misadventures-of-miss-betts

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New Home

Attitude Clothing have a shiny metal studded new blog!

For my latest adventures, reviews and mishaps, head on over to...

Miss Betts | Attitude Clothing

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Kuh-vell-er-TAK! OWLSOME!

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Have you guys been decorating? Backstage with Swedish sleaze punkers Sister, chatting studs and body dust for Attitude Clothing

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Rather appropriately, spending Wednesday the 13th with... Wednesday 13 as he takes on our little box of horror questions

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No pink champagne or phallic shaped aphrodisiac foods..

Grilled Wes Borland was on my Valentines Day menu! 

We talk chocolate body paint, Marilyn Manson and Zombie escape plans for Attitude Clothing.

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Cancer Bats, DevilDriver/Coal Chamber, The Black Dahlia Murder, Cannibal Corpse... sounds like a ace playlist, even better as a round of interviews for Attitude Clothing!

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Received my faux fur collar today and it's way too warm to wear it.

Still, I did what any sane person would do… gave it eyes and let it chill on my keyboard. 

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Fan girl. 

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First ink.

Ridiculously happy with it.

Oliver Macintosh of Frith Street Tattoo, London, for the win!

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Deftones - Brixton Academy - Review

‘Deftones!

Anyone selling tickets to Deftones?

Darlin’, any spare tickets you wanna sell? Name your price.’

I paused outside of Brixton station and considered the question posed by the tout who had just entered the area which I consider to be ‘my grill.’

Hmm. What would I give up my ticket for?

‘A Solid Gold Unicorn?’   I replied.

The look of bemusement/disgust told me that he did not wish to make a deal, and that I should walk on. Swiftly.

Wednesday night, and it was to be just the sultry tones of Chino and I... oh, and, of course, the thousands of sweaty Deftones fans due to descend on the sold out Brixton Academy.

I grabbed a beer from the bar and set about squeezing my little self to the front. My top tip is to find yourself a badass beardy bulldozer of a metal head and stickle brick yourself to his back. With the help of my unknowing carrier, I scored a winner of a spot just left of the stage, by the barrier.

A few sips of beverage later, the lights dimmed and we waited in suspense.

Deftones exploded on to the stage to rapturous applause.

The next two hours was a veritable roller coaster of eclectic aural delight.

Pounding nu-metal riffs followed ethereal melodies.

Roars met sultry whispers dashed with the screeching prowess of a possessed woodland animal.

Chino’s vocals were as smooth and luxurious as a sweet mink, brushed a thousand times with an illegal whalebone brush.

Moreno had a firm stranglehold on the attention of a whole floor of awestruck followers who hung on his every action. In his front man banter, he dispensed style advice, displaying a hint of a hat fetish, and mocked Harry Styles (which always goes down well with the rock crew).

The crowd were relentlessly emphatic throughout. They cried for the old stuff, they shouted for the new stuff and the kind Sacramento sirs obliged.

I partook in a slow waltz with a man much my elder during ‘Entombed’.

I was swept up in the bouncing body wave during ‘My Own Summer’.

I sang my heart out, teary eyed, during ‘Change’.

‘Be Quiet And Drive’ kicked in and, immediately, I was transported back to my early teen days of baggy everything and braided hair adorned with random beady ‘found stuff’ (Oh, what a style icon I was).  I remembered sitting on the floor with my mate, Dan who plucked away at his bass and told me that Chino Moreno was his father (despite the age range impossibility, surname and compete lack of physical likeness, at the time in my childish naivety I believed him).

The only negative was a rather foolish man, who decided that becoming a human helicopter by repeatedly swinging his hoody around his head - consequently blinding all in his path - would be the best way to get Chino's attention.

No, Chino does not want your hoody. It is dripping with sweat and the severed eyes of the unfortunate souls stood in close proximity to you.

After a short break, an encore ensued.

Naturally, Adrenaline fan fave '7 Hours' rang out and then... 

...the set finished...

...I wasn't prepared.

‘NO!’ I exclaimed as I turned to the people to my left.

With sad expressions, they looked at the floor.

They felt my pain, they knew my disappointment.

As I drifted back to the tube station on a cloud of elation, I overheard a guy complain, ‘They didn't play ‘Back To School’’.

You know what, I hadn't noticed.

I also hadn't noticed the vigour in which I put into head banging. As I write this I'm wearing a scarf tight around my neck, fulfilling its duty as a makeshift neck brace, my Deftones mix playlist blaring in my ears – like a junkie, desperately trying to draw a passable fix that’s anywhere similar to the night before’s enchanting buzz.

If you ever get the chance to see the mighty Deftones, sell your less vital organs, eBay your family, trade in all of your worldly possessions for a ticket.

