Bad, vile and meaningless: Diamanda Galas from Alan's clob

Diamanda Galás

If you haven't heard of Diamanda, you haven't yet lost your virginity. Or purity of spirit. Or anything else of consequence.

Bloody hell, Diamanda!

Take for instance her album 'Plague Mass'. The gory sight on the cover is Diamanda covered in blood. (Presumably it's not hers.) This rather spirited affair takes place in a real cathedral, and would undoubtedly be a real spectacle. The audio recording catches faint glimpses to the psyche and power of the performing artist.

When I say performing, I mean, that it's mostly her voice that you hear, but it will send shivers in your veins. The vast sense of space from the cathedral combines with devilish wailing and moaning and screaming ("There's NOOOOOO no more tickets to the funeral"). Her presence creeps through and without fail will seize you and even tantalize you.

She could lead a cult. Hell, she could feast on my naked soul with that tongue of hers, and I'd gladly let her. It's amazing shit, take it from me.


Back in the older days, I got Devil Doll's album "The Girl Who Was ... Death" in my possession. That album has a fantastic concept, and great singing performance, but it always lacked in the music. In my heart, I've been pleading for more competent people to wish to remake this thing, and here, in form of Galás, we have something that strikes quite close. The same kind of drawls, screams, stretching of syllables, almost hits home. Still, it remains my hope that one day I'll gear something that surpasses both albums.

Somehow, however, I'm starting to get this funny notion that what it won't happen without Diamanda being on it.