Music review: Victor Sierra

I love nearly all forms of music, from classical to heavy punk rock, from new age to apocalyptic industrial; for me, it is usually a case of having a simple preference over their content and overall atmosphere.

In my opinion, music should play a large part of decent BDSM play. It is by no means mandatory, but it can spark emotion, mood and can heavily effect the direction of a scenario or of play as a whole.

My first of what will hopefully be many music reviews pertains to a Steampunk band hailing from Paris, France.

Victor Sierra:

It was late one evening when my partner handed to me a copy of Victor Sierra‘s album ‘Yesterday’s Tomorrow‘ and said “This would be good to flog to. You should write a review on them.”

She was right. A pleasant mix of Steampunk and Dieselpunk with a bass that will keep your strikes going at length; Victor Sierra has quickly become one of my current favourites for multiple forms of BDSM play; primarily flogging.

While the music is multilingual, including English, French, Spanish and even Yiddish, the style and aesthetics of each musical masterpiece is more than enough to keep you listening and moving to the beat regardless of understanding the lyrics.

Of course, it goes without saying that, for me, the fact that they are a distinctly Steampunk/Dieselpunk style band is an excellent added bonus. They have delicious ‘WWII era’ undertones and atmosphere.

There is one song which I particularly enjoy: ‘Imbéciles’ (Track number 9). However it is vocalised in french, so here are the original lyrics along with a rough translation into English (because I am helpful like that).

It does lose a few details in the translation, however I am going to attempt to do it anyway:

Original Lyrics:

IMBECILES

Le sourire géné de l’indésirable
se crispe et se fige en équilibre instable
Venus des palais et des caniveaux
les hyenes se déchainent et se font écho.

Aux premieres loges, observant la détresse,
le lampiste en blouse temporise et paresse.

Les meneurs menent et font hurler la foule
Alors que les coups pleuvent et que le sang coule
se forme le cercle des eternels cretins
aux carrieres naissantes, au potentiel certain.

Imbéciles… Un jour
Imbéciles… Le sont ils pour toujours?

L’indésirable au sourire effacé
se releve et rassemble son univers brisé
se débat seul contre l’effet de masse
sous les quolibets recherchant sa place

Avec le temps les carrieres s’épanouissent
se cultivent se transmettent de peres en fils

Translation into English:

IMBECILES

The uneasy smile of the undesirable
becomes nervous and fixes into a fragile balance
Hailing from palaces and slums alike
The hyenas rage, their howls echoing each other

on the front seat, observing the distress
the blouse wearing lampist plays for time and lazes around

the leaders lead and make the crowd roar
while blows rain down and blood is shed
the circle of the eternal idiots closes
with new born careers and certain futures

imbeciles… one day
imbeciles…are they like this forever?

the undesirable with a faded smile
gets up and gathers his broken universe
fighting alone under the influence of the masses
under the mockeries, seeking his place

with time, careers blossom
cultivated and transmitted from fathers to sons

To be honest I think my translation lacks a certain ‘cachet’ when compared to the French original.

Their latest album is available for purchase at http://victorsierra.bandcamp.com/ and you can check out their Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/Victor.Sierra.band

This is a great band to listen to and one that I highly recommend as an accompaniment to your BDSM activities; especially any impact play.

All media posted with permission of Victor Sierra.
All media Copyright © 2013 VictorSierra. All Rights Reserved.

Feeling the eyes.

Whump, whump, whump, whump.

Time tends to slow down when you are in the moment. Everything seems to be in high definition and the only things that matter are the sensations. The sound and wind created by the dual floggers cutting through the air, the scent of sweat and leather, the feel of every impact sending vibrations through the body and the burn that penetrates every muscle from the exertion.

You can feel the eyes on you. The excitement in the air is like a drug. Addictive for an extrovert like myself.

With the beat of the music pumping through the club and influencing motion and impact, it swiftly turns into a dance. Erotic and sensual. This in turn attracts more eyes and the play becomes heavier. More visual. A performance to feed the spectators who are in turn feeding the extroverted desires.

By this point, the only way to stop the cycle is for the music to end. I am having too much fun.

Whump, whump, whump, whump.

With his arms raised and restrained to a Shibari ring that dangled from the ceiling, his back and shoulders are taking the majority of the beatings. Florentine style to be exact. Rash reddened and sore, he will bruise. But he too is being emotionally fed. Everyone is.

He raises his index fingers to the sky. Our prearranged signal that I am pushing beyond his threshold. I am oblivious to it. I know him and what he can take. The music had not stopped yet. He could endure. He ‘would’ endure. Limits are always best when at their extremities.

Now the thuds are louder than the music.

Whump… whump… whump… whump…

As the beat slows, so do the impacts. Breath is heavy. Sweat sheens the skin. The heat is comfortably uncomfortable as the world around phases back.

And then the music ends. I twirl the floggers to untangle them before clipping them to my waist. A spinning motion like a carousel. An elegant way to end. Aesthetically pleasing.

With a sure foot and gentle hip sway, I close the distance towards him to inspect the damage more closely. The skin looks tender. Tempting. Inviting. I gently run my claws down his neck and back. He shivers and groans at the sensation. A perfect finale.

With a short motion, I unclip his wrists and he slumps forward slightly. Drained. He turns, rests his head on my breast and I gently stroke the back of his neck. He had taken more punishment than originally intended. He deserved my gentler touch and aftercare. He had done exceedingly well.

Nothing needed to be said. Actions always speak far louder than any word. He attentively kissed my cheek. A “thank you”.

After a cigarette and a drink, maybe we would go at it again with a new song.

I do so love an audience.