“Hipster Metal” is False

I hear the term “hipster metal” all the time, and I think it’s total horseshit. Today’s “true” metal bands fetishize sub-genres that peaked anywhere from 10 to 35 years ago. Any exciting metal right now incorporates “false” influences, whether you know it or not. If blindly following tradition is the truth, I want to be false, I want to be a hipster. Yes, I live in a trendy section of a major metropolitan city, wear plaid shirts, and I’m listening to Baroness as I type this, so I may already be there, but hear me out:

OK, we all agree this guy still sucks.

Young heshers that formed bands during the MySpace era (2004-2010) and claim to be “true” thrash/heavy/death/black metal are to true metal what the Strokes are to garage rock: Convincing tributes at best, irrelevant knockoffs at worst. It’s not for a lack of trying — I’m sure their hearts are in the right places — but those styles came from a certain time and places, all of which I’m told had a charming lack of refinement and perhaps a communist government. Those times have passed, the places are all connected by the internet, and any band with $1,500 usually opts to re-amp and Beat Detective away that lack of refinement.

The pioneering spirit is still alive in the hearts and expanding beer guts of lifers who are often almost twice my age. It’s awesome that they’re still at it. I had such a fucking blast watching them kill it last year at Maryland Deathfest that I just re-upped for this year’s MDF, too. But to put it in perspective, I was in my momma’s belly when Master of Puppets, Reign in Blood, and Peace Sells all came out. I was a whopping six years old when Wolverine Blues signaled death metal’s commercial peak, and seven when Count Grishnackh hit the showers at Tromso.

All of the “true” metal sub-genres are decades old now. It’s not so bad that their sub-cultures have rigid expectations for behavior, imagery, and most of all, music — that happens within months of a “scene” forming, and it’s a natural phenomenon. But it is telling that the imagery, rituals, and yes, music, have all been co-opted by large mainstream entities and even corporations for commercial gain. At this point, it’s so accepted that even die-hard DIY bands will play those corporate festivals and release a record with a corporate logo stamped on the cover.

Metal has flirted with the mainstream on and off for a long time, but now that one of the world’s largest car companies thinks that pissing money away on expensive metal festivals will actually add to their bottom line, and a (hilarious) cartoon band based on the most lunk-headed metal stereotypes has actually become one of the most popular metal bands in true life, and dads are bringing their sons and daughters to Big Four concerts, and straight-up death metal bands are cracking the Billboard 200, it is time to accept that true metal is no longer a fringe sub-culture.

This is all a very long-winded way of saying that true metal is a relic, and “false metal played by pretentious hipster faggots” might actually the truth in 2011. And I do love the old shit, so fuck you.

All Politics Is Local

Mike Bloomberg, mayor of New York and head-honcho of the Bloomberg financial news network, is totally going to run for president according to most major media outlets, or totally not running for president, according to Mike Bloomberg.

I personally hope that he does. Northeastern city mayors are my favorite kinds of politicians — no-bullshit dealmakers who tend to get the job done well as long as the city council doesn’t stomp its feet like a grumpy kindergartner. There’s obviously some graft going down at some level in big and mid-sized city governments, but there’s corruption at ALL levels of government; I just appreciate how mayors tacitly acknowledge that a bit of palm-greasing goes on behind closed doors and it’s the price of doing bidness in a bureaucracy. Ideals are nice and fine, but do work, son!

It’s probably naive to think that Bloomberg could bring that cynical pragmatism to the White House, but I’ll keep hoping. In the meantime, you should read Esquire’s profile on the man himself — it’s one of the better profiles I’ve read in there lately. Not as much ass-kissing or dime-store psychoanalysis as I’m used to seeing in there.

If it were totally up to me, my buddy Mumbles would be President:

Sweet Shows So Far This Year

Kylesa at Great Scott: Awesome. Totally stoked to see these guys in such a cozy venue, especially considering that they’re playing the cultural shitshow known as Bonnaroo to a few thousand Trustafarians in a few months.

