Opportunities to see Genitorturers live are extremely rare in Europe: they hadn't been seen there since 2010. The industrial metal band with a ‘colourful’ reputation hasn't released an album in over fifteen years, and it's true that they tend to be forgotten, confined to the shadows of the 1990s and early 2000s. However, Genitorturers continue to tour in Northern America and finally crossed the ocean this summer... That's when things got a little complicated. The tour, initially planned with Psyclon Nine and scheduled to visit several countries, ultimately scaled back its ambitions, limiting itself to the United Kingdom and without Psyclon Nine.
So, off to Manchester! In Manchester, doding raindrops is not so much about the rain... Rain is part of the scenery and a delightful refreshment, among industrial-era buildings covered in graffiti, old pubs and ultra-modern constructions. No, in Manchester, ‘dodging raindrops’ would mean ‘managing to cross the street without hearing the Gallagher brothers bleating’. Not easy in a city where Oasis is a tourist attraction on a par with King Kong in New York or pigeons in Paris. Fortunately, Ian Curtis' feverish gaze haunts a mural and that raises the bar.
We quickly find refuge in the basement of Rebellion, a club where we immediately feel at ease: it's dark, with black light giving the gloom just a few bluish hues. The sound system blasts Ministry's Stigmata, followed by Skinny Puppy, KMFDM and Nine Inch Nails. The venue's line-up is heart-warming (soon to feature Assemblage 23, The Birthday Massacre, Grendel, Pink Turns Blue...). The English audience is HOT, and by hot, we mean ‘not cold’: even if it's pouring with rain, you're not going to a Genitorturers show wearing too many clothes! Before that, however, there are three support bands to discover.
SPIRE CIRCLE
There are two ways to discover Spire Circle. Either you quickly glance at the internet and come across their logo, which will lead you to say, ‘It's unreadable, it must be black metal,’ or you take the time to listen and discover a melancholic darkwave/cold wave band with synthpop influences... but with an extra dose of rock “n” roll intensity. This leads them to joke about it after the show: usually, when they play with goths, they're the heaviest band. Tonight, it was the opposite!
Spire Circle hails from Manchester. Fortunately, because with a set lasting less than half an hour, we would have felt bad to learn that it took them two hours to get there. It's true that live, with drums and bass, Spire Circle gains impact. The songs take on a new density that accentuates the feverish nature of the compositions and increases the nervousness of the rhythms tenfold... to the point of perhaps losing some of the cold synthetic melodies with their grey poetry, which are nevertheless very pleasant (incidentally, behind her equipment, in a corner of the stage and under a huge speaker, Susana Duende is more discreet than her three colleagues). As they say, they make ‘music for goths who like it loud, headbangers who like to dance, and freaks who want to feel understood’. This sets the mood for an evening where we love diversity and where everyone can find something to enjoy... the last thing we need is to go to a Genitorturers concert and be judged by snobs!
Between the autumnal austerity of cold wave influences and the emotions contained in the synths and vocals, Spire Circle offers nuanced music, where contemplation is shaken by more nervous jolts, a form of contained rage that imposes its urgency and tension. It is both elegant and absolutely the kind of thing one imagines when one thinks of Manchester: an ideal soundtrack for wandering among the bricks in the rain.
CELAVI
In Manchester, everyone is nice. The evening began with the lovely guy at the Rebellion reception, then with Spire Circle and their music for those who want to dance in the dark AND those who want to sweat while shaking the base of their neck... Then CELAVI kindly told us that we could pronounce their name however we wanted. As good French people, we wanted to raise our hands high and say, ‘It's pronounced “c'est la vie”, right? We got it right, didn't we? Can we have a gold star?’ But apparently over there, they all say ‘KELAVI’. Yeah, well, they already drive on the left with the steering wheel on the right... Let's respect their strange customs. The atmosphere has changed radically. After the sobriety of the previous band, CELAVI's mix of nu metal, industrial and emo is about to explode against a bright pink backdrop.
On stage, the duo becomes a trio with the addition of a drummer, somewhat hidden by this strange column that seems to cut the stage in two. And there, as singer Sarah Wynn shakes her mane, throws herself on the floor to get closer to her audience and kicks her legs in the air, we realise something: CELAVI has a solid fanbase! People know them, sing along to the lyrics, and dance wildly in front of the stage. It's understandable, as the band has what it takes to win over a live audience. Their mix of electro-nu-metal-pop-industrial-emo-metalcore is effective, combining catchy melodies with hard-hitting moments. The visual universe sometimes gives us the impression of seeing a version of Ayria, who played at Rebellion last year, as we are reminded by a poster still stuck to the wall, but with heavy guitars.
