Two of the guys from Korn are now fundies. Rapture Index to spike shortly.

[KamaAina]

http://www.slate.com/id/2214420/pagenum/all

Into the great river of American evangelical Christianity, ever-pouring, ever-replenishing, a fresh tributary flows. Nameless as yet—Freak on a Leash Ministries would be my suggestion—the new church at present has only two members. But they both make a lot of noise. With the publication last month of his memoir, Got the Life, Reginald "Fieldy" Arvizu becomes the second dude from Korn to offer himself loudly and in book form to Jesus. The first was guitarist Brian "Head" Welch, whose God-drenched tell-all, Save Me From Myself, came out in 2007. Somewhere Oscar Wilde is smirking: "To drive one nü-metaller into the arms of Christ, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to drive two looks like carelessness!" Seriously, though — what's going on with Korn?

Perhaps you're surprised that they're still around. It's been 15 years, after all, since they first broke out of Bakersfield, Calif., and longevity was hardly to be expected. Korn, the album that finished grunge more surely than the suicide of Kurt Cobain, was a dead-end masquerading as a debut—a lumpy, disturbed, belligerent take on Red Hot Chili Peppers/Faith No More funk rock, produced at unstable tempos, with a hip-hop grimace. Fieldy, on bass, seemed to be playing an instrument with two necks: one that clicked and popped with nasty zealous high-end definition and another that rumbled almost subsonically, at an abysmal depth. Amp settings were part of the trick—"I don't use any mid-range," he explained to one interviewer, "it's all highs and lows, I take the mid-range and turn that shit off"—and the rest was his glowering, either-or personality. Head, meanwhile, was a guitar anti-hero, alternating between shapeless, melted-down riffs and twinges of lead that were ghostly as samples. The total sound was something you'd heard before, only now there was more of it. Fieldy had a fifth string on his bass and Head a seventh on his guitar....

But it wasn't, of course. Korn's eccentric, last-gasp noise galvanized the masses, proving to be not only commercially viable but very easy to rip off. Nü metal, they called it, and suddenly everyone was doing it—Limp Bizkit, Staind, Deftones, Godsmack. Korn hopped onto the hamster wheel of tour/album/tour; their third album, 1998's Follow the Leader, debuted at the top of the Billboard charts. Now they sounded less like Killing Joke doing the Beastie Boys' "Brass Monkey" and more like the disco at the end of the world. Stadiums quaked. Mega-success was theirs, an apocalypse of rock 'n' roll cliché whipped up punctually on the after-show tour bus—drugs, women, the works. Fieldy maintained a groggy oscillatory buzz with booze and pills, while Head slipped into speed and then crystal meth. Et cetera, et cetera....

Korn is still operational, and Fieldy is still making that sticky, indelible sound with his bass. Head has released an album of post-Korn salvation rock; October of last year found him discussing it with Pat Robertson on the Christian Broadcasting Network's The 700 Club. Head: "I went to church and I just felt something. And the guy was saying that Jesus was real, the pastor was just saying if you talk to him he'll start to take things out of your life that are hurting you. ... So I did drugs and I talked to Jesus." Robertson (chuckling, curious): "What did he say?"

:wtf:

[Bertha Venation]

1. Don't worry. It washes off, just like blood.

Because of course that's what they believe they're washed in . . . the blood of the Lamb.

The blood washes off.