I didn’t need any mescaline to have a great time here. I’ve seen Kylesa a few times, most recently with High on Fire at the Middle East, but they were a serious force at this show. The dual-drummer attack is about 400 percent more effective live than on record. The unison tom-tom rolls in “Said And Done” were as heavy as a Krisiun show. Nice setlist too, with a mix of spacey vibes off Spiral Shadows, the scorchers off Static Tensions, and a few nods to their crustier past. Also, Philip Cope played a theremin.

Cave In at Great Scott: The night’s highlights were supposed to come from Wino and Scott Kelly’s acoustic sets, but Cave In stole the show with a sort-of surprise showing in front of a home crowd. They were stripped down in the spirit of the rest of the show, with Steve on acoustic, Adam and Caleb plugged in but at a low volume, and JR on a minimal kit (though he made room for a hi-hat tambourine). I wasn’t familiar with any of the tunes they played, but they were each dynamic and lush, played with a delicate touch. The whole bar was packed, and at least the front half of the room was totally captivated. I could get used to seeing this version of Cave In more often (though “Juggernaut” still rules).

It looked like most folks left after Cave In did, and they didn’t miss much. The notion of acoustic sets from hippie-metal legends is awesome, and their intentions and performances seemed sincere, but as intimate as the venue seemed for Kylesa, it was too impersonal for this gig. It was also the first gig where I’ve been told by venue staff to — literally — keep it down. Bogus bro.

Misery Index and Eyehategod, Club Lido: Weirdest venue. It’s in the ass-crack of Boston’s Jersey Shore, more popular for Latin dance nights than any rock or metal shows and way too big for the crowd. I’d guess about 400 people came out for a room that holds easily three times as many people, but my estimates could be way off since it was such a mismatch.

I had a blast anyway. It was the best I’ve heard Misery Index play since I first saw them at New England Metalfest way back in 2002. The setlist leaned more on groovier and punkier fare than I’d ever heard from them (“The Spectator,” “Multiply by Fire” (drunk!) “Defector” to name a few) but they still blasted out some burners too.

Eyehategod was their usual misanthropic selves. Personally, nothing will match their gig at the Middle East in 2009 in terms of sheer power — I could not hear right for a week, no exaggeration — but it’s impossible to not get into them.

Top 15 Records of 2010, And A Reflection

I’ve had a busy 2010. I stopped my half-assed “regular” posting in the middle of the year. I’m essentially a copy writer by trade; whenever I wrote here, it was a forced attempt to do something “creative” to counter-balance all the rote writing I do at work. I like my job, but I discovered that I’m burnt the fuck out on writing when I get home. I still needed an creative outlet; most of my life, it’s been playing drums, but that’s tough when you live in a one-bedroom apartment. Luckily, an old friend and member of my high school band had a new project that suddenly needed a drummer right at the time that I was looking to get going again, so I joined up with them in May.

We (Moons) have been gigging around Boston (plus a road show in New York!) throughout the fall and are putting the final touches on our debut EP next week. Look for it on Bandcamp in Jan/Feb, and possibly on vinyl, too. I heard someone say that we sound like “a bunch of metal kids that got into Hum.” That’s reasonably accurate.

Anyhow, I’ve been reading a ton of Best of 2010 lists lately, and I finally felt compelled to write something again. For anyone who give’s a rat’s ass, this is what a metal kid who likes Hum was into this past year.

None More True

Via Piccsy

The American Carnage Tour Finally Happened

Ten things about this show:

