SOLE SURVIVORS
ministry
by Mike Gitter
Most bands are interested in erecting huge, impenetrable
barriers between themselves and their fans-everything from
physical barricades to larger-than-life illusions of importance.
Alain Jourgenson and Ministry are more interested in tearing
barriers down. In fact, they go so far as to give their crowd
a chain link fence, a barrier
to swing on, dive off of and
hopefully destroy. Tonight,
at a sold-out gig in Manhat-
tan's Ritz, the fence is only
half-demolished. A half suc-
cess to the volatile Jourgen-
son who refers to Ministry's
fiery live performances as
"a cheap excuse to get
drunk and blow things up."
It's an unnerving spec-
tacle. A cross between the most insidious pagan ritual and
a rock show of behemoth proportions. It's rock and roll Grand
Guignol-aggressive, passionate and a hell of a lot of fun.
Blinding light and deafening sound. Four guitars, a moun-
tainous bank of keyboards and two drum batteries. A revelry
in destructive power. A celebration of anger and catharsis.
On the topic of the fence, Al gushes, "It gives the kids
something to play with. It's like, 'C'mon, rattle our cage."
Everyone wants to protect their precious little stage so the
No
if it wasn't for Spock at the tricorder.""), and they've assembled.
a formidable unit to tour their latest sociological sledgeham
mer, The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste. Al, Mike Scassia
of Texan death metallers Rigor Mortis and Tezz (Terry Roberts)
of Discharge man the guitars. Ex-Killing Joker Martin Atkins
and Bill Riefland, a fellow alumnus of Barker's from Seattle's
club doesn't get sued, but forget that. We love aggression. Blackouts, smash the drums with gleeful precision. Skinny
It's our little party, ripping apart the notion of idolatry and icons.
'Here we are, the monkeys in the cage, don't feed the animals!"
We were taking the piss out of the whole rock star dogma."
In Al's land of rape and money (Americulture), the key
operative is democracy. Everyone's the rock star-the band,
the crowd, anyone who happens to join them on stage or in
the studio that night. "That was the whole punk thing," reflects
the 31-year-old Cuban-born Jourgenson. "Anyone can have
a band, anyone can mix, do anything. It has to be visceral,
though, and it all boils down to motive and intent. Is your motive
to make records and cash in while you can on your high
cheekbones? Or, are you more interested in doing something
fun, making a statement, doing something that you've always
wanted to do and actually make a couple bucks?"
Al and,bassist Paul Barker make up Ministry's yin-yang
nucleus ("We're like Kirk and Spock-I'm Kirk, Paul is Spock.
Kirk would have gotten his ass blown away by the Klingons
Puppy's Ogre and Revolting Cock Chris Connelly hold down
the synth-bank. Instrument switching is mandatory.
The key unifying factor? "Aggression. Complete dissatisfac-
tion with the state of things; a motley crew of malcontents and
complainers are we." Al asserts. "We have everyone from
skinheads to metal heads to Limey rock stars, all with a com-
mon bond of questioning authority. Basically, for me to work
with anyone, I have to be able to go out with them for an eve-
Something that fascinates me is just who is this 'evil
cabal' that does all the controlling? Bush? Barbara Bush?
The Masons? Steve Albini? Stephen King?
ning and discuss everything from books to movies to politics."
Still, it's a balance, a wonderful dichotomy. "When we pull
into a town, Paul, Bill and Martin will take off in search of a
museum or a new bookstore whereas Mike, Tezz and I will
try to find a place that serves double margaritas.
"I hate rock stars. When I was growing up, listening to the
behemoths, Led Zeppelin, I always hated that fag in the long
golden locks prancing around in his hip huggers, singing. I
always knew that it was Jimmy Page doing it but he never
got the recognition. In a lot of ways I'd like to be Tommy Dorsey,
the band director. Wouldn't it be great to get to a point where
Ministry could continue without me and all I would have to
do is come in and mix it? I'm thirty-one now. When I'm forty
I don't want to be some fat, balding, posturing poseur sing-
ing 'Stigmata. That would be gross."