We are treated to a cover of Rammstein's Du Hast. We don't know it yet, but this detail will have a sequel later in the evening. CELAVI, originally from Wales, introduces his songs by saying ‘this one will be sung in English and Welsh’ (not Du Hast, mind you, even though we wouldn't have said no to a Welsh version!). At one point, we laugh a little because a song is going to be sung ‘in three languages’: where will they stop? In fact, we generally have a lot of fun with the bandh, which embraces glitter and glitz to an almost defiant degree. Yeah, we like pink, stuff that's easy-going and was on the radio twenty years ago, and we don't give a damn.
We also have a good laugh when, towards the end of the concert, CELAVI introduces his next song by saying, ‘This one is about something we really like... it's called EYELINER!’. We got it! And then, suddenly, it hits us: we realise that CELAVI is not so much a celebration of life in french as... a reference to a cosmetics brand! Damn the French, with their arrogance, always believing that foreigners in other countries are trying their best to speak our language when they don't give a damn, all they want is eyeliner!
BLACK LAKES
Announced as the replacement for Psyclon Nine, Black Lakes almost apologised on social media when responding to questions from disappointed Nero Bellum fans: ‘No, we don't do industrial, but come and see us anyway. Worst case scenario, if you don't like it, you can go for a drink while you wait.’ Damn, they're so nice! But how can we sulk and criticise them? Here, incognito in the heart of perfidious Albion, we can't find anything to complain about. Well, yes, of course, we could complain and say, in bad faith, that Black Lakes isn't our thing at all: modern alternative metal that draws on hard rock for its catchy choruses, it's catchy, there's a bit of electronica, clear vocals to convey THE FEELINGS, etc.
But that would be disingenuous. First of all, because we had decided to like them after all when we saw that they sell stuffed toys at their effigy and have a tip jar for ‘buying rum’. Then, singer Will Preston admitted to crying backstage before the concert because he was starting to lose his voice, but thanked the audience for making up for his shortcomings... Oh, sweetie, ohlala, don't cry, you're doing great! At worst, if you had sung like a goat, you could have said, ‘Oh, sorry, I thought Manchester would have enjoyed a tribute to Oasis!’ That's the charm and false modesty of those who know what they're doing: he was the singer with the most advanced technical skills of the evening!
So, here we are, watching Black Lakes. It's positive. It's catchy. They're so cute. They get the audience jumping, and then they turn on their phone lights when it's time to do THE FEELINGS, and then they get everyone waving their arms and clapping their hands. They're full of energy, they're having a lot of fun on stage, they're pulling faces, they're moving around, they're communicating well with the audience. When they play Dead Gods, it feels like we already know the chorus before it explodes and sticks in our heads. When they dedicate a song to all those who have suffered because of the far right, we completely melt: how can anyone resist such cute guys? Apart from Oasis, are we going to meet even one unpleasant and nasty person in Manchester? We just feel a little sorry for bassist Lee Harris, who seems to be being punished: on the slightly too narrow stage, he's stuck behind his mates. What's more, he's the only one who doesn't have a bleached beard, mega-long hair or half-length hair, so inevitably, he stands out less!
GENITORTURERS
Right, enough with the hugs, smiles and nice, positive stuff. Now it's time for Genitorturers. We're going to suffer. Literally. Physically. That's the whole point. The show begins with Skwerll, performer/clown, alone on stage. He's going to ‘entertain us for the evening’ and launches into a series of acts. First, he plans to inflate phallic-shaped balloons... which immediately explode one after the other. Damn, that didn't work out this time! Don't panic, he has another trick up his sleeve: the sound system plays Du Hast, which we haven't heard for at least an hour, then he sticks a big metal screw in his nose and brings a grinder close to it to make a shower of sparks fly. Ah, that's why we're hearing the Teutonic pyromaniacs!
Woop-woop! The sound engineer immediately cuts him off: no fire, no sparks, come on! Damn, it didn't work out this time, again! Don't panic, he's got other tricks up his sleeve! There's that moment when he puts some kind of pipe through his nose, pulls it out through his mouth and pours a little bourbon into it. Finally, he encourages the audience to give him tips... by stapling them to his chest. He provides the stapler, which is rather big, and the audience is generous. Ah, Americans and their tipping culture! It's 2025 and the Genitorturers still seem to know how to have fun! When this funny guy leaves the stage, Mötley Crüe's Shout at the Devil blares out. In its entirety. Between that and Skwerll's acts, a Genitorturers concert starts a good fiteen minutes after the announced time!
