The Sad Cult of H.I.M.
Jul 11 2012
A few months back, in this little column of ours, Chunklet contributor Gordon Lamb said his piece on the sheer dumbness of Steel Panther, and judging from some of the responses it got, Steel Panther’s one note joke of a band seems to elicit a chortle or two from far too many of you. But it got me wondering what other “Sad Cults of…” are out there for our mockery? Probably enough for a multi-volume series of fine leather bound books, but at a family gathering not too long ago, one answer sprang immediately to mind. Throughout the night of a wedding that took place in something of a rural setting, I was disappointed to see that many of my requests at the DJ stand (perhaps the most dismal outlet for any form of musical service) were being promptly rebuffed and politely ignored. Forgive my tastes, but at an open bar and after a few whisky sours (a drink that perhaps should only be openly consumed at open bars) I request, nay, demand that Prince’s “I Wanna Be Your Lover”, Earth Wind & Fire’s “September”, and “Teach Me How To Dougie” all be played for me as the dance floor beckons.
The DJ instead opted for the typical wedding playlist treacle, but I was indeed truly shocked when a musical ghost from my high school past started pumping through the speakers. You’ve presumably already read the title, so perhaps you can guess where this is leading. H.I.M. (who due to their rather confusing acronym, are always inevitably referred to as “That Band H.I.M.” if they ever even get brought up in conversation) were probably more recognized by their rather insipid Heartagram symbol embroidered on every mall punk’s t-shirt and backpack as they shopped the racks at Hot Topic, than they ever were for any song they made. The symbol, and to an extent, the band were also popularized by funnyman and general retard Bam Margera, which might give you a clue as to the caliber of their fan base. Now you may have assumed like myself, that the practice of playing vaguely gothic/rock/metal bands in any kind of public setting died out with lightly washed pairs of Lee Pipes, but it appears that more backwoods settings (where a fair chunk of this wedding gathering hailed from) have proven to be one of the final safe harbors of this surely irredeemable genre.
In fact, it wasn’t until that moment, when my dreams of drunkenly conquering the dance floor took a perplexing turn that I even remembered they existed at all. I recall someone giving me a burned copy of their ever so subtly titled album Razorblade Romance in their heyday, roughly in 2003 to 2004 and felt this was a band best left completely ignored. After all the actual music is basically your standard heart on your sleeve, with an overdrive pedal stuff that somehow still gets played on the godforsaken, vapid hell hole that is (edgy young announcer voice): “100% Alternative Radio!!!” And their youtube channel boasts a comment section frenzied with bona fide recent activity, so how can this awful band maintain a likely, pimply faced, overweight, black shirt caked with dandruff clad cult still exist in this far less barbaric and refined decade?
I’ve developed a theory. You may have noted I mentioned earlier famed Jackass star (and real life actual jackass) Bam Margera. Well, my friends, he is the cipher to cracking this dilemma of ours. Now for some reason, Mr. Margera, really liked this little Finnish band, to the extent of throwing up their dumb logo on his skateboard decks (you know, cause he’s a really great skater) as well as his Element t-shirts. Perhaps it’s because he and H.I.M.’s frontman Ville Valo, bear a passing resemblance, but more likely it has something to do with Bam Margera having really shitty taste in music. One need not look any further than Margera’s brother’s band CKY and we see the next step in our solution. CKY, the band and the videos, are a testament to the white trash brand of hooliganism we can all find in spades (which reminds me, their fans are all probable racists) if we wander off too far from our home base. The band’s merchandise and various ephemera no doubt find themselves housed in many a broken home and trailer park, alongside plenty of empty bottles of Faygo and hopelessly scratched, unplayable, PS2 discs. If you find someone who holds Bam Margera’s brand of noxious rowdiness as something of an ideal, you can bank on them coupling H.I.M. and CKY to serve as the soundtrack to their wasted life.
Who are these lost souls? As you’ve no doubt already sussed out, they’re likely lower class sad-sacks, with a brother in the Army who they can’t live up to, and if they’ve ever had sex in any kind of consensual way, are probably well on their way to farting out a few pre-marital toddling abortions with an ex-meth head or daughter of ex-meth heads. If you manage to penetrate the mixed bag of one of these scuttlefish’s immediate family, Juggalos would certainly come spewing forth amongst the bile (but at least you could manage to rustle up some respect for ICP).
So now that we’ve narrowed this sad cult down, let’s see if we can’t drum up some good ol’ fashioned hate in the comments section below. Now this is where we need your help all you Vice-aholics and Chunkleteers out there. Use your social media wizarding skills and make sure any family members, friends and acquaintances of the slack jawed variety manage to pass their dull cow eyes over these here words to see if we can’t ruffle a few feathers. And in case those semi-illiterate have a tough time getting through this whole thing and fail to realize they’re even being insulted, here’s the abridged dumbed down version…
- H.I.M. sucks.
- CKY definitely sucks.
- You are a waste of space.
- Ryan Dunn’s death was in many ways a positive.
- As will be Steve O’s inevitable 2013 death.
- You will die alone.
Previously: AIDS? You Can Get Grunge From That
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The Ultimate Basic Bitch Tournament
The Future of Our Gay Neighborhoods
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The Islamic State Threatened America by Making a Shitty Video
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Portraits from the Biggest Flea Market in Prague (and Maybe Europe)
Tao of Terence: Psychedelic Drugs, Art, Music, and Other Drugs: An Interview with Finn McKenna