A Few Words On That Amusing New York Times Article

Last week, the New York Times ran a report from “Hideous Gnosis” which the Grey Lady described as “a six-hour theory symposium on black-metal music” at Williamsburg, Brooklyn’s Public Assembly bar.

I’d heard about this on Invisible Oranges and was moderately intrigued. I don’t like the music, but it’s impossible as a metal fan to completely ignore the sub-genre’s impact, and I giggled at the thought of this “symposium.” I imagined a kvlt event like that would be held at a cold, concrete dungeon, adorned with candles and big tomes written in dead languages — kind of like the glimpse we got into Gaahl’s basement in A Headbanger’s Journey. A bar was probably a better setting–nothing better than a quick side-game of Golden Tee to keep you awake during a snoozer like this. (Ohhh snap!)

But the article in the Times (“Thank You, Professor, That Was Putrid”) genuinely piqued my interest in the event. Writer Ben Ratliff did a respectable job explaining the bare-bones-basic nuances of extreme metal in a way that the average non-metal Times reader could understand (one of my non-metal coworkers seemed to get the gist of it). He avoided getting ass-kissy or judgmental, and he clearly knows enough about black metal to write with (relative) authority. There were some groan-worthy moments — my eyes rolled back into my head reading Liturgy’s Hunter Hunt-Hendrix’s thoughts on “burst beats” and the American spirit of transcendentalism in his band’s music — but it got my gears turning.

My first instinct was to write a sarcastic post here about how nerdy and unmetal the idea of studying metal is, but I’ve decided to give the “Hideous Gnosis” transcripts a read-through and try — God, I’ll try– to give the music a fair shake again. Pretentious opining to follow.

~ Liam

Jake Bannon Wants A Grizzly, Confuses Journalist

Full Metal Jackie: “If you could ask for anything for anything you wanted for the holidays, what would it be?”

Jake Bannon: “Umm…y’know, a grizzly bear.”

FMJ: [Visibly Confused] “Uh huh…what exactly would you do with a grizzly bear?”

JB: “Take it to the movies with me.”

FMJ: “Umm…what else?”

JB: “Uhh…take it to the mall. I just want to hang out with it and see how it interacts with other people. Maybe try to get it to go to see Rom-Com with me.”

FMJ: “Well that’s one of the most interesting responses we’ve heard from a musician yet.”

– Liam

Faceless Dying Fetuses Depraving Planet New Hampshire

Fuckin’ New Hampshire, with their “no taxes” and “live free or die” mumbo jumbo. The kind of state that hosts the heavy-hitting Planetary Depravity with Dying Fetus and the Faceless tour went down in a function room with plywood walls above a shitty sports bar in Manchester called Rocko’s. I knew I wouldn’t be drinking, so I tried to time the two-hour drive up there last Friday (November 27th) so that we would miss every single opening band (nothing worse than being stuck stone-cold sober at a deathcore show). I planned right, but we arrived to a “Sold Out” sign taped to the front door. That’s the first time I’ve ever been shut out of a show. As my buddy and I stood outside lamenting, the door swung open.

Vital remains wasn't playing, so I took my sweet-ass time getting to Manchester for this one.

“You have to go!” a bro in a red plaid shirt yelled as a kid in a black beanie stumbled out backwards. “You groped a girl! We already told you to get out of Here! Her father is in there ready to beat your ass! You’re not welcome! Get out!” The black-beanied transgressor was putting up a fight, so two more plaid bros emerged from the club to force the kid out the door. As the last bro cleared the doorway, my buddy muttered “Go…GO!” and we slipped in undetected. We couldn’t have planned that shit if we tried–the best free show I ever saw! I got to buy a t-shirt and go out drinking the next night.

A composite sketch of the offender.

