"‘What is Gargamel!’ you ask? First you must ask yourself, ‘Me, what exactly am I?’ Well, we feel that you are all big, fat bags of happy that we are here to open, sniff and spread around like fun butter."

 

Unmasked By Mark Padgett Published 6/14/00 Gargamel! is a strange animal, a five-headed beast that prowls Central Florida stages like a hungry, metal-clad alley cat, pulsing with a hard-rock beat and an unquenchable thirst for the absurd. Nobody has ever accused Mandaddy (vocals), Webb (drums), Servobeonic Man (keyboards/samples), Crazy Hector (bass) and El Diablo Guapo (guitars) of being normal.

They wouldn’t have it any other way. "I’m not happy all day and I’m not pissed all day," says fearless leader Mandaddy, who embodies the band’s primality with his somewhat darkly imposing presence -- clever, testosterone-loaded, demonic. "So why not have music that represents all the different emotions that you feel throughout the day?"

Anyway, says Webb, "There’s nothing worse than being bored shitless by a band onstage ... or being bored onstage." And from Servobeonic Man, "We’re not a very happy band, although we’re very funny."

So, after eight years of maturation, Gargamel! (the exclamation point has long been an official, if overlooked, part of the name) presents itself as living, breathing art, set to a macabre score. Sure, it is abrasive at times -- but so is life. Even with all of its quirky grandiosity, Gargamel! can always work up a satisfying groove, thanks to solid musicianship and creative play. The emotionally charged results are fed by a heady mix of metal, funk, alt-rock, art rock and good old-fashioned pop. And that could be in just one song.

The truth is, Gargamel! is more of a creature of habit than a freak of nature. But this month marks serious change for the band, which seemingly has been uninterested in gaining mainstream acceptance. And Mandaddy’s voice is the perfect instrument to lead this post-apocalyptic creature into battle. With the just-released "Touch My Fun," the band’s second full-length, Gargamel! hopes to finally prove to mainstream audiences that they aren’t just for freak breakfast anymore. Even though their music is still a bit off the beaten path, tracks like the space-funk slow-jam "Midnight Sexy" and the carnival creepiness of "Perfect Idiot" can make a Gargamel!-as-pop believer out of just about anybody.

More aggressive cuts like the riff-bearing rocker "Get on Your Motorbike" rides the neo-metal groovy (or is it gravy) train. While the band’s 1998 debut disc, "Revulva," suffered from a changing lineup, as well as makeshift recording and mixing situations, "Touch My Fun" boasts a steadfast crew, superior recording and, according to the band, is "the first one that sounds like us."

So why does Gargamel! consistently fly just below the major-label radar that, 24-7, sweeps across our fair city looking for the next he-mannequin or power-chord pretty? For sure, the masked mutants of Gargamel! stick out like a bloodied, bruised thumb against the polished pin-up pop, oxygenated jangle-rock and late-night funky breaks that make up Orlando’s musical landscape. It doesn’t help that mainstream public perceptions decry Gargamel! as more Ripley’s Believe It or Not than Sam Goody. But musical times have changed, and of late, there has been a commercial resurgence in harder-edged, freakish rock.

And Gargamel! has a secret weapon: Mandaddy’s unmistakable roar, a rollicking vocal roller coaster capable of hitting the highest of ear-piercing highs, the lowest of the demonic lows and, almost casually, everything in between. The Orlando native (raised in Altamonte Springs) has transformed his personal experiences as a social outcast as well as his natural flair for the dramatic into a tightly wound stage persona that is ready to explode -- or breakdown -- at any minute. And then there are the lyrics. Mandaddy commands attention when he’s onstage, whether singing, talking or screaming about drinking. He writes all of the lyrics, leaving the rest of the band to supply the surrounding atmosphere. "Some of the lyrics are deeply honest ... depressing ... admitting to self-hatred and self-loathing, but at the same time laughing," says Mandaddy. "It cracks me up because the yin and yang of the fact that some of the songs like ‘Midnight Sexy’ or ‘Perfect Idiot’ are actually about being in an obsessive sort of love with someone where you feel like you love them completely and utterly and they don’t love you, having this whole love-angst thing pouring out. And then the next song will be about killing someone. "If you don’t have the right sense of humor, it might be offensive or frightening. A lot of it is tongue-in-cheek, but people can’t figure out whose cheek. And which cheek," he says.

