Customer Reviews

Plague Mass

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Diamanda Galas, Plague Mass (1984: End of the Epidemic) (Mute, 1991)

Using words to describe this recording borders on the heretical, but I will do my best.

One night in mid-1991, I was driving down a small rural road listening to my favorite radio show, the Brent Banbury-hosted Brave New Waves (a show which, at the time, provided me with about 75% of the listening material that ultimately found its way into my CD collection). It was foggy, and there was no moon. Banbury, with his usual "there is no" segue, switched from something soothing-I can no longer remember what-to talking about the new album by a performance artist named Diamanda Galas. The name struck me, all by itself. Diamanda Galas. All those long, mournful "a"s drawing it out. Then I started concentrating again, and he was talking about the album being a piece of AIDS activism that was recorded live at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine.Okay, I haven't heard a note yet and I'm already hooked. Music about AIDS recorded in a cathedral. How can you possibly go wrong? Then he did what he does best. He shut up and played the section of the album that begins with "I Wake Up and I See the Face of the Devil..." and ends with "Confession."

Movies, in the main, do not scare me. Books do not scare me. Being on the receiving end of a Glock 9 held by a drunk scares me a little. Plague Mass terrified me. The combination of the minimal, piercing electronics and Galas' vocal contortions and glossolalia, with the dark and the fog surrounding the car, came close to having me run off the road into a telephone pole. Just because.

Needless to say, I was at the record store when it opened the next day.

Plague Mass is a (slightly pared down, so they could fit it on a single disc, unfortunately) live document, as noted above, recorded live at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. While one will find most of the material herein on the two-disc set The Masque of the Red Death (equally as essential in the collection of any aficionado of avant-garde music), the versions of the tracks on Plague Mass are more fully realized. Ms. Galas is a far more ferocious performer live than she is in the studio, and the added punch of emotion in such pieces as "Cris d'Aveugle" here (after more than ten years, still my favorite single Diamanda Galas recording) brings them to a whole new level.

The album veers between the minimal electronics above, martial music, and Galas' trademark mournful solo piano. There is something here for just about any type of music fan, though the rest of the album will admittedly grate; her version of "Let My People Go" would probably not sound too out of place on an adult contemporary station that took chances, while "I Wake Up..." and "Confessional" would go better at a Xenakis retrospective. "This Is the Law of the Plague" should appeal to fans of mid-era NON for its almost military flair (it carries a distinct tint of the live half of In the Shadow of the Sword. Really).

This is a brilliant, beautiful, absolutely essential piece of music. Beg, borrow, steal, rent, burn, download, do whatever you have to do, then sit in a dark room, or take a 3AM drive on a foggy night. Turn up the speakers. Press play. You will love it or you will hate it, but one thing is certain: you will not finish the experience unchanged. *****