Fetus was great, despite the second-rate sound system at Rocko’s. I really like them as a three piece–the whole set was really crisp and nimble for such a crushing display of brutality. Trey Williams is an absolute beast behind the kit, and he actually has a presence and a personality that sticks out from back there, sort of a hardcore-drummer vibe in general. He likes to stand up and point his sticks at the crowd during the guitar breaks, and a brings a sense of groove back to the band that’s been missing in the last few lineups. John Gallagher is a God of death metal. I’d listen to that guy play out of a guitar exercise book, because I’m pretty sure he’d manage to turn it into a sweet metal breakdown somehow. Sean Beasley seems like a cool dude, good presence–I didn’t realize how fucking big that guy is ’til I shook his hand after the show.

The Rev is taking videos now — awesome!!!

The Faceless made a fan out of me when I saw them at the first Summer Slaughter tour a few years ago, and I was impressed again this time. I prefer Akeldama by a longshot, but it was very cool to see them play Planetary Duality front to back–it sounded exactly like the record, which was impressive for such an intricate piece of music.

The mosh pit acrobatics were almost as entertaining as the show itself. I saw a fireman-carry-whirlwind, which was hilarious; grown men high-fiving after gnarly somersaults into each other; and a 15 year old Carrot Top lookalike set a fucking Olympic high-jump record onto the pile at the front of the stage. I also saw a short young man dressed in Elmo paraphernalia, head to toe. The muppet. I shit you not. I wish I had a picture, because words can’t describe it. This was the kind of rowdy, rambunctious vibe that’s impossible to find at a death metal show in Boston, so I guess New Hampshire turned out to be a pretty good place to check out Fetus after all.

~Liam

A Few Words On That Douchey Village Voice Article

In case you missed it, some clown named Stewart Voegtlin wrote a super-douchey article in the Village Voice slamming Pelican, Baroness, Mastodon, and Torche for their “sketchy” metal. Metal Sucks covered it, followed by a hilarious and well-written response to the piece from a guy in a band I’ve never heard of; Jeanne Fury also posted a spot-on response on the Deciblog. Update: The Chicago Reader has a great response of their own. It’s probably best ignored, but this dude pissed me off and I have a few thoughts of my own.

I imagine Voegtlin looks like this.

A) I’m a big fan of all these bands (though I don’t really consider any of them aside from Mastodon to be metal), so I obviously disagree with Voegtlin’s critique of their “sketchy” metal.  It’s cool that he hates these bands, but his Scene Police act is fucking bush league. “Hipsters” and other non-metal-looking dudes have been hitting up metal-ish shows and wearing metal t-shirts for years now. He’s fighting the last war. It’s a genre of the people now; it’ll never be as underground and exclusive as it was in 1992. The good old days are gone forever. Whatever. Get over it.

B) I get the impression that Voegtlin holds his critical writing in equal regard to the music that he picks and pans. It’s as pretentious and bloated as he thinks Pelican’s music is, first of all. But pompous critics like this guy seem to forget that art criticism is a vulture artform–it simply wouldn’t exist without actual art to judge. Good criticism illuminates music, offering solid recommendations for new jams and at its best, helping us to hear music from a different, eye-opening perspective. Once in a while, some mook drops a misinformed, xenophobic piece like the Voice article that serves nobody. Yeah it stirs conversation, but from what I’ve seen so far, it’s dumb stuff like “I’m wicked tr00 and I love all these bands, fuck this guy!” or “Pelican sucks, go put on some skinny jeans you fuckin’ hipster.” Music is not a competition.

C) On that note, it’s tough for a writer to make a living these days, and Voegtlin certainly stirred up conversation about himself. He seems like he hates Decibel and the musical diversity that it stands for–I would guess because he’s butthurt that all of his query letters have been rejected. But if the commenter going by VOEGTLIN on the Deciblog post is actually him (and he’s not pulling stuff out of his ass like he did in his Voice article), it looks like Decibel will sign him on for an article in the near future. Good for him–he just had to be a dick to get there.

D) Voegtlin uses the word “milquetoast” far too often. I mean, he uses too many adjectives in general, but especially milquetoast. I’ve read three pieces by him, and he’s used that word in all three. Check out his website The Left Hand Path for more.

