The concept of a hierophant comes from Ancient Greece mythology: the title bestowed on the chief priest in the Eleusinian Mysteries, a hierophant is an interpreter of sacred mysteries and esoteric principles.
The relevance of the concept to Geelong-via-Melbourne band Hierophants is intriguing. Is the break from a Chuck Berry riff into garage electronica in Stress an insight into the hidden links between Southern rock’n’roll and UK new wave? Does the ranting rhetoric overlaid with primitive synth licks in Change reveal an awareness of the contradictions of contemporary economic and political constructs? And is the Devo-inspired Bain Marie an attempt at interpreting the world around us through the metaphorical prism of overcooked, bacteria-ridden food?
The lazy rhythm of Conspiracy Theory, coupled with its Duran Duran-on-Quaaludes aesthetic,seems to suggest the mysteries of the world are just acts in a play written by sinister forces. 321 could be numerology via Richard Hell – if Hell was a hippy, which he certainly isn’t, and don’t you forget it. In the 1950s, IBM plastered posts with the word ‘Think’ around its offices; these days, the thinking in the computing industry comes wrapped with dysfunction, and maybe that’s the point of the Ooga Booga’d Think.
On Nothing Neu, Hierophants are on a Kraftwerk-via-Brain Children trip; Hail Children is the best almost pop hit Devo should have had; and if White Bread isn’t allegory for the bland cultural nutrition of mainstream pop culture, then it’s still something Giorgio Moroder would love to hear. Nervous Tic is an acid synth-rock slight at contrived constructions of normality, and Taste whets our aural appetite for a better world. Fall is manic, the ramblings of a bunch of kids who know shit’s wrong but can’t do much more than shout and complain. On closing number Eighty Zer0 the white flag of resignation is almost up, the only alternative an ill-fitting polyester shirt, flared fawn trousers, a pair of slip-on Hush Puppies and a lifetime of career-induced pain.
Then again, maybe this is just a killer record that mixes garage rock attitude with electronic pop sensibility. Go figure it out yourself.
BY PATRICK EMERY