You won't regret it. 

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Yo! Were you at Black Light Burns on Valentines then? I was so happy to see Wes in the flesh! You gonna be catching Thy Art Is Murder or the Born of Osiris tour? I can't wait for those gigs!

I sure was! It was awesome, right? Dear Wes was definitely an interesting Valentine’s date.

Admittedly, they’re both new to me but I shall check them out and who knows!

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I'm bringing my A-game to the twitters. 

Come on over and get an ample view of my left butt cheek.

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Getting the low down on NFL related fashion faux pas with All Time Low’s Zack Merrick. Hawaiian print at the Ravens is a no go. 

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Wine, a rather risqué interview for @attitude_clothing and… Wes Borland eating my face. Excellent Valentines Day. 

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How ace is my new Empty Casket pentagram necklace?!

Change the coney stones to suit your demeanour.

Dark every day then...

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Bored of your sad grey Tuesday jumper?

Whack some studs in the lad! 

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Behind The Scenes: Dinosaur Pile-Up 'Arizona Waiting' Music Video

The band and I have gone through all of the applications for Dinosaur Pile-Up’s music video for “Arizona Waiting.” I'm excited to say that we would love to have you play one of the characters. A make up artist will transform your face in a intimidating skull like fashion before you rise from the smoke and smash the hell out of household items with your chosen weaponry.

It sounded like a pretty standard Saturday for me... although causing such trouble for a music video would surely minimise the risk of arrest.

I arrived at Hackney's Jupiter Wharf, the set of said music video, at half ten-ish and endured a hilarious rigmarole of trying to get into this impenetrable fortress. One by one, actors arrived until we formed a strong group of break-in schemers. Just as we had advanced to discussing who we would sacrifice and eat if circumstances should lead to it, we finally gained access and were led through a hanger-like warehouse into a back area.

I'm not going to shatter your illusions about the glamour of 'backstage at a rock music video'... It definitely wasn't all cocaine, vegetable crudités and Cristal yet the Red Stripe was flowing, my latte was part coffee, part warm milk, mainly whiskey. 'Roxanne' drinking games were in full swing. Brilliant.

While waiting to be called into battle, we passed the time by boozing, swapping 'awkward situation' stories and exchanging option on largely inappropriate topics of conversation. These fine characters were unquestionably my type of people!

After a short while, one of the film crew walked in and we received some startling news...

The makeup artist had cancelled.

Like any goth girl worth her bat’s blood,  I was actually very much looking forward to being made over to resemble a creature of the morgue. 

Thankfully, fellow arty one, Inbar, and I had dabbled in make up artistry in the past and put forward our services.

While performing these morbid face transformations, I discovered one thing... boys are a NIGHTMARE to put make up on to, they move, they fidget, they insist on swigging beer thus carelessly destroying their perfectly applied lip liner. You’d think a pair of boobs at eye level would be enough to keep them entertained for at least a few minutes but, oh no!

Faces trans malformed, we assessed the wardrobe of weaponry at our disposal and more leather clothing items than a gimp's dungeon. 

Being a master of high school hockey, I took a hockey stick as my wield item of choice.

It was time for action, so back to the hanger we went.

Outside sat a sheer beast of a motor vehicle.

An awesome prop I imagined, but no, it belonged to Rob, one of the actors, who is just generally bad ass and rides around in it day to day. Apparently, his bro pimped it out for a Gumball Rally type affair. No man was stopping me from getting my mitts on that roof mounted Nerf tommy gun!

The set was dark and smoky. By the effect that the smoke had on my lungs, I can only assume that it was created with pure ground chilli and a dash of peppery molten rock from the depths of hell. It was pretty though, and surely created atmosphere.

It also had the unnerving power of re-colouring any white item exposed to it pink.

When the cameras were rolling, Dinosaur Pile-Up played while we charged around them brandishing our weapons, resembling satanic pandas with our black and white faces of fury. 

Now, sight impeding smoke and flailing weaponry DO NOT mix.

I almost decapitated a man. (sorry, Olly)

In between takes, it was bloody cold but I managed to pilfer a superb furry hat from the bassist which, whilst keeping my face toasty, set off my skull make up and created the most darling fashion statement.

The crescendo of the day was each of us having our own individual moment of destruction. I wont ruin the video by recounting in detail, but I will say that I ended up snacking on porcelain shards for the rest of the evening.

We wrapped up at about 8pm. Causing destruction and terror is exhausting.

The guys that I met at the shoot were all ace and hilarious fun to work with. Dinosaur Pile-Up, such sweet guys. Director, Lewis, and the crew were genius... I'm sure that the outcome looked insane, I'm very excited to see the results.