The story goes that there lived an aging metal-vocal troll in North Jutland, Denmark. He was mean to all, and we'll call him "King Diamond" because he kind of looked like King Diamond. When King returned home from a long night pissing about at the tavern screaming about "Tetragrammaton," "family ghosts," and other such shit in his trademark makeup and top hat, he found his beautiful young bride in bed with one of the village's talented indie gringos. Some say this punk was fairly decent at handball also, which, as anyone with wits knows, is a proven panty-remover. Even in this notorious liberal country, this was too much for King. It sounds harsh, but imagine if you walked in on a sight like this! The brute was mad with pain and was about to challenge the whippersnapper to a "manhood and melody" clash, as was the mode of duel back then and is still now. He quickly remembered that his one-inch shrivel-pickle and tone deafness might have precipitated his piss-poor predicament in the first place. The shrapnel-voiced troll instead simply threatened the horny homewrecker by promising eventually to take his life. Fearing Diamond's retaliation the young up-and-cummer quickly decided to quit the scene entirely and turned himself into a cat. After all, he had heard tales of King's previous threats. He had often been heard proclaiming "death to false metal!" and believe me, although false metal is still living, it hasn't really been the same since. Anyway, the boy left and uprooted a few towns over with a lonely single man named Splat.
The newborn cat lived for quite a while, as comfortable as any starving-musician-turned-cat could possibly live: saucers of milk at the ready, nibbles of delicious food tossed from the supper table, and plenty of catnip for relaxin'. And who's going to turn down ample time for carefree licks at his own groinal region, I ask you? Life was a big bowl of coziness, or hygge if you prefer.
One day, Cat laid in wait for his master Splat to return from the hard grind at the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten, where he worked drawing cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad wearing a turban made of bombs. Upon his return, Splat bounded through the front door and called out to his four-legged friend, "I have to tell you what happened today min kat! I was walking home by way of and a bum rolled out of the bushes and said:
'Herre Splat
Tell yer cat
That King Diamond is dead.' "
The man-as-cat, as man-as-cats often do, stood up on his hind legs and with a bit of a cocky swagger, simply claimed, "Well, if what you say is true, I gotta bolt and go back from where I first came." Much to Splat's amazement, the cat then hurried over the hills (did I mention there were hills nearby?) and sure enough was losing no time at all making advances toward his old flame, the fresh young widow.
There may be more to this bizarre folk tale than I care to remember (or have time to make up right now), but I will conclude the yarn by saying the young music man eventually told his beloved to eff off, and then he went and formed a band with three fellow countrymen called Figurines, who are loved to this day.
Oh Tiny children of the Mix Tape, Figurines have now traveled to the Northern Americas to play their little ceramic hearts out. And because everyone knows how in-demand Danish indie pop is to turntablists, their excellent second album, Skeleton, will be available on vinyl via The Control Group. By the way, here's the moral of the uselessness posted above: don't swear vengence on Figurines at any of the shows below or these well hung, gifted Danes just may steal your girlfriend or turn into a cat or, er, abandon you after a bit of time.
Um, or something.
10.23.06 - Chicago, IL - Schubas
10.24.06 - Minneapolis, MN - 400 Bar
10.27.06 - Los Angeles, CA - Spaceland
10.28.06 - San Francisco, CA - Rickshaw Stop
10.30.06 - Portland, OR - Doug Fir Lounge
10.31.06 - Seattle, WA - Crocodile Cafe #
11.01.06 - New York, NY - Mercury Lounge (CMJ)
11.02.06 - New York, NY - Cake Shop (CMJ Juryrig Party)
* w/ You Am I
# w/ The Ark