On that note, I’ll have your finest milksteak, and the jellybeans raw.

~ Liam

Baroness Live: Fuckin’ Triumphant

Baroness played the best live set I’ve seen this year. Both times I’ve seen them rank among my favorite sets I’ve ever seen by a band. The last time I saw them was at a tiny community center in Syracuse, NY, in front of a packed house of about 100 people, a few weeks after the Red Album dropped in 2007. John Baizley and Summer Welch appeared to be tripping very hard on some strong hallucinogen, looking right at the crowd but obviously seeing something totally different. I liked the new CD before the show, but the songs really came to life that night, and because of that, the Red Album has gone on to be my favorite record of the past few years. Listening to it conjures up strong memories of that time and place, the fall of my junior year at Syracuse University. I hear what’s on the CD, but no matter where I am, I vividly recall the vibe in that little function room and along with it, the free-spirited, open-ended vibe in my head at the time. Baroness’ music and my memories of that time and place are so tightly intertwined that I have a tough time separating the two. I get hints of that from listening to some of my other favorite bands — generalized memories of being a very angsty high schooler when I listen to Dying Fetus, or faint recollections of sporting blue hair and a Canadian tuxedo in middle school when I listen to Ride The Lightning — but those hints have faded over the years.

So obviously, I was pumped to see Baroness again when they came to Cambridge last weekend. I could hardly wait til the openers were done; I mean, they were alright. US Christmas seemed to be doing something interesting, though I wasn’t in the mood for drony stuff at that moment (and seriously, I’ve seen a quartet make more noise than their octet). Earthless was the first “jam metal” band that’s kept my attention for an entire 45 minute set, which was cool and made my shitty beers go down easier while I waited for the main act.

Chronologically, it’s only been two years since that DIY show, but Baroness have grown so much since then. They commanded the shit out of that stage. John Baizley looks like a madman when he screams, and his interplay with Pete Adams is stellar. Hearing it live, it sounded like Thin Lizzy passed through a Southern/bluegrass filter. They plowed through some of my old favorites like “The Birthing” and “Isak” from the Red Album, and “Red Sky” from the Second EP, though they really shined with the Blue Record material. My jaw nearly dropped when they pulled out a heavied-up version of “Steel That Sleeps the Eye” because I never thought in a million years that I’d hear that song live. They left out “Rays on Pinion,” which was disappointing, but they closed with a triumphant version of “Grad,” with one of the tunes from First as an encore.

Nothing will ever match that show in the Westcott Community Center, but last weekend, Baroness once again left me with an augmented appreciation for the Blue Record that will last for years to come. And I’ll have fond memories of shooting the shit with Pete Adams for a few minutes after the show, trading Danzig stories and snapping this priceless picture:

~ Liam

Taking Music Snobbery To The Next Level

I’ve been a fucking dork about music for about 13 years, but I’d never bought anything on vinyl until about a month ago. My collection — actually let me call it a library, because now I’m officially a pretentious record collector — has been growing steadily, and I still don’t own a record player. I didn’t consider how dumb this must sound to some people until a friend pointed it out to me — I could keep buying CDs for less money, but instead I’m spending more on something I have no use for.

Right now, let’s just say I’m “between formats.” It’s an ugly situation for a nerd to be in. When I sold my car last month, my last decent CD player went with it. Without a way to play CDs, I’m really just paying for the art and printed lyrics. Art is cooler when it’s 12 inches large than when its 5 inches small. If I can’t play either format, I’m going for the big art. It makes sense to me, but my friends think I’m turning into that doughy record-store clerk that John Cusack played.

I can only rectify this situation in two ways: a) start to wear ball huggers and an ironic mustache or b) buy a turntable. If anybody has any advice on buying a record player, help me out in the comments section because I’m totally clueless.