Offstage, Mandaddy is far more supportive than self-serving. He’s a chronic local-music ambassador, who is committed in his unofficial role -- whether hosting local TV show "Bootleg Television" (formerly "Bootleg Orlando") or jumping on a last-minute bill to bail out a club owner -- or just bailing somebody out in general.

The new record also marks the band’s phasing out of its signature use of grotesque masks. Ironically, Gargamel! has learned that even the freakiest of freaks can get labeled a rip-off. In this case, the feedback comes as a backlash to the platinum parade generated by masked Midwest metal messengers Slipknot, who are proof that there is a viable market for Gargamel!’s natural style. Only their style developed years before the record-buying public could ever conceive of such a distorted genre. "When you start hearing that you are ripping off a band you never heard of that’s just coming up -- just getting started -- when you’ve been doing it for a while, it’s like c’mon -- we’re not the first ones to wear a mask, nor will we be the last ones," says Mandaddy. (For the record, Mandaddy claims former Genesis vocalist Peter Gabriel as his main head-gear wearing hero.) "It’s such a big detractor," he says of the pantyhose-based creations sported by Gargamel! The first question most people ask Mandaddy if they run into him before a show is, "Are you gonna wear the masks tonight?" "They are still there," assures the frontman, whose hunting mask with orange-yarn hair has left an alarming impression on many. "We still use them occasionally. We just don’t want [the masks] to be a focal point, or [take any] pictures with them." Let’s face it, not too many bands have ridden the mask thing to the top of the charts. Plus, there’s also that nasty business of wearing a mask night after night on hot, sweaty stages.

To put everything into perspective, it helps to know that Gargamel! was formed on a whim, and the guys were having too much of a good time to call it quits. Things have pretty much stayed the same. "It doesn't matter if the crowd is into [us] or not, we’re gonna have fun either way," says Mandaddy. "If we decide that [the crowd is] having no fun at all, we usually make sure that they have a hideously bad time. I want you to either be dancing your ass off, laughing your ass off, scared out of your mind or running out of the club." Welcome to the future of mainstream freak rock.

GARGAMEL!

touch my fun

Rating: A+

Spacetree Records

There must be an unwritten rule that when a band releases a CD its lineup must change immediately. This happened to Gargamel!, arguably one of the tightest and most innovative bands in Florida. Their debut release, Revulva, was a maniacal exploration of Zappa-esque orchestrations, credible mosh-rock and tongue-in-cheek grand guignol posturing, with outgoing bassist Matt Lapham and guitarist Darin Bridges passing the tiki torches to incoming axe-wielder El Diablo Guapo (Ray Rivera) and bottom-tender Crazy Hector (Les Stover.) Since then, the band has evolved in such a way that Revulva seems tame in comparison. Touch My Fun is the long-awaited sophomore release from a band known perhaps more for donning ski-masks onstage than its insightful and intelligent attacks on society, media and of course, themselves. Ubiquitous frontman Mandaddy, the poster child for anger and self-loathing, is in top form on every track – his alien voice barks, raps, shrieks and buzzes. Hector and drummer Webb are an unbelievably tight pocket; witness their solid funky groove on "Midnight Sexy," a tune that also shines a spotlight on the mind-numbing guitar pyrotechnics of El Diablo (his mid-song solo is a mind-freeing trip). Live standards like the psycho-moshing "Spacepants" and the sexed-up rap-rock of "Penetration Vehicle" make the transition from stage to disc in spectacular fashion. Newer tunes like the four-on-the-floor power stomp "Get On Your Motorbike" and the spooky three-quarter time "Ape Torture" show that these guys are always probing the next sonic hole. Synths and samples are provided courtesy of Servobeonic Man who has graduated from simply triggering loops to playing complex and high-profile rhythms and melodies. And the imagery? Here's an example from the delightful sub-tropical romp, "The Fly": "When decomposition is your disposition/ And your only mission is decay/ You could have been a miser/ Now you're fertilizer/ Less of you each day." Take Danny Elfman, Tim Burton, Frank Zappa, shoot them full of crack and have Gargamel! drink the blood. That's what this album is like. Gotta love a band that turns Billy Joel's "Pressure" into a balls-out rock anthem about whacking off. Bravo. www.gargamel.net - Bing Futch

All About Gargamel! Jam Magazine June18-July1 1999.

