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I had just gotten myself a brand new compilation CD from a now defunct music store. It was the darkest of black, etched with embossed gold print, and curious to the eye. Now, this compilation CD contained three distinct discs - one Gothic, one Industrial, and one Remix. Almost fifty dollars for the entire thing.

As a young dirt-poor lady at the time I figured, "Fifty bleepin' dollars, eh? It better be good!" and inserted the first disc into my historic looking 1980's CD deck. Track #7 - My God, what is that amazing sound? Who the hell is this? At that very moment was when my mind suddenly slipped away into another dimension of music. Something in which I haven't heard the likes of before.

I was transformed, and off I went - a trip to the moon!

Their name struck me as odd, even for my tastes and the bands I already listened to. Alien Sex Fiend, they called themselves - a band in which could not be described by words, merely by popping the CD into the player for yourself, and having a listen. It was a sound all their own, fusing together the sounds of old school Gothic rock and Punk along with a psychedelic-eccentric atmosphere and completely throwing your head in circles with their off-the-wall lyrics.

The brain behind this madness? A skinny, pale faced man with hollow black eyes who called himself Nik Fiend, and his beautiful partner in crime, Mrs. Fiend. Two peas in a pod, and completely and utterly mad. It was 1982 in the UK, and watching Nik Fiend on stage as he danced erratically to the deep and pulsating sounds of the music, complete with inflatable giant bananas and fake cobwebs, was like being on a total acid trip with utter sensory overload.

One part of me thought he was absolutely crazy, but the other part of me quickly ruled him as an intellectual maniac.

"We're a blank generation in the danger zone. Paracidal slumbers from 7 to 23... Only the blind follow me."
-Ignore The Machine

Their music moves me in a way that nothing else does. There are days where I am not sure whether his music is a blessing or a curse, as it drives me to such creative and inspired lengths, but totally distracting me at the same time. Upon turning up the music and hearing it crash through my headphones, I am thrown into my paints, markers, and pastels. I am on an artistic binge and a total mindtrip, creating unbelievable monstrosities that can only be understood in an altered state of mind. All is going well in this creative sanctuary until a song hits that certain

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