by RUPERT BOTTENBERG

When prodigal Montrealer King Khan, formerly of the Spaceshits, last paid his hometown a visit, it was for a duo show with his pal BBQ (Mirror cover story, Feb. 3, 2005). That was the entrée—the main course is the Germany-based 10-piece King Khan & the Shrines, a howling, hallucinogenic meltdown of swampy soul-punk and thrift-store mysticism that’s finally making its Montreal debut.

Mirror: The Shrines’ live show has been described as more of an occult ritual than a regular rock concert. Can you explain that further?

King Khan: Take a splash of lubrication, rub it on the spot. Now close your eyes and imagine a nine-headed Japanese animation monster penetrating all your orifices. Put that to some deep, psychedelic soul and you have our live show—paganism meets sweet, savage ’60s soul. Oh, and did I mention we have Bamboorella, go-go queen of the underworld? Nuff said!

M: Your band members seem to come from all over the place. How did these freaks and oddballs gravitate to you, and how do you keep the necessary level of interpersonal harmony among such wildly different personalities?

KK: Growing up in Montreal made me quite sympathetic to the freakish. Basically, this band is as close as I’ll ever get to having a pirate ship. Medication helps the harmony, meditation helps the monarchy and ignorance is bliss.

M: Originally, the band was based out of Kassel, a fairly small German city. Now you’re in Berlin. How are you digging the New York of Mitteleuropa, and how is Berlin digging you?

KK: Kassel is where the Brothers Grimm had their home and wrote lots of their crazy fairy tales, so there is definitely some kind of wonderful, mystic magic in the air there. Basically, I was in a house made of gingerbread for five years, and now I’m trying to slim down after all that sweetness. So why not go where the nitty-gritty is the grittiest? Berlin feels like the anarchist centre of the universe, covered in doner sauce, and served with salad and bread.

Touched by an angel (of death)

M: You’ve contributed to the soundtrack of a German art-punk movie called Schwarze Schafe [Black Sheep], alongside Quintron, the Black Lips and more. What’s that all about?

KK: I was approached by a director named Oliver Rihs, who wanted one of my songs for the soundtrack of his film. It was a sex scene, which was obviously quite a bonus in my eyes. He proceeded to show me some other select scenes involving Satanists, seasickness and love in all the wrong places in Berlin. I was really impressed and asked if I could do the entire soundtrack, so I compiled all the music and even got to do some of the score. It should be in theatres in Germany in October or November.

M: Okay, now for the grand finale. What the hell is this business about you and BBQ poking around in Dr. Mengele’s South American hideaway?

KK: Last September, BBQ and I had the opportunity to tour in southern Brazil. It was a madcap adventure of ridiculous proportions. Towards the end, we had the opportunity to stay in the jungle at a friend’s cabin in the mountains, between São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. As we drove up, our friend spoke of a haunted house located across the street. He said that everyone in the village below said it was haunted, but he didn’t know why. When we arrived, we saw a huge metal plate on the gates of the haunted house, and on it was written “Walhallah.” This sent shivers through my body.

A few hours later, we met a painter who lived next to where we were staying. He was an Australian who’d lived there for four years, and when we asked him about the strange house, he told us it had belonged to Dr. Mengele! Apparently, we had wound up in the area that the Nazis had planned to move to in Brazil! They were gonna move there and then take over America. The next morning, we broke in and checked it out. It was quite scary. The Nazis had imported all these trees from the Black Forest and planted them all around the house. The scariest part is that this house seems so protected today—it’s in the heart of a national park and looks all well kept and taken care of, as if someone might be living there today. Apparently, it might be sold to a very rich gay couple. Now just imagine what they’re gonna do with the dungeon in there!

With the Adam Brown and Bloodshot Bill
at le National on Sunday, June 4, 8 p.m., $15

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