• Testament, Megadeth, Slayer — all of ‘em still got it.
• The Tsongas Arena could have been an anomaly in the space-time continuum, transporting everyone inside back to 1991. If that was true, though, there would not have been as many dudes in their mid-forties.
• The staff had a thankless job. I sat in the stands, in the front row, and every two minutes, somebody without a floor ticket either begged the staff to get by, or just jumped the wall and ran into the crowd. I’d say the success rate was greater than 50 percent.
• Chuck Billy’s voice is enormous. I could hear him bellow from outside the venue and down the block. Holy shit. Only got to hear two songs once I was inside though.
• I don’t know the last time that Megadeth played “Lucretia,” “Polaris,” or “Dawn Patrol” live, but I’m damn glad I got to see it go down. The back half of Rust In Peace has never sounded so good to my ears.
• Dave Mustaine just cannot help himself sometimes. He just has to play some of the pedestrian, proto-butt-rock tunes from the mid-90s, doesn’t he? Yep, he whipped out the goofy double-neck guitar for “Trust,” and cooed “A Tout Le Monde” at us. Those were his biggest radio hits, sure, but the people who showed up to hear Rust In Peace and Seasons in the Abyss don’t give a shit. But thank Dave’s Christian God that the rest of the set was so mind-blowingly awesome.
• It was a good idea that Slayer played last. Megadeth fans will stay for Slayer, but Slayer fans don’t give a shit about anyone but Slayer.
• Slayer fucking rules. I get only a minor thrill from listening to anything since Divine Intervention, but live, you just can’t deny them. Proof: My non-metal girlfriend came with me (because she’s awesome and the rest of my friends are a bunch of blubbering bitches). I figured her favorite band of the night would be the relatively accessible Megadeth. After “War Ensemble,” I think she’d made up her mind that Slayer fucking rules.
• Tom Araya can’t really move much anymore, but his voice sounds as strong as ever (not counting the “Angel of Death” scream, which he hasn’t been able to pull off for a decade). Kerry King and Shinguards Hanneman are finally moving to compensate, and Dave Lombardo remains a huge force behind the kit, so it all balances out.
• I guess this tour will be cool when Anthrax hops on next month. But Metallica who?

Goodbye Isis

“I will have never seen Isis,” my buddy Al typed in a Gmail chat , with a link to the Lambgoat.com article about their imminent breakup. I told him to quit being a bitch find a way to Boston for one of their farewell dates, and we’d wave goodbye.

In our sophomore year of college at Syracuse, when we lived across the street from each other in university apartments built like Eastern-bloc housing projects, Al was largely responsible for getting me into what some people now call “beard metal,” bands like Mastodon, Pelican, and Isis. Like many heshers who went to college in the last five years and “minored in botany,” we spent many lazy afternoons and evenings sitting on our asses and blasting these albums on iPod speakers. I’d listened to Isis before, but these sessions opened my mind to expansive, moody music in a way that never made sense to me before.

Al was really into meditating on this band. He spent so many nights falling asleep to Oceanic that he’ll remember it album top to bottom even when he’s in Depends. Once, he asked if he could play my drums so that he could bang along to that album. As far as I know, that might’ve been the second time he’d ever played drums, but he knows the album so well that he actually sounded sort of convincing.

So I couldn’t let this kid miss the last chance to see one of his favorite bands (until they reform in 2013 and charge $60 for tickets to a one-off show at some warehouse venue in Brooklyn), so I made a deal that his ticket would be free if he made it to Boston for the Sunday show at the Paradise. I am a wonderful person.

As bittersweet as it is to see such an excellent band go, I can’t help but feel that it was a good time for Isis to walk away. Wavering Radiant and In The Absence of Truth don’t do a whole lot for me. The first 45 minutes of the set focused on those newer albums, not counting “Collapse and Crush” off of Celestial. There were definitely a fan mega-fans that were totally into it, and the band seemed to enjoy playing the songs, but none of them had The Riff that holds together the best Isis songs. Tunes like Dulcinea and 20 Minutes/40 Years are studies in calculated build-and-release epics, but like most studies involving calculations, I get bored and my mind wanders. (“I wonder when Aaron Turner last cut his hair?”) Their later work sounds formulaic for the most part, and it’s fine formula, but I want the lyrical wandering that made Oceanic and Panopticon so excellent.

And we got them. The latter half of the set was pure excellence, a reminder of what made Isis the post-metal band to rule them all in the naughts. In Fiction and So Did We from Panopticon, the motherfucking Beginning of the End from Oceanic, and In The Absence of Truth’s lone scorcher, “Holy Tears.” The wall of noise was completely, gloriously oppressive within in the last minute of the set. My last impression of Isis is the one to remember.