In 1991, on the month of October, Diamanda Galas ascended the stage of New York City's Cathedral of St. John the Divine. There, she performed and recorded what may be the most memorable sound ritual ever to be heard by audiences. Both harrowing and angelic, "The Plague Mass" is a vocal exorcism birthed by a modern banshee. In most of the tracks, her operatic screams echo off the walls of the church, piercing the brain like flying shards of stained glass. Other moments allow her to disturb listeners with her hoarse, beastly hisses. However, Galas's intention was not merely to shock the religious. Instead, she turned the Holy Bible inside out in order to address the rampant suffering caused by AIDS. At a time when this disease was ruled as a divine punishment for gays and lesbians, Galas chose to spit gospel curses to every Christian responsible for persecuting and ostracizing HIV-infected patients. With candles flickering in the darkness, she speaks in manic tongues, vomiting forth a gospel hurricane that showed compassion to AIDS victims and unforgiveness to the viciously pious.
In "Were you a Witness?," Galas first expresses her anger towards America's mass media. It's apparent that the many deaths caused by the disease (including those of famous musicians like Freddy Mercury and Liberace) were treated like exhibits in a sensationalistic tabloid circus. She faces the money-hungry reporters and warns, "To all cowards and voyeurs, there are no more tickets to the funeral." "This is the Law of the Plague" incorporates several Psalms and Chapter 15 of the Old Testament. Here, in front of the rolling roar of dragon drums, Galas cackles in the role of a corrupt judge; a sanctimonious fascist who vehemently labels AIDS patients as "unclean." With a blood red light looming over her, Galas takes an appalling look at society itself. It's one where doctors, priests, and politicians deliberately leave HIV patients for dead just to avoid scandal and hatred. In addition, the singer labels the Devil as an impotent homophobe who can only be aroused by human suffering. "I Wake Up and See the Face of the Devil" allows Galas to portray the average victim. With a mind ravaged by dementia, she lies helplessly in a sterilized hospital room as a stern cleric forces her to confess her sins. The members of the clergy are warped into dirty angels that hover over the morgue like buzzards. Later, as the heartbeat percussion rises in its volume, Galas rips out some Revelations text. Predicting the arrival of the Antichrist, she leads 3,000 of his armies to massacre all devoted Christians who slaughtered and oppressed people with HIV. In an alarming fury, Galas spews a bitter poem concerning how anyone carrying the virus is shamelessly denied access to medical care, insurance, and surgery. She validly declared Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome as a form of homicide, making her audience aware of how infected men and women are robbed of their dignity. From there, in the track "Sono L'Anticristo," she proudly labels herself the son of Satan, since the Antichrist was as much of an outcast on Earth as Jesus. Then, "Cris D'Aveugle: Blind Man's Cry," a text originally written in 1873 by Tristan Corbiere, becomes a sad and spiritual communion played by a demonic symphony. In the Frency language, Galas leads her choir into a pit of despair, an afterlife that gives no love or comfort after HIV. As the bell tolls, Galas decrys the scourge of injustice. It's one in which family members killed by AIDS aren't properly buried because even the morticians are too afraid to embalm the corpses. During this song (as well as others on this album), her whispers get increasingly suffocated through a pair of hemorrhaged lungs, fading into a grim silence. Finally, the raw emotion of the blues tune, "Let My People Go" spills over the grim notes of a grand piano. Nothing is more terrifying than a virus that destroys the body's ability to defend itself. Galas believed that once AIDS strikes another host, that individual is doomed to suffer a lifetime of sorrow and cruelty. While comparing the illness to a sentence of life in prison, she expresses that person's depression in one sentence: "The Devil has designed my death, and he's waiting to be sure that plenty of his black sheep die before he finds a cure."
I recommend this album to anyone craving the works of a powerful, controversial artist. Diamanda Galas is a sonic martyr that liberates the soul from mainstream bondage.

The power of this live performance, performed in The Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City, is difficult to convey in anything less than superlatives and extremes. It is, for one, a very effective expansion and reduction of Galas' trilogy... For me, this is the vocal equivalent of Ginsberg's "Howl" raised to an excruciating pitch. It is the concentrated scream of the gay community under the shadow of AIDS and death. And, as such, is ultimately cathartic. "I Wake up and See the Face of the Devil" is an absolutely heart-rending hospital scene, and her revision of "This is the Law of the Plague" is enough to alone justify the purchase of the CD.

This has to be Diamanda at her absolute finest. This is even better than "The Litanies of Satan"! Recorded live (like the majority of her releases) at St John's Cathedral (from where she was arrested the year prior). Words can't begin to describe the atmosphere she creates here. This focuses on the religious right's condemnation of AIDS victims. My favorite track is "The Law Of The Plague", in which she spits out Leviticus with an indescribable acidity. I can't recommend this enough.

This is a terrifying album; I can't listen to it without getting shivers = down my spine. It is also a masterpiece, for the same reason. Galas means to terrify you. "Plague Mass", loosely based on medieval church liturgy, is an extended comparison of AIDS with past worldwide= epidemics. Exploring the marginalization, fear and strength of those infected with and dying of HIV, this is a tour-de-force performance which is at once brutal and spellbinding

People have called Diamanda Galas many things, usually missing the mark entirely. Far from being the notorious "Bride of Satan" she is The Voice of Truth shrieking at maximum volume. "This Is The Law Of The Plague" slammed me against the wall and alone is worth the price of the CD. Too bad more so-called artists aren't following her lead.

