Fields of the Nephilim

16 November 2011

There’s no point denying it. I’m a goth. Always have been and always will be. Oh woe is me. Hand/staple/forehead.

I’ve written before about my huge love of goth music but then decided last night while dancing around my kitchen to Endemoniada that today I would share my adoration of Fields of the Nephilim with you all. Aren’t you lucky?


This is Endemoniada. This was never one of my favourites when I was growing up but I’ve been listening to it a lot lately along with loads of their other tunes. It’s like I’ve come full circle though as I didn’t listen to anything by them for ages and had mentally put them away with all sorts of other childish things, as it were.

Well no more. I’m still a proud Fields of the Nephilim fan and always will be.

I still remember discovering them at the age of seventeen. It was like a clap of thunder. Naturally, they’d split up a few months before I heard my first one of their songs but nonetheless I continued to spend the rest of my teens and early twenties in thrall. Before the Fields of the Nephilim phase began I was a devoted All About Eve and Mission fan and used to waft around Colchester in flowing velvet dresses with my crimped hair (naturally red so I looked the part) hanging loose down my back. After I discovered the Nephilim, this fetching ensemble was joined by army boots, a heavy dusting of talcum powder, a long trench coat and a ripped and holey black cardigan. I thought I looked AMAZING. I did not.

Besides the music, which was ethereal, swirling and dense with mystical, pagan and romantic imagery (incidentally, it’s great for writing to), there was also the additional attraction of their frontman, Carl McCoy who I believed was quite possibly the most perfect man to ever walk this earth. I had a framed copy of the above picture beside my bed for many virginal years and no wonder – who could ever measure up to such hat tipping debonair cowboy charm? NO ONE that’s who. Other than perhaps Kiefer Sutherland in Young Guns II but um moving on.


Oh, I loved Carl McCoy. I laugh with immoderate glee at Fields of the Nephilim videos nowadays (the one above is for Blue Water which is a very rewarding watch if you have a healthy sense of the ridiculous) but back then I watched them in ardent devotion, sighing over Carl with his contact lenses and intense moodiness, which I thought was unbearably hot but actually really just meant that he probably took himself very VERY seriously.

I mean, just look at them. I still would. Oh dear.

You have to appreciate the self conscious aesthetics of Goth Band Photography though.

I went to see Carl McCoy play once in the 1990s at Rock City. It was an eventful night for more reasons than one, most of which I can’t really divulge here. It was still a great night though and I had the time of my life on the front row, swooning when he knelt in front of me to sing Moonchild and sighing over him with the other goth ladies who clustered around the front of the stage…


Oh dear. Maybe I’ll go and see them again next year when they are allegedly touring to promote their new album or maybe it’s best to just leave it all in the past. I want a new T shirt though as I seem to have lost my falling apart Electrostatic Quagmire (yes, I believe that you read that right) tour one, much to my distress.

Are you clinging on to your gothic youth? Did Carl McCoy RUIN all other men for you? Have you ever gone out with talcum powder in your hair? Or thrown confetti at the start of a Mission gig? Or sat on a complete stranger’s shoulders and kicked him in the face with your clogs while singing along with New Model Army? Tell me all about it. Bonus points if you’ve ever shouted abuse at Wayne Hussey or snogged someone featured in one of Mick Mercer’s gothic rock books…

Ps. In related news I’m currently trying to arrange one of the BIGGEST COUPS of my blogging career. It’s been a bit of a struggle but I’m regarding it as a test of my true blogging clout. If I pull it off, I’ll be preening myself for months, YEARS EVEN, about my own awesomeness.

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