Friday, December 22, 2006

9/11 truth gets grammy nomination

the new ministry track, 'lies, lies, lies,' which features clips from 'loose change' has been nominated for a grammy in the 'best metal category.' ...

9/11 truth gets grammy nominationfrom 9/11 blogger/hip video promo: ... The album peaks with 'Lies, Lies, Lies' download ministry's 'lies, lies, lies' from 9/11 podcasts, a remarkably candid statement of disbelief in the official line on the Iraq War and the catastrophic events that led up to it. The song opens with sound clips borrowed from Dylan Avery’s incendiary documentary Loose Change – a powerful touchstone for those who believe the Bush Administration has covered up crucial facts about the 9/11 attacks.

Over some of the heaviest beats in Ministry history (and that’s saying something) Jorgensen spits lyrics about government deceit, and punctuates a grinding guitar riff with a guttural cry of “lies!” that sounds as if it’s coming from the burning throat of an infernal judge. His conviction and his outrage are equally scalding.

Here at HIP, we’ve certainly seen our share of anti-administration videos over the past six years. But we don’t think we’ve ever gotten one with more visceral power than director Zach Passero’s hypnotically engrossing clip for 'Lies, Lies, Lies'. What’s so remarkable about it is that it isn’t really over-the-top at all – instead, it communicates its message of resistance through gestures of fear and bewilderment. Passero’s stationary camera scans the interior of a quintessential, television-dominated suburban home. As the people inside sit entranced by the motion pictures, an Arab bogeyman stalks the outdoors, just beyond a living room window. The family members respond as they might have been taught in a Cold War video, ducking and covering under the kitchen table.

But there’s nothing parodic about this clip, and it’s shot with a curious coldness and a strangely antiseptic feel that leaves no doubt about the director’s feelings. All of the everyday objects inside the house seem to take on a too-still quality – they radiate terror and claustrophobia. Possessed, the eldest boy stares at the camera and fingers at a plastic raygun. In the next shot, he sits in the barber’s chair, shorn of his locks and wearing fatigues. Still in a trance, he leaps up from the chair, and follows a procession of marching skeletons – led by George W. Bush.

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