Gargamel!
"Live Bootleg"
**** (four stars)

It has been decided that if there were ever to be a Gargamel! movie, it
would be entitled "What Was That All About?" Known for quirky, hard-
rocking, energetic performances, the band has existed in Orlando for
seven years and recently won the 1999 Jammy Award for Best
Gothic/Industrial Band, though they are neither Gothic nor Industrial.
They were also one of a handful of house bands at Will's Loch Haven Pub
near downtown O-Town. That is, until the day the live music died. May
29th, 1999. Gargamel! was the last band to play the three-year old
venue, which still serves beer and food. That evening, the group
released "Live Bootleg" in cool limited edition pressings with near
pornographic CD designs. The disc captures the live essence of Gargamel
! that is sadly missing from their still-brilliant debut CD "Revulva".
Here, the players shine in all their sonic glory: the sly digital
dexterity of keyboardist Servobeonic Man; the tight and creative
drumming of Webb; El Diablo Guapo's sharp-as-a-razor guitar work; Crazy
Hector's virtuoso bass lines and the wild, wild neck of lead singer
Mandaddy, whose pipes are like 300 channel cable, something different
every twenty seconds. Together, they are a formidable act, a solid
machine of dramatic dynamics and genre-skipping giddiness. Part Zappa,
part Boingo and all sorts of wha-fu'? You might have heard of the band
that comes out on-stage wearing ski masks, or the band whose 200 pound,
bald lead singer likes to chase people into the parking lot while
screaming his eyeballs red. That would be this band.

"If I see someone that's leaving the show because they hate the music
and they don't like the screaming and everything and they're walking out
in disgust, the fact of the matter is I enjoy chasing them out," says
Mandaddy, stroking his long and twisted goatee. "That way, people in
the audience are having fun watching them leave. It's like I lost them,
so I might as well make them really, really loathe it." It's with such
insidious glee that the entire band presents its carnival during live
shows, performances that have often been presented in the press as
garish grand guignol showcases. "It's weird because we've always had
reviews that mentioned this sort of GWAR comparison," adds the imposing,
but jovial Mandaddy. "GWAR has gigantic huge erect penises shooting
blood and dinosaurs being ripped open and they're absolutely amazing
theatrics and we put pantyhose on our heads."

There are plenty of visuals for you to peruse on the CD cover as you
dive into the essence of Gargamel! There's plenty of high-energy boogie-
bait including the jazz-funky "Revulva" and the pit mosh
unpredictability of "Booee Machine". There's a wacky 80's sort of dance
-rock feel to the "Perfect Idiot" before it wigs out and takes an acid
bath in El Diablo Guapo's merciless drag race on guitar. Gargamel!'s
songs often amble along in an almost civilized way before hulking out
with explosive fury. This fury is fueled by Mandaddy's emotional
outpouring of angst and self-loathing. On "Crotch Monkey", a loose and
shiny soul spill, he sings "sucking slowly, licking the infected
sore/open your mouth and shut the door/it makes me sick to see you
smile/bringing back memories and bringing up bile" and the last word
becomes a possessed little girl shriek, as if said little girl was being
attacked by bats at Boney Island. Later, the song dissolves into an
electronic standstill as Mandaddy turns into a human didgereedoo.
Always one of the tighter rhythm sections in town, Webb and Crazy Hector
provide ample support to allow El Diablo Guapo room for expansive, mind-
blowing solos that the band wisely use as dramatic showpieces.
"Midnight Sexy", the group's trademark R&B romp song, gets a stealthy
blues-rock screamer of a fretjog that's nasty and neatly rendered--its
brain-melting conclusion is ear-tickling. He also tears it up ala
Carlos Santana in the huge Floydian slip of "Sudden Shit", a big
beautiful arena rock tune that is all about having to void your bowels
at an inopportune time. Throughout the CD are spontaneous jams that are
quite fun, including "Wills Cyberdance Party", which seems to catch even
the band by surprise. "The way we write is so odd because we just write
as a band," says Mandaddy. "Someone may have a riff that they bring in,
but for the most part it just comes out of jams." That's certainly how
"The Fly" must've come about. This whimsical, amorphous tune is a full-
screaming story that weaves funk, rock, confusion jazz, rap, and insects
hovering over a decomposing body. Both the fly and body have their
piece to say.