Diamanda's power is well-captured by this live recording from the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York. The rage of the "Masque of the Red Death" trilogy is expanded here by the vitality inherent in a live performsnce.

She is the right kind of evil, the righteous evil that contests the powers that present themselves as good. She must struggle and eventually win, though the losses are great. This album will affect even the most robotic.

Diamanda Galas makes some of the most uncompromising music in the world. Just look at the reactions in the reviews. It's nearly impossible to just "sorta" like Galas - she's either terrifying and wonderful, or a source of unlistenable garbage. Obviously, I fit in the former category. It goes beyond her incredible vocal range or her bizarre extended techniques - it's her artistic vision, as if her entire oeuvre combines to create this massive wave of anger, bitterness, and defiance. It's definitely not for those with delicate sensibilities.

Having said that, lets talk about "Plague Mass." I consider this one of her most well-conceived and perfectly realized works to date. It's one of the more powerful musical experiences I've yet had, even if the text doesn't necessarily speak to me as directly as it might to some. I've not known anyone with AIDS, but the raw anger of the work transcends the message.

There are instrumental parts, but they're really just there to support her voice and add some dramatic tension until midway through when percussionists enters. Galas employs equal parts music performance and theater. Over the course of the work, she channels a range of personalities, many times over the course of a single section. You can't always understand the words, but the tone, texture, and delivery gives the listener a pretty good idea what's going on.

I could describe the libretto, but that's probably the easiest aspect of the work to understand. Actually *listening* to the music in the correct frame of mind is much more difficult. Again, many will not enjoy the suffocating darkness or the aural assault of Galas's voice and that's fine - it's not easily accessible in any way. That said, I think we're best off listening without expectations. We normally listen to music with a more-or-less similar frame of mind. Most music follows a set of rules and conventions, which allow it to communicate easily with a wide audience. Experimental music such as this ignores those conventions, and therefore, we must set aside our preconceived notions about music when approaching something as radical as the "Plague Mass." To be fair, even after listening with an open mind, some listeners may still find it unsettling to the point of unlistenability. That's a perfectly reasonable reaction, but I would hope that before coming to that conclusion, everyone who decides to check this album out gives it a serious chance judging it on its own terms.

I recommend this to adventurous listeners and fans of the avant garde. If you're undecided, I'd highly recommend listening to the online samples before purchasing. It should give a fairly accurate idea of what to expect.

"Plague Mass" is definitely one of Galas's most personal works and it really comes through in a powerful way. If you can get past the oppressive darkness, you'll find a very moving experience.

This is a terrifying album; I can't listen to it without getting shivers down my spine. It is also a masterpiece, for the same reason. Galas means to terrify you. "Plague Mass", loosely based on medieval church liturgy, is an extended comparison of AIDS with past worldwide epidemics. Exploring the marginalization, fear and strength of those infected with and dying of HIV, this is a tour-de-force performance which is at once brutal and spellbinding.

Abject insanity can be a wonderful quality, especially if you are a great performer. All the shrieks and bubbling hell lava that keep Diamanda Galas on the far reaches of "other" music, made for an extremely adventurous--or equally insane--few, are at their peek on Plauge Mass. If this is not your circle, fine. Find a deserving classic like Dusty in Memphis and go enjoy some great solid ground. Read no further.

Now for us nutcases--myself gleefully included. No, I do not think Dimanda Galas is crazy--she is, however, a briliant artist. If vocal improvasation can become method acting, this would be a prime example.

A cursery sampling of Galas' work, even her "out" work, would lead one to think if you have one album, you have them all.

But not true. Galas' operatic work--not The Singer or The Sporting Life with John Paul Jones--has great varriation in emotion and texture. Some of it sadness, some fear, some dimenta. What strikes a careful listener is Galas' ability to make the subtle changes in technique to convey the mood she wants from album to album.

This disc is Galas at her most intense. That shrieking and stacatto babbling she does to simulate dimentia is never more stark and plentaful then it is over this absolutely terrifying album. She takes you to hell. Period, probably more so, and maybe more effectively, than any other album. \

This is absolutely fear inducing work and absolutely amazing performance art.