Before the main event, we heard Totimoshi, who seemed lost on stage. The Melvins’ equipment was set up in advance and the guitarist was separated from his rhythm section by an empty drum set. Must have ruined the vibe for them up there, because it didn’t get one going for us on the floor. I’d have to give these guys another chance, because this wasn’t a fair way to watch them.

As they were the last time I saw them, the Melvins were great, bunch of fucking goofballs. I’m still not so familiar with most of their material, even though I swore to check it all out after being blown away by them last fall. But whatever they did play sounded rad. My friend tells me they played the five cool songs from the new album, but he didn’t really recognize the rest of the set either. The double-drummer deployment adds a whole extra dimension to the stage presence. It’s like performance art, or even a circus act, watching Coady Willis and Dale Crover bash in perfect unison, even on the faster, more intricate licks. Kylesa has two drummers, but The Melvins use two drummers.

And yes, Al was stoked on the show too.

Maryland Death Fest, Day Two: Dirty Diaper Riffs

My friends and I managed to keep our boozing in check on Friday night, just to give ourselves a fighting chance to catch Howl on Saturday morning at 11:45. We made it — we had to drive down, and keep our early-afternoon drinking in check, but fuck yeah, we caught the first band of the day.

I’d seen the Providence sludgers a handful of times before the MDF set, most recently at their Boston record release show about a week before MDF, and they get more comfortable on stage every time I see them. Vincent Hausman now smiles more than any other metal frontman, grinning like “Hey, I’m pretty stoked that I wrote this gnarly riff right here, I think you should be too. Aaaa-hahaha. Woo!” They had to cut a song out of the set while they swapped out a bass drum — the impact pad on the house kit had been pulverized into goo, so the beater was sticking to the head every time the drummer Timmy stepped on the pedal. It wasn’t great for the momentum, but they soldiered on. All things considered, even at the early hour, they sounded pretty killer.

I stuck around to watch Sulaco for a bit. Lots of dirty-diaper riffs, as my friend put it, but my groggy ass needed a break from the thumping for a minute, so we went to go check out the merch room for a while. There was just so much shit to browse in there, I barely knew where to start. At most, I’d heard of 20 percent of the bands that had stuff for sale.

Lots of metal-nerd notables were hanging around in the merch market — guys who you don’t really recognize at first glance, because they’re not in a band, but you’ve definitely seen them before, so you keep staring and eventually make awkward eye contact with them. Definitely did that exact thing with Albert Mudrian of Decibel and Ian Christe of Bazillion Points publishing, who also wrote Sound of the Beast, which I thought was the coolest shit ever when I was like 15 and made me wish that I could write history papers about metal.

Fuck the Facts was the other band we showed up to see for the morning. I had the privilege of catching them in the basement of a coffee house in Syracuse last summer, which made me an instant fan. They went on at about 1:15, and vocalist Mel Mongeon was sipping coffee during their set. They raged with a bunch of Disgorge Mexico songs, a few from the new Unnamed 7-inch, and of course, “The Sound of Your Smashed Head.” Remarkably tight for a grind band.

My friends and I were hungry and thirsty, two excellent reasons to drive the car back to the hotel. Al brought a portable grill down from Syracuse, so after we grabbed some cheap hot dogs (made with lamb, chicken, and pork…ugh) from the Aldi around the corner, we fired it up behind the hotel and went to town on the rest of our Yeunglings. We missed a few bands that I might have liked if I had seen them, but I was really amped about the food and starting in on my buzz.

Impaled was my shit back in the day. Mondo Medicale got regular spins on my Discman in 2002. It was a perfect Carcass knockoff, and fucking hilarious to boot. I guess I was one of the few that really found the joke funny, because they never bothered to tour the East Coast. So I was pretty adamant about getting back to Sonar for their 4:30 set. It was fun for nostalgia’s sake — they weren’t particularly tight, and I wasn’t familiar with any of their newer tunes, but it made my inner 15-year-old smile anyway.

