
excellent view from up here and I show my guys what the program is, thanx
to the setlist glued to my forhead. Just to take this ahead, I'm not the
only one of this bunch here, who misses his hair. But that's okay. By the
way, I belong to the band as well as the fourh member. But one thing
doesn't get into my skull. What?! - It's as simple as this... How can a
new masterpiece be entitled 'Speak Of The Dead', but on the other hand
beeing so energetic on stage, that every headbanging Zombie on this planet
doesn't have wet dreams underneath the vegetable zone deep in the ground,
but they're shaking their heads in a 3/4 rhythm. Or is it 7/8 ... I don't
care....
No,
I'm just kiddin', because one thing hasn't got anything to do with the
other. Everything is clichee, our title 'Speak of The Dead', and also die
live performance of my old sirs here and even myself. Yes, I'm dancing
Rock'n'Roll, even it's only on my stick here.
And the only focus up on stage apart from me, are those three not young
but still youthfull headbangers, who still rock better and harder than
many kiddies. But okay, okay, compared to me, my friends here are still
youngsters compared to me.
The good thing about the boys is, that none of them shows off the big star.
Peavey our big boy within this multiculti club is dominating the stage of
course with his bright shape. Victor, our russian pride is starring with
his excellent guitarplaying. And I don't think, I've gotta say a lot
anymore about Mike, the animal, - Terrana, , who beats his baby up, so the
bassdrum is dancing a tango, and the snare is loosing it's virginity once
again. What a hell of a drummer, or should I say, - animal, like I
mentioned before. It is amazing, how he treats his drumkit so fast and
hard with too much energy and rage, but on the other hand, every beat is
perfectly played going into the tiniest details. Every time the kit is
praying to get outta alive. Poor little sod. I rather prefer my spot here
on the micro.
Yes it's showtime, and the Slogan ‚Speak Of The Dead’ doesn't go
confirm with this explosive Party here onstage. Our Music is sort of
metal of the old school, or should I better discribe it - metal of the
usual classic way. Nothing extraordinary, nothing new.
But as we have experienced so often in the past with so many other bands,
it always showed: stay with your style, and the fans stay with you. But go
and try to include some new hot spices. Got me?! Okay once again.... My
boys here have developed a sort of style over the years, which they follow
without taking any risks or extravaganza, but they playin' it with still
so much fun and enthusiasm and some showelements (so what Mike?!) Victor
let's his guitar jump up and shows us the jump overs between a deep C and
a high D or cis and dis... who cares... I'm not a guitarist but only a
stupid deadbone and I rely on my imaginary hearing. I swear, I got some...
And when Peavey starts smettering with his powerful voice like a nitingale
suffering of heyfever, the micorphone is vibrating like an explosion of
the Popocatabetl (is somewhere in Mexico by the way) then I'm terrified to
death, that my toothbone is getting loose.
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