~ Liam

Grown Men With Face Paint

The amount of corpsepaint on a band’s face is proportional to how hard I laugh at them. Well, unless there’s no corpsepaint, but I still might laugh, but for different reasons, so…ah fuck it. Black metal is ridiculous.

But I went to go see Nachtmystium and Marduk anyways, upstairs at the Worcester Palladium last Friday. The only corpsepaint on Nachtmystium was some eye-black under Blake Judd’s eyes, so according to my rule, Nachtmystium were awesome. Marduk plastered some grim-ass frowns on their mugs. I giggled and left early to go get drunk in Boston.

I don't doubt that Judd's eyes (right) are often that puffy, but he does add a little makeup to accentuate the effect. Is it grim? I think that's open for debate.

I really had no reason to go to this show, but some friends came from out of town to catch a few concerts, so I came along. I don’t think I’ve seen a show there since…fuck, 2005 maybe? I missed this venue. When the openers are boring (like they were Friday), just grab a beer and go hang out on the balcony by the merch tables. But it’s still small enough that even at the back of the room, I can smell the drummer’s sweaty pits.

My crew missed the openers because my buddy got stuck in traffic on the way up from Philly that day. I think they were called Merrimack, but the French one, not the one Lambgoat always posts about. I don’t know if I would’ve liked their music, but their singer liked my Philadelphian friend, a short dreadlocked black dude who wore a ‘Milf Hunter’ shirt to the show. The singer asked for a picture with him. “Voila! I’ve found eeem, ze Milf Unteah!” Welcome to America buddy.

We caught Black Anvil’s, last few songs, which made me sleepy. Then Mantic (Manic?) Ritual had a few half-time thrash breakdowns that sounded good to me, but I mostly wondered why a second-tier thrash revival band ended up on a black metal tour.

Nachtmystium was the real reason we came. It took a few years for me to warm up to them, probably because I couldn’t hear what the fuck was going on with Instinct: Decay. Assassins was awesome though, and it served me black metal just the way I like it: mixed in with better stuff. They played mostly from Assassins and the Doomsday Derelicts EP, with a few older tunes and a GG Allin cover (“I Kill Everything I Fuck”). They sounded good, and I’m glad I saw them.

Marduk…never liked them, probably never will. Straight-up black metal does nothing for me. After two songs, the singer asked “Are you with us or what?!?” ::grim frown::

Nope. I do respect their face-making abilities though. My cheeks cramped when I tried to frown as hard as he does.

"HAH! Lets go get drunk in Boston instead."

~Liam

How Did Rolling Stone Get So Shitty?

Much of the free world gave up on Rolling Stone as a reputable journal of rock ‘n’ roll culture long, long ago, but I’ve kept my faith (and my subscription — it ain’t metal, but somebody always signs me up as a Christmas present). At the very least, they offer up a few insightful artist profiles (Mastodon, Metallica and Megan Fox — ooh la la) and long-form non-fiction pieces (anything about drugs, gangsters, and grown men in costumes) every month.

 

As good as it gets these days...boobs!

 

But I’m really losing my patience. The latest issue (Jagger, Springsteen and fucking Bono argh!) exemplifies everything that’s wrong with the aging rag. Inside was a big, bloated, 52-page feature on the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame, including 27 pages on the 25th Anniversary Concerts. Seem excessive? Consider that RS editor, publisher, and founder Jann Wenner is the chairman of the Rock Hall. It was one egregious display of self-gratification, like watching Wenner stare and smile right at me, drool glistening on his lips, as he slowly stroked his cock in my general direction. “Mmm…yeah…aren’t I fucking great? Ooooo yeah…I AM rock ‘n’ roll…”

Mmm...yeah...mmm

My Ears Are Still Ringing From Eyehategod Last Weekend

Well, not really, but they were still ringing by the time I went to the MastoKlok Con Fire tour a few nights later. As somebody in some writeup of Eyehategod’s return to the Middle East in Cambridge on Oct. 25, “I was happy to see that the club was zero percent hipster and 100 percent scumbag.” Yes, what a blessing indeed.