Producer, guitarist, vocalizer, guru, Jourgenson freely mixes
musical skills with members of Ministry and other groups such
as the Revolting Cocks, Lead into Gold, 1,000 Homo DJ's and
KMFDM. At the mention of the media-spawned name for this
member-swapping musical amalgamation, "The Tribe," Al
sneers. "The Tribe is a moniker put on us by people like Warner
Bros. (Ministry's label) who don't know how to deal with peo-
ple of different races, creeds, colors and business affiliations.
working together and having fun. They don't understand how
you can have fun and put out product, so to make us easier
to understand they call us 'The Tribe.' They probably think
we do ritualistic sacrifices at night, when it's just a bunch of
friends that get together and record. There actually is no Tribe."
Belching forth a steady stream of product on hometown
label Wax Trax, Al speaks quite fondly of his various side-
projects, most specifically collaborations with people outside
his tight-knit Chicago noise clique. Lard (with Jello Biafra),
Pail Head (lan MacKaye), Acid Horse (Cabaret Voltaire) and
PTP (Ogre of Skinny Puppy) have all come out of Lord Al's
witching hour studio "parties."
What attracts someone like Jourgenson, who revels in get-
ting smashed, to working with Papa Straight Edge lan
MacKaye on a studio-only band like Pail Head?
This is not the land of the free. t is not a democracy.
Don't pay your taxes for a while and see just how free
you really are.
"We got along. We're very different people but underneath
I think we share a lot of the same values and esthetics. It's
a joy and an honor to work with someone like him. The in-
tegrity of the esthetics involved makes it click. Neither of us
is full of shit, neither of us is willing to compromise what we're
about, but we are willing to put aside our differences to work
toward a common goal. He's Father lan, straight-edge god
and I'm Demented Al. I'll go on record right here to say if we
don't do another Pail Head record, I will absolutely, positively
slit my wrists. How's that for a GG Allin ultimatum?"
Would you work with GG Allin?
"No. But I'd love to go out to dinner with him. It would be
too much, too scary. Remember, I am constantly on that fence
and I can easily be pushed into the abyss and never come
back. When I return from my own little world of a tour, my wife
won't talk to me or get near me. It's like I just came home
from Vietnam or something.
"Who would I like to work with?" Al asks. "Metallica. I think
there are things I could do with them in terms of production
that would be incredible. It's really not important who the
person is. It's usually a matter of meeting in a bar and finishing
the night out in the studio. We don't put our names on the
record. Why? What's the point? It means just as much to me
I'm thirty-one now. When I'm forty I don't want to be some
fat, balding posturing poseur singing 'Stigmata. That
would be gross.
to work with Mike from Rigor Mortis on the new 1,000 Homo
DJ's doing a cover of Black Sabbath's "Psychonaught" as
Left To Right: The
merry minstrels of
Ministry. Alain
alone. Al behind
the fence of fury.
Photos: Kristin
Callahan.
it does doing something with Cabaret Voltaire. The first time
I ever worked with Ogre from Skinny Puppy, he, being the shy
guy he is, was so quiet I never knew he was in the studio.
Someone came up to me and whispered 'Do you know that
Ogre's back there on the couch?" and I was like 'Good. I need
a vocal track. Get in there and make yourself useful!' Without
ever saying two words to the guy, I had him in the studio sing-
ing this thing that ended up on the soundtrack to Robocop
It's listed under PTP. They wanted to use 'Over the Shoulder"
from Ministry's Twitch album but Warner Brothers wanted too
much money for it so I cut them a deal at half the cost. Plus,
I got to work on a film score. I bet Warners are going to sue
me if they read this. I don't even care."
Jourgenson and Ministry, left to their own devices, are
perfectly willing to bite the hand that feeds. Not just bite, but
vengefully tear big, bloody scraps of flesh from the all-
ensnaring industry that once leashed them like unsuspecting
pups. Remember the synth-pop trappings of their admittedly
awful With Sympathy album or their first bonafide hit. "Work
for Love"? Al would rather forget that business. The clanking
industrialized Hell House music of Ministry's present, begin-
ning with 1987's ferocious Land of Rape and Honey, obliterates
any notion that Jourgenson's def metal machine has little, if
anything, in common with their past life as America's answer
to the Human League.
"That was an abortion as far as I'm concerned. It was my
name going on something that was not even music; it was
product. It was to be marketed, molded, sold, homogenized
and shoved down people's throats," Al scoffs. "My name's
on it, but it wasn't what I wanted and I had to answer the mail
for it. It was a frustrating situation to be in. (Continued on page 100)
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