Outside, Possessed was ripping it up, just really spot on. Glad that the organizers let them take some time on Saturday. I think it was during their set, I started to really notice the camaraderie at the venue. Kids who weren’t alive when Seven Churches came out (myself included) or probably even when Slaughter of the Soul dropped (kids in front of us) were banging as hard as the graying old farts in the crowd. We all also had one-hitters painted like cigarettes.

I caught a few seconds of Blood Duster, and I think that was all I needed, then went back outside for Melechesh. I only know them from the bonus footage on the Global Metal DVD, but they made a good impression, righteous mid-paced middle-Eastern inflected blackened death metal (say it five times fast). Incantation grunted out a few hits around the corner afterward, but I think I went to go sit down for a few minutes, pound a beer and indulge in some vegetarian chili.

The crowd was buzzing for Repulsion — personally, I don’t know if it was The Itis, general fatigue, or if I just didn’t care that much, but I wasn’t psyched on their set so much. Nothing wrong with it, but it didn’t light a fire under my ass. Marissa (formerly Dan) Martinez joined them for a song or two.

Asphyx and Autopsy on the other hand — maybe I just got my second wind, but I’m pretty sure that they were both awesome. Any dirty diaper riffs I thought I heard earlier in the day were put to shame by these two. Martin van Drunen has the pipes — that guy can fucking growl. Autopsy has a surprising amount of stage presence for a band with a singing drummer.

Speaking of singing drummers, I was chomping at the bit to see Deceased for the first time since New England Metal and Hardcore Fest 4. Like Impaled, Deceased were one of my favorites in my formative years, when thrashy death metal was the gospel and gore and zombies were the only acceptable subjects for song lyrics. King Fowley has long since moved up from behind the drums (I think he had a stroke), and the classic lineup is long gone, but that was a good move — I was blown away by how awesome they sounded! Without trying to sound like a douche, I didn’t expect them to rule so hard. That inner 15-year-old that smiled at Impaled was super-stoked that I got to hear Deceased play a set mostly of Fearless Undead Machines tunes and that I’d get to shake King Fowley’s sweaty mitts afterward.

The few minutes I caught of Wolfbrigade were cool and all, but I was pretty content with getting some fresh air/beer outside. My crew and I kept staring at each other deciding if we wanted to leave, but we figured we made it this far, we might as well check out Portal for like 20 minutes. Couldn’t tell you what they played, because my ears were beyond worn out and it sounds like flatulence of the underworld anyway.

It was surprisingly difficult to catch a cab. We knew for a fact that we could get back to the hotel for $16 including a tip, but some asshole cab driver told us it was gonna be $40, so we hopped out in the middle of traffic. Fuckin’ dick. Eventually made it back, picked up beers at the liquor store/bar/restaurant and found some fest-goers and lacrosse bros to hang out with behind the hotel. Then…uhhh, it got fuzzy. I remember some guy saying a car fell on his face, and I think he made me feel the titanium plate that now acts his cheekbone. Things definitely got weird. We had no intention to waking up at any particular hour on Sunday so we drank until it was hard to walk. Getting all full of hell.

Maryland Deathfest, Day One: So Sworn

Maryland Deathfest VIII was a blast. I’ve tried to piece together my version of the weekend below. I definitely needed the event schedule to remember which bands I saw; the times I had drinking beer and hanging out with new people were just as fun as the actual concerts. From the beginning:

—

Traveling down to Baltimore was uneventful. I was a good American and remembered to take off my shoes and belt when I waltzed through airport security, dressed like a dirty hippie in baggy clothes and sandals. The flight took off on time and landed at BWI ahead of schedule. I cabbed it to our hotel, the luxurious Quality Inn over in the Halethorpe section of town.

Apparently, it’s a pretty dodgy area, but the hotel seemed well insulated from all the riff-raff a few blocks away. It was one of those types of hotels with outdoor staircases and walkways on every floor, so it was easy to make friends just by chilling out in front of the room on the “balcony.” There was also a cheap liquor store right up the hill, so no complaints here.

