Throbbing Gristle were the house band for postpunk's cultural unconscious. Ballardian and Burroughsian to the core, they made the first truly post-industrial music; unmoored from any roots in the Afro-American blues tradition that anchored Rock as We Knew It, TG made sonic statements--sound as information--that, like Ballard's Crash and Burroughs's Nova Trilogy, responded to the media landscape and the built environment around them, anatomizing the posthuman psychology and social pathologies native to these environments."This Mortal Coil: A Final Report on Peter 'Sleazy' Christopherson"
I remember interviewing (Sleazy) in the Broome Street Bar, in Soho. He was softspoken, diffident, with a coruscating intelligence and a sense of humor dry as bone dust. With his talk of sex magick and blood sacrifice, anal staircases and tape recordings of "this little kid laughing and saying things like, 'My legs are starting to sweat,'" I found him genially, discreetly depraved. Which, then as now, impressed me no end.