I had the pleasure recently, of sitting down for a nice cup of tea with the gentlemen of KMFDM. And as we sat comfortable, not a care in the world, resting our lungs with the finest of tobacco, soothing our entertainment-starved minds with a viewing of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone," I realized that, with these delightfully ruffled pioneers of industrial metal music, I felt at home, at ease, contented - as if the clouds of smoke blown into my face were wisps of fairy dust rousing my spirit to something higher; as if the orange peels and beer cans arbitrarily pelted in my direction were beams of truth sent by God to rekindle my belief in Rock music as an art form; as if the wedgie I accepted during the film's three-headed Fluffy dog scene was a gift to my colon, with condolences and well-wishes; and finally, as if the massive group beating I was delivered after they shaved a watermelon into my scalp, was a sweet kiss from Mother Present, assuaging my fears, assuring me that the future of mainstream Rock and Roll music will be just as intolerable as it is today. And I reveled in this moment, lying in a pool of my own blood and piss. In my delusion, I opened my eyes, and said, to no one in particular, with my fist in the air:

"Rock is alive and well! God be praised!"

And it was then that I met Lucia.

  " Get up, dude," says she, and I'm entranced. Lucia Cifarelli, a singer with KMFDM who siphoned a solo project in 2000 to tour with one of the most notorious bands of the last quarter century, is looking at me from above, trying to get me off the floor. She reaches out her hand and I grab it, stand, and then try to explain who I am, where I'm from, and what I'm doing here. All she needs to know is that I'm reporting on something, and that I want her to talk to me. All I want is for her to talk to me. And she does.

When I ask her about Rock and Roll - the concept, and current state of - she tells me that it's a dirty, sweaty, energetic state of mind that's been convoluted by "fucking choreography." With this, my heart implodes. From the mouth of the mistress; from the mind of the experienced; from the thoughts of the veteran, come -

"It's also what's keeping me alive, so, yeah. There's also that." She's moved me into some kitchen in the bowels of Mr. Small's Theater in Millvale. She's stirring a vat of meatballs that, she says, are for the band before they go on stage. In her LiveJournal, she'll later reflect on her only crisp memory of Pittsburgh :

"After sound check the smells coming from the kitchen draw everyone in and we eat like kings. Afterwards we all flop on the couch in a heap holding our stuffed bellies. I say to no one in particular that it probably wasn't a good idea to eat this close to show time and the only response I get is moaning."

Rock and Roll, she says, is about not knowing where your next meal will be, not caring where you'll sleep next, and having to explain that you're "the fucking singer" to the asshole who asks if you're the "merch girl." Not sure what this means. But she's willing to talk about KMFDM - a band that only entered my mind when they came under national scrutiny after the Columbine tragedy displayed, for the United States , two tyrannical high school students willing to kill (and die) for their beliefs. Both students were KMFDM fans. The media had a field day with this:

"The two teen-age suicidal assailants in the massacre reportedly listened to Rammstein, an industrial-metal group based in Germany , and KMFDM - one of the first big-selling industrial-rock bands, formed in Paris in 1984. Some observers, including Rep. Henry Hyde, Republican of Illinois, say they think there may be a cause-and-effect relationship between violent lyrics and violent acts."

- CNN, Thursday, July 01, 1999

Her response is somewhat predictable, somewhat surprising. She says: "Honestly, the publicity helped us a lot - we were in newspapers, people were talking about us, our name was everywhere, our shows were selling out. But what people didn't understand - and what those kids apparently didn't understand - is that our music is meant to tell you to think , that apathy is horrible, and that just because some big name or some big company tells you something's right, it doesn't make it so." She continues, "We have no pity for the masses, and that's just something people are going to have to deal with."

Which brings us to the Clear Channel issue. KMFDM came to Pittsburgh on a Clear Channel bill. She shrugs at this, mildly defensive, and says: "I hate Clear Channel. They're a massive evil. But, unfortunately, they have the resources; they can pull crowds. But we're not censored in any way. And if it gets people here, then fuck it - we're manipulating them." Fair enough. But I press her on the issue:

What, fundamentally, is the real threat of media (and, particularly, radio) giants? Is it that they control most of the mainstream music we hear today? Is it that they program radio station after radio station (CC owns 1,200+, cornering the market into a Nickelback-entranced haze; CC also owns SFX Entertainment, the nation's dominant concert-venue owner and touring promoter) to sound exactly the same? Is it that they fucked with the nation's premiere not-so-bright, not-so-interesting morning radio "shock" person (who, in a daring move, jumped from one ghastly, overbearing, multinational corporate beast to another . just so he could get airtime in Pittsburgh ! What a guy!)? Not necessarily. The essential role of the radio super giant is To Distribute and To Promote - and these, sorry, are not bad things. No, the evil lies in the mega-corporation's effect on culture, and their influence on music as art.

"I guess," she says. "What do you mean?"

Alright, listen: Mainstream (and striving mainstream) musical acts tend to work their asses off, not to expand upon (or create) a new genre, but to become a part of a club - the Rock Society that, with membership pass, allows you to bathe in gold at the nadir of western culture's proverbial rainbow. Essentially, once in, you can get the groupie chicks (and the sluts with ridiculous breast implants looking to hawk their flesh for.anything), you can have drugs for breakfast, you can embody a complete(ly false) rejection of social mores, you can get television coverage, you can appear on radio shows, you can have the fame of your dreams, you can swear in front of massive crowds, you can assume you have power; money flows, sex greets you, freedom ensues, and aloofness happens without anyone knowing or caring. And they've sold that to you. It is, pardon the cliché, a conspiracy.

"Mmmaybe," she says. "What you're saying is that it's like throwing stones at the rich kid's Mercedes."

"Um. yeah, kinda."

"Well that's. fun." She stirs the meatballs and sauce for a minute or two and we stand in silence.

Eventually, she asks: "You want a meatball?"

Suddenly, my cuts and bruises are only a memory. And I accept.

Stroud,

words@deekmagazine.com