My buddies were stuck in some vicious Memorial Day traffic in Pennsylvania, and I didn’t want to be a dick and leave for the show without them, so I had about three hours to kill. I bought a case of Yeungling and made friends with some fellow death-festers who were hanging out on the balcony (see? instant buddies). There were some grim-looking folks hanging out on a bench near the hotel waiting for a cab to the venue. We tried to get them to drink some beer with us, but I guess they were too kvlt for us “normals.”

Arrival

Us cool kids hung out for 10 minutes or so, but it was about 3 pm and the fest was starting, so all my new friends took off. I saw a few more headbangers coming and going over the next few hours, but mostly lots of bros checking into the hotel. The NCAA Lacrosse championship was in town, it turned out, and the testosterone levels at the Quality Inn were set to critical levels.

I know nothing about lacrosse, and these bros know nothing about death metal. Our respective groups were getting in the fuckin’ drunk zone for our big weekends, and at that point, I would rather have eaten a beer bottle than talk to lax bros and pretend to care about all the “heavy shit” that they’re into like Disturbed and Devil Wears Prada. So I holed up in the room, ordered some Dominoes, and waited for my buddies to arrive.

A shout out is in order for the metal mom of the Quality Inn, who squired the two 15-year-old metalheads around for the weekend. When I was 15, I had a hard time convincing my mom to let me go to one day of the New England Metal and Hardcore Festival, 45 minutes from where I lived. A three-day festival in a different city would be out of the question. This was the coolest mom ever.

After about three episodes of Law and Order: SVU, the ‘Cuse crew finally made it. We pounded a few beers, powdered up (anyone who does not appreciate the soothing qualities of talcum powder in your asscrack and grundle on a hot summer day is really missing something in life) and hopped in a cab for Club Sonar.

The area around Sonar was a heavy metal paradise. Club Sonar abuts I-83, so the parking lot under the highway served as a huge tailgating area. Dozens of crusty dudes hung in and around vans and cars outside the gates, drinking beers, smoking grass, and I’m sure plenty of other sketchy shit that I don’t want to know about.

Lots of people.

The line stretched a few dozen yards down from the gate, but security was pretty relaxed and the line moved fast. The layout in the festival area was brilliant. Most of a city block was sectioned off for the event, so the landscaping was a bit more varied than what I’d expected. There were two outdoor stages: one in front of club doors, with a few Baltimore high rises in the background; the other was wrapped around the side of the club, up on an incline. In between, there were dozens of tents peddling booze, delicious food, and thousands of items of merch from bands I’ve never heard of before.

We arrived around 6 pm; we missed Tombs by a few minutes, which was a bummer, but I’d seen them about a month prior in a cozy bar near my apartment. I believe Malignancy was playing when we showed up, though we only got to see a few minutes of their set. It was sufficiently brutal, and I remember the stage banter being pretty entertaining.

I was amazed at the number of people who already looked partied-out at 6. Most of them looked young compared to the crowd as a whole (the average age was like 27 or 28, but ranged from 14 to 60). It was amusing to see kids perched on the curb with their heads between their knees, still in broad daylight with a full six hours of music ahead. Pacing is a virtue.

That said, they probably picked a good time to wipe out for a few hours. The lineup was pretty sparse for a period after Malignancy. Birds of Prey was pretty cool, nice groovy stuff. But I like them about as much as I do on record: the first few songs sound sweet, but it’s too homogeneous to hold my attention. I noticed that Summer Welch cut his hair off, which made him tough to recognize. My friend also ran into Dave Witte in line for the bathroom:

Al: “Hey! You’re Dave Witte, aren’t you?”

Dave: “Witt-e, actually. I think that pisser is open.”

Al: “Cool man! Nice to meet you!”

A few sets got canceled for the night, so the schedule got all loopy for a period. A few members of Possessed missed their flights (oops), so Naxzul moved up into their spot. They were pretty whack — black metal doesn’t come across well in the daylight, I discovered, especially when it’s as boring as this. I think the singer’s kvlt priest-robe outfit was purchased at a party supply store.