It's a wild journey of tongue-in-cheek fun that was captured live from
several different venues. Some pops and clicks bookend few tracks, but
the live mixes and bonus material by Servobeonic Man are stellar. The
band is also releasing a CD of their last show at Will's, an event that
Mandaddy, sitting on a barstool in the new remodeled pub, still can't
believe.

"It's scary, slowly all the great places for local music are closing
right when all of a sudden, the scene is actually getting decent," he
says. "But I don't know, can you blame all these bands that are coming
from out of town and all of a sudden they're an 'Orlando band'? It's
hard to get gigs now because there's not enough places." Especially not
if you're a band that refuses to write "normal radio" songs that don't
jam on for six or seven minutes. They've been approached by suits who
are looking for an easily marketable product--folks that have been
turned away by the band. "Gargamel! does not produce a product, Gargamel
! produces entertainment, entertainment is the product." And product,
they've got--with a song on the soundtrack to the upcoming indie film "D
-" and Mandaddy serving as host of the Time Warner Cable show "Bootleg:
Orlando". But they're at their best when in the intimate situations
captured on this CD. If you like fun rock, pick this one up.

Spacetree Records 155 Mingo Trail #153 Longwood, FL 32750

-Bing Futch

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Gargamel!
Revulva
SpaceTree Records

Combining the sophistication of Zappa and the uninhibited reverie of free-form jazz, plus liberally sampling from the myriad of musical genre currently infecting the airwaves, these Central Florida ne'er-do-wells have nailed their niche. A more hip band cannot be found around here today.

Ranging from mere clips of a few seconds duration to cuts exceeding six minutes, the 13 songs on this CD are arty, witty, insightful, and extremely smart-ass. In short, this is great stuff! The best cut by far is "Juan 40 Lawyers." Get it? If not, you suck.

Spacetree Records 155 Mingo Trail #153 Longwood, FL 32750

--David A Clark

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Gargamel!
Revulva
Space Tree/Locked Groove

Gargamel's lead singer has a set of pipes that were reportedly delivered to him via intergalactic air-mail. After the subway roar and chanting, choking sound loops of "Intro," Mandaddy exercises that Diesel Voice during "Karate Summer." The tune kicks off with a staggering, stuttering drum rhythm, served up with some psychotic surf guitar chiming in the background. The insistent bass underscores chants of "bite, bleed, bruise, dodge, parry, thrust," which reminds me of an old Daffy Duck cartoon for some reason. Perhaps that's the intent, as a clean, pure melody rings out -- the boyish voice of innocence regretting his existence, first apologetic, then furious: "I'd stab myself in the face with a knife if I thought it'd help, cause it couldn't hurt." Mandaddy then proceeds to turn into Satan, and the band explodes in a pounding, stomping, grinding mosh of a punk assault that rubbed its ass against my brain.

How rude.

The dark jazzy riffs of "Malt Liquor Knights" finds the band in a seemingly contemplative mood, digital sound bytes concerning cannibalism are laced into an urgently minor free-form jam before turning out a quite lovely melody. El Diablo Guapo's guitar solo during this song is acid for those who don't do drugs, and heaven for those who do. "Title Track" is a brief sound clip that can really only be one thing, but you have to hear it for yourself.

