I'd like a giant steak of computer music over a Terminator skeleton of guitar riffery, please waiter

Sometimes you just get so fucking tired of stuff looking the way it's supposed to look. Like when I saw these 8-bit fellas at the Spitz at a Lektrolab thing, teaching us all about Atari music. How it could only play four or eight or 16 notes. How you could crack open your Nintendo to make it make sounds, or make a strange retro-fake emulation of an iPod on an old Commodore.

But they looked so the part: three-quarter length skate trousers, ratty hair sticking out under trucker caps, affable, confused-looking faces. The face of a boy who'd lie there reciting lines of code the second he'd rolled off of you, because that'd be the semi-autistic way his mind would work, and you'd just love it, because he seemed part alien. So much so that you didn't even mind that you'd wake up every morning all bruised from the cranked-open computer cartridges that littered his bed.





But. Sometimes. Living in the east end, where most everyone looks the way they ought to look, with their just-so jesusbeards and blazers, with their elongated scarves and escalator hair, sometimes you just hanker for a bit of wrongness. Like the moment after a party when your tongue wanders round your mouth and finds that one of your teeth just isn't there anymore. Like when you fall forwards and your weight goes on your hand and your fingernail bends back and the tip flips insideout for a second.

Like when someone's left the seat up and you crash down on the porcelain and it's harder and colder and more deathly than you'd anticipated. Like when you're chewing dinner and you nip your tongue and then your food is full of blood and you want to spit. Like when you get slapped. Little moments that are like acid flashbacks or momentary waking nightmares. Little moments that jerk you into a different sort of conciousness for like half a second.

That is the experience provided by Bodenstandig 2000 live. They will hit you upside the head with giant slabs of computer music. The slabs are like meaty bits of steak, flying through the air to clap you round the side of the head, but then when they connect you realise that beneath the meaty steak of bleeps and bloops is a Terminator-style skeleton of enormous, rigid, pounding guitar riffery.

And then you realise that these Terminator steaks are being wielded by the most unfashionable men you ever saw, with trousers hiked right up to their nipples without the leastest bit of irony, right there in your fashionable King's Cross nightclub, and it makes you want to fall down and catch your breath.

Is your music good to make love to?

Er… it has a bit of sex in it. Most of the songs are rather old, about the fate of computer freaks. They are initially sexless, but now we start to write more and more love songs.

Are you Christians?

Not very much. We have nothing to do with church.

How old are you?

We are 39.

What did you do until you were 39?

Dragan: I was at school, and I was a computer freak. I studied mechanical engineering and design.

Bernhard : And I was a sanitaite (sp?) - this is when you drive a hospital car. An ambulance.


You're not fashionable, and yet you are. WTF?

D: 15 years ago this kind of music was limited to videogames, and then suddenly it came to the clubs. We don't know why. We always thought this music was cool! Atari music is great for dancing.

B: I'm from a small village near Stuttgart. We had no cultural centre or arts scene. Often it's much better to stay in a quiet environment to develop such music.

D: The fact is, we are slow guys. If you need 10 years for one song it's still ok. If your music's not trendy, you just wait five years. Fashion is really not interesting for us! It just happens sometimes.


Straight-talking grime MC Shystie on the importance of dick size and representing her ladies

Cat Power Takes Off Bra, Gets Into Bed

Question: can a feminista chica dig on booty bass and still look at herself in the morning?

The Gold Chains Guide to Treating Your Lady's Coochie Like A Maze Learn from the master, peasants!

Corn Mo Makes a Story from My Email Inbox Subject Headings

wHy i h8 nU mEtAl tEeNz, bY mIsS aMp

Death to those with pink hair and massive strides and self-inflicted scarz!

Miss AMP gets overly excited by a big hairy Jewish rapper.

The Runaways

Riffs! Eyeliner! Oestrogen! Joe Pop on the greatest girl-group EVA!


  • Intro by AMP

  • Interview by Sophie

  • Illustrations by Bodenstandig 2000

  • Here is a review I wrote of the band for Playlouder

  • Here is an MP3, called 'In Rock 8-Bit', for you to download

  • R