Seems the pit of eternal damnation [B]Dani Filth[/B] is presiding over has a strict curfew of 10pm, after which the venue (sorry, cesspool of doom) plays host to [B]Camp Attack[/B], a gay night whose
The nasty little midget in the squeaky black leather armour with the red eyes and split ends is sulking. Seems the pit of eternal damnation Dani Filth is presiding over has a strict curfew of 10pm, after which the venue (sorry, cesspool of doom) plays host to Camp Attack, a gay night whose stars this evening include sparkly chart-toppers [a]S Club 7[/a]. Even on “the eve of the holy Armageddon”, the dark might of Satan is no match for the pink pound.
Still, that’s the crazy world of mass entertainment and few come crazier than Cradle Of Filth, who tonight sport a brand new line-up and manage to squeeze all their side attractions – chicks writhing in cages! A virgin sacrifice! An explosion! Blokes in masks! – into an hour just in case the fans tire of the Filth’s grating metal mulch.
A week before, deranged revellers were diving off the Astoria’s balcony as cartoon savages Slipknot tore the place apart. Here, the kids offer half-hearted 666 salutes. It’s not surprising. It’s hard to be intimidated by a man who minces across the stage and speaks like Kenneth Williams on crack. “This is a fucking metal concert,” Dani bellows, evil like yer grandmother, “and this number’s called ‘Principle Of Evil Made Flesh’! Uuurrrgggghhhhh!!!”
Amazingly, the Filth have sold a bloodcurdling quarter of a million records around the globe and their old-fashioned commitment to the hoary pantomime of black metal, has to be grudgingly admired.
They might have no tunes at all,
but they have got someone dressed as the Devil in a studded PVC thong. With the Filth, it’s all a question of priorities.