Trap Them also bailed (not sure why, but it was bummer for sure), so that opened up the main room for Watain. Animal heads were in tow and blasphemously mounted all over the stage. I guess the organizers told them that spewing animal guts into the crowd would be a big no-no. Even without the GWAR-style theatrics, I thought they were pretty rad. The sound was a bit muddy, and there could’ve been a little more evil in the mix, but they were definitely sworn.

So sworn.

Gorguts (or Luc Lemay and the tech metal all-stars) was the band of the night for me. Sound was punchy, performances were tight — they have to be for music as spazzy as this. It was getting a bit late when they went on, about 9:45 or so, and when they hit the first chord, a whole bunch of lights in a big condo building behind the venue turned on instantly. I can just imagine all the yuppies up there going “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT GODAWFUL NOISE?!?!” Classic.

Crappy picture of Gorguts

Gride was awesome! I wish I had caught more of their set (the night air went well with our beers, so we hung outside for a bit), but the 20 minutes of face-ripping hardcore/grind that I did manage to catch was excellent. I’d never heard of these guys before (obscure Czech grind bands tend to fly under my radar), but I think I’ll be checking them out in the future.

I was getting pretty exhausted, and even with the full-blast air conditioning, the main room started to feel a bit claustrophobic. Coffins really wasn’t doing much for my friends and me, so we grabbed some more beers and perused the merch areas. Found Godflesh – Streetcleaner on colored vinyl for $8. Excellent.

Dunno that guy in the middle, but he seems cool

You’d have to be a real jackass to pass up an opportunity to see DRI. The three of us were feeling pretty sleepy, but we stuck around for a few tunes. It might’ve just been us, or it might’ve been the mix, but the imbeciles sounded a bit flat. We went to go look for a cab before the rest of the crowd did. Grabbed a few more beers at the hotel, hit up the store for some snacks, and posted up on the lawn in front of the hotel with a few fellow concert-goers. The British fellow among them offered us some of his Jim Beam, but we were hoping to make it up on time for Howl at 11:45 the next morning and decided that liquor at 1:30  probably wasn’t a wise decision. Bedtime for us after that.

In retrospect, Friday felt like a warm-up to the rest of the weekend. Saturday would lead us to the downtown prison and an Aldi, give us a sticky bass drum and some Dio covers, and turn out the best sets of the weekend.

Boring BC

Dark Ages opens with some open reverb-drenched minor chords and legato trumpet. This is the sound of Bison BC taking themselves too seriously.

It’s a shame, because they used to be so much fun. Quiet Earth slayed faces. A bunch of goofs from Vancouver drank a bunch of beer and wrote a great bunch of songs equal parts stoner metal, thrash and punk. It was upbeat, it had grooves, it had hooks, the humor was irreverent, and we all shouted along to the gang vocals. Great record. That’s the band I enjoyed. But by the time the bloated eight-minute opener “Stressed Elephant,” meanders off nowhere fast, I’m already bored by this “mature” new sound.

The punk vibe is gone. Some thrash elements are still around, but it’s like new Exodus versus old Exodus: mean-faced thrash versus party thrash. I know which one I actually care about. The ferocious gang vocals are gone too, replaced by some sappy “woah-ohs” that would make even Jerry Only wince. Mostly, we’re left with doomy heavy metal, without much bowl-smoking groovage.

They do manage to squeeze out a few solid compositions. “Fear Cave” flies all over the place, but still holds some of the gnarliest riffs on the record. It runs the gamut from rock to doom to vicious thrash, then lays into a gut-churning, tense, moody medium tempo for the last few minutes, and fades out (up) to blown out, distorted noise. Cool. The thrashier tunes that make up the middle of the record, like “Two Day Booze” and “Take the Next Exit” show a few flashes of angry brilliance as well. I just don’t hear any real rippers like “These Are My Dress Clothes” or “Quiet Earth” here. Dark Ages won’t be popping up on my iPod very often.