"Booee Machine" starts like a Pink Panther movie, but soon explodes into a foaming blister of punk abrasion. Crazy Hector's double-time bass riffs are like little carbonated soda bubbles streaking through the ears. Drum master Webb nails impossibly incongruous time changes throughout, molesting cymbals and whatnot. During the opening to "Crotch Monkey," Mandaddy briefly channels the spirit of Danny Elfman and gets away with it. The band shoots for a miry social statement with "i.e. Happy," which takes the subject of homosexuality and packages it in a collage of sound and fury that feels like a sonic piercing. My nipples are hard just thinking about it, sort of funny and frightening all at once. The funky, dark, and theatrical track "Little Milk Belly" is a wonderwork, with a deep-shit scary refrain from Servobeonic Man on keyboards, and a hooky chorus that Mandaddy stabs with conviction.<BR>

Throughout, production is mighty. The god-like Steve Pietrofesa of Demonic Sound Design brings screaming life to tracks such as the hilariously gruesome "The Birth of Little Milk Belly," and the mixed-signals genius of "Secret Hand Shake." If you laugh at the latter, you're a sick motherfucker. "Juan40Lawyers" is a guitar-dominated track that features the coolest audio smash-up since Pink Floyd's The Wall. During "March Of The Febermites," Mandaddy pushes his neck to excruciating highs and lows, and then everything quiets down suddenly and he sounds sort of like Simon LeBon. The amusing "An Intellectual Discussion Concerning the Execution and Creation of the Previous Auditory Elements, and Their Content" is a fun box of auditory cookies that ends the album with a drunken flourish.

It's clear that Gargamel intends to provoke, prod, shock and raise the temperature on the Uncomfortable Meter -- but it also turns the gun upon itself enough to merit a listen. A fairly equal amount of nasty and nutty with lots of naughty thrown in for good measure, this one delivers like Peter North. Pick it up if you dare, and then you're prepared to see them live, perhaps.

SpaceTree Records, 155 Mingo Trail #153, Longwood, FL 32750

--Bing Futch

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Gargamel

Revulva

Spacetree

was sitting up really late one night recently, typing long IM's to a girl I met in NY. It was probably 2 or 3 in the morning. Pretty weird atmosphere, etc. Pretty exhausted and spaced out. All of a sudden, I hear this light tapping. I think, "oh, someone's at my window?" I look up, and the tapping spreads to BOTH windows. I immediately think, "IT'S THEM! THE ALIENS ARE HERE TO GET ME." I then realize it's coming from every wall, the ceiling, the floor, my door...sounds like millions of little fingers scraping on EVERYTHING. It sounds like a tank is going to come through my wall. I grab at my chest (my heart is fucking racing) and just about jump out of my seat. I notice a cable hanging from the side of my head. It's leading to the CD player. I reach over and hit PAUSE as quickly as possible. I sit there for about ten seconds, trying to calm down and regulate my breathing. My hands are shaking really bad. Finally, as my rational faculty returns, I realize I had put the Gargamel CD in the player about a minute or so before that, and forgotten about it (and the player didn't read the disc ...it does that often, since it's so old.) After calming down enough to MOVE ANY PART OF MY BODY ACCURATELY (besides typing lots of obscenities/expletives to the NY girl), I look over at the CD player, and it is paused at 2 SECONDS.

That was my first experience with the music of Gargamel. I have not been that scared ever, not even in car accidents.

Spacetree Records, 155 Mingo Trail Unit 153, Longwood, FL 32750; http://www.exhibitron.com/gargamel

--Ed Furniture/ Ink Nineteen

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Gargamel

CD name: Revulva
Type of music: Hard rock/metal
Label: Space Tree

Upon first listening to local band Gargamel’s debut CD, one might ask, "What hell hath Primus wrought?" especially after hearing the heavy percussion-shout bout of "Karate Summer." But that questioning betrays moments like the screaming guitar leads in "Malt Liquor Nights," which remind one that this is an extremely talented group of musicians, even if they do wear ski masks and call themselves names like Mandaddy and El Diablo Guapo. At times you won’t know whether to laugh, ponder or just run for your life.

Gargamel is equal parts goofiness, virtuosity, jazz fusion, metal, sound sampling and synth madness. Describing the songs as simply "eclectic" would be an injustice. Scary might be more accurate; psychotic would be apt. An acquired taste for some, "Revulva" is a rollercoaster ride into ordered chaos. If these guys weren’t making music, they’d probably be on a serial-killing spree somewhere.

By Dennis Walking
Published 3/5/98

 

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