Kicking off with Revolution and Cum Junkie, the band showcases its latest album, Blackheart Revolution, probably its most accessible to date. Its festive mood is contagious, somewhere between punk frenzy and RobZombie-style heavyweight choruses (blatantly obvious on Devil in a Bottle). The boss of the evening, Gen, hides behind a mask and waves her whip, mistress of this ultra-sexualised circus, a Grand Guignol theatre somewhere between Hellraiser and House of 1000 Corpses. She cultivates her image as a shock-rock icon by addressing her audience as if talking to old friends... or adepts of the cult, here the ‘Girl Pervs’, or just ‘Pervs’. When she speaks between songs, barely out of breath, her voice is that of a diva who has seen it all. We are pleasantly surprised by her energy on stage and the shape she is in at almost sixty, surrounded by the very expressive Eric Griffin on guitar (formerly of Murderdolls, Wednesday 13... and appeared in the film Queen of the Damned and as a guest on an Undercover Slut's track: how could id be more 2000's goth?!), Ilyn Nathaniel on bass and Chris Densky from Deadstar Assembly on drums. Gen chants: "We want ass, tits and booze! Ass and tits!‘, appropriating the hackneyed rock star cliché and turning it on its head to feminise it. Titties aren't there to be ’consumed", they're there to lay down the law to the guys who are being pinned down and dragged around on a leash.
Because when you go to see Genitorturers, you go as much for the show as for the music. Of course, the 90s are long gone and the show has mellowed. Anonymity is a thing of the past now that everyone has a camera in their pocket. The audience is less involved (except when it comes to stapling money onto a clown). Gen is no longer crucified naked on stage, re-enacting scenes from The Exorcist with a crucifix. No mouths are sewn shut live on stage. What can you do? Everything's going down the drain, we knew how to have fun back then!
Sure grandpa... but it's still pretty funny: there's a guy being dragged around by a chain leash that goes through his pierced nipples and hooks onto his tongue, there's the devil coming out to dance on stage, Gen waves around a kind of dagger-dildo straight out of a Giger nightmare (jokingly, when she says she has 7-inch vinyls in the merch, she adds that she normally prefers 12-inch ones, but that they would have been considered a weapon at the airport...), and a whole bunch of scantily clad people come on stage to do their thing. There's always something happening on stage, it's as generous as it is funny... and while Genitorturers helped to associate music with fetish/BDSM culture, it's now 2025 and these things are no longer so unusual. However, even in a ‘clean’ version suitable for a show authorised for minors, there is an air of counterculture and provocation that has nothing to envy to the stars who have made it their stock in trade (Rammstein, Marilyn Manson...).
As for the music, we won't lie to you, we prefer Genitorturers when they're dirty and rough. Razor Cuts brings that special satisfaction, that visceral, grimy feeling of listening to nasty, in-your-face music in a dimly lit basement with a sticky floor. We get a little lost during Vampire Lovers, which gives the audience a breather. We discover the new single Scars and Stripes Forever, vicious and catchy but actually recorded twenty years ago and lost since (so we're not sure whether to hope for a new album or not!)... but above all, in the last part of the concert, Genitorturers play a string of their essentials. House of Shame, Flesh is the Law, 120 Days... Somewhere between Ministry and White Zombie, it grooves, it's seductive and biting, sticky, aggressive and enjoyable. Lecher Bitch resounds in the perfect setting: it haunted the speakers of The Last Round, a bar for anarchist vampires in the video game Vampire The Masquerade: Bloodlines. The Rebellion is a bit like the Last Round tonight. Curfew has passed. Gen asks if they can play one more. The sound engineer says ‘okay’, thumbs up, no hard feelings about the sparks. He didn't see his colleague in the room, who is gesturing frantically to say no, it's over, no way! It doesn't matter. We weren't going to leave without a big Sin City finale!
There you have it. In 2025, Genitorturers on still great. Although we've lost some of the sulphurous smell, the show remains fun, delightfully deviant, a celebration of differences. Behind the provocative antics that still manage to raise a few eyebrows, behind the humour and theatricality, there are also demands that remain relevant, embodied with force and passion by Gen. Before leaving the stage, she says she will stay as long as it takes to ‘sign our titties’, concluding a concert where complicity and generosity were ultimately much more central to the experience than imagery. While the Genitorturers' strange and bizarre existence continues to fly under the radar, away from the spotlight and in sticky basements, the project nonetheless deserves its cult status. Too bad for the sourpusses, the grumpy old men, the self-proclaimed elites: sure, it's a bit lowbrow, but it's also refreshing, and we had a lot of fun!