My experience with the Nahlins wreckin’ crew has been limited to some post-bar blackout-drunk listening sessions and a brief period when I was 14 and couldn’t quite grasp their druggy atmosphere. I went for the awesomeness of Goatwhore, the novelty of Anal Cunt, and because nothing else was happening that particular Sunday night.

So as an EHG-neutral attendee, I can report that it was awesome. They played their hits “That Slow One,” “The Slower One,” and “Sister Fucker.” I’ll be gosh darned if I could hum you back even one of their songs, but the vibe was killer. The crowd was like one big drug-addled organism. The band looks like they’ve done as many drugs in person as they do in pictures (except Jimmy Bower, who looks like he’s eaten more chicken wings up close than he did on the big stage at the House of Blues). The sheer volume really made their set awesome for me, and I left with the satisfied feeling you get when your whole body has been vibrating for an hour.

Goatwhore, the real reason I went, were fantastic. Just great. So many raised fists in the crowd. Like I said about Behemoth when I saw them in August, these guys are a like fucking steamroller right now. They’re much tighter, much more confident than they were when I saw them a few years back, after A Haunting Curse came out. I was lukewarm about Carving Out The Eyes of God before, and now I’m all about it.

My only regret about Goatwhore that night was that I failed in my quest to get Sammy Duet to autograph this picture of himself:

The Biggest Pussy in Metal. (Haha, see what I did there? I'm totally kidding by the way. I love Sammy's work, he's awesome, and he could probably put some kind of Cajun hex on me. Totally kidding. Really though, there's a tenderness in his eyes that's pretty, well, not metal.)

I had the copy of Decibel on me and everything, I just couldn’t sack up enough to do it after he gave me the Satan stare and shoved his guitar in my face. He ruled.

Lightning Round about the other bands:

Speaking of Satan stares, Seth Putnam gave me the stink eye just for recognizing him at his own merch table. What he was so angry about, I can only guess, but it might be because he’s still alive. Anal Cunt was a fucking joke–an amusing joke–but a total fucking joke, as they always have been. Also, heroin is bad for you.

Strong Intention played. They are a hardcore band. That’s about all I have to say about that.

Howl was cool. I liked their riff (zing! But I actually do really like them). They don’t have the stage presence or confidence to be a marquis band yet, but I think it’ll get there. I think a bunch of the songs they played are going to be on their full-length, which I believe is due early next year. Get excited, cheah!

~ Liam

Belphegor Have Outdone Themselves Again

I figured that Belphegor had reached the plateau of absurdity when they released a song called “Sexdiktator Lucifer” on an album called Bondage Goat Zombie, a real churner of a tune featuring a moaning woman throughout. That tune happens to be one of my favorites from that album, which is still in occasional rotation on my iPod. Apparently they had some real smut stuffed in their creepy Austrian sex dungeons for this next album. Just look at this fucking video!

To sum it up, some buxom European broad passes out in a mountain. Goats fly around on broomsticks, then the girl gets carried away by the members of Belphegor, who look like rapists and occasionally wear heads of dead boars, goats, and The Exalted Piledriver. One of the minotaur-man-beasts dribbles some semen, thinly veiled as “milk” into the passed-out girl’s open mouth. She wakes up as she gags on his hot load, then goes on a magic flying-goat ride. The Piledriver reappears, and she starts whipping him in some bizarre goat-worship occult sex ritual.

A typical weekend at Belphegor's mountain sex lair.

In short, it’s awesome. I doubt this will ever grace the airwaves, but it was enough to convince me to check out Walpurgis Rites – Hexenwahn soon. I believe it dropped today. Without having heard it, I’m going to assume that this “Der Geistertreiber” track is like the “Sexdiktator Lucifer” of the album, and all the other tracks sound like each other,  just like they’ve all sounded since Pestapokalypse IV. Bitchin!

~ Liam