Awesome venue. Run very well, and more spacious than other DIY spots I’ve been to lately.
My cheapest drink tab this year. BYOB is an excellent policy.
The backup keg was clutch.
Powerstance’s drummer was like the rug that really holds the room together.
I’d like to see 26 Beers play sooner than six months from now.
Moar low-end in the Magrudergrind.
If “Embracing Extinction” and “Heirs To Thievery” hold true, Misery Index’s new album shall rule hard.
Jun-jun-junjunjunjun TRAITORS!!!
Band for band, the most beats per minute of any show this decade. Anywhere.
Saw lots of old friends, some for the first time since I moved out of town in 2005. Good to be back and to see their smiling, now-bearded/mustached faces.
Dave Mustaine is like that one friend everyone has, the self-centered asshole who you keep hanging out with anyway, because, you know, you’ve known each other forever, man, and he’s more like family at this point, and it would just be weird if you didn’t see him for a while, you know? This friend is grouchy, talks a lot of shit in public to anybody about anybody causing trouble for everybody around him, and even though he knows how many enemies he has, he still treats the friends he does have like dog turds from time to time. But deep down, this shithead is still your bro and you always break down and give him a call.
Thrash fans, David Ellefson is back in Megadeth. Dave and Junior are reunited, and it feels so good. They look adorable together. “This shows the power of brotherly love and forgiveness,” Mustaine said in a press release probably written by their agent.
Well…maybe it’s because they’re friends, maybe it’s for the fans, or maybe Junior’s back because his $18.5 million lawsuit got tossed, F5 sucked, and he needs some money for highlights. His hair up above is looking a little flat compared to this golden mane, no?
In all seriousness, it’s within reason that Mustaine reached out to his old friend, the dude who stood by him through all the drugs and tantrums and classic thrash records and shitty alr-rock records. Mustaine is an aging Christian, so, you know…family and love…and stuff.
He’s also an aging Christian who’s a fucking fantastic guitar player. I love Megadeth’s music as much as I love making fun of the guy who writes it. As a long-time fan, I’m super-pumped about Ellefson, Megadeth’s voice of reason, coming back to his rightful place next to that cranky ginger. The Rust In Peace 20th anniversary tour won’t be coming through Boston, so I’ll have to wait until the American Carnage tour in August (fine by me!) to check ‘em out.
For old time’s sake, some classic interviews with the Daves from the golden years.
1986. The original lineup, with a cute story about the Daves’ first meeting. These four dudes look like scumbags.
1988. Dave and Junior, clearly on some funny stuff (watch ‘em twitch!), mumbling about Germany and telling a hilarious story about scaring the piss out of a record producer. Mustaine declines an easy opportunity to talk shit about Metallica, and confirms that yes, he and James Hetfield recently went drinking near a beach…?
1992. The Daves wax philosophical about quitting drugs, and like, having a life, man. Mustaine looks like a ginger Confucius.
Watch this on mute and tell me it doesn’t look like a cock rock video.
The pink guitar really makes it pop.
But as lame as I thought “Forced To Rock” was after the first couple views, I’m kinda starting to like it. Arsis really hit a wank-wall on We Are The Nightmare, and this hair metal/Bodom-ish direction they’re taking is, well, interesting, but definitely much catchier than anything since A Diamond For Disease. I believe the album, Starve For The Devil, is floating around Blogspot world, so y’know, go take a leak.
A handful of death metal’s heavy hitters rolled through Worcester Saturday for the “Those Whom The Gods Detest” tour at the Palladium. Before any of them played a note, two great things happened: Abigail Williams dropped off the tour, and the show was moved from the cavernous, theater-sized venue downstairs to the sweaty, projection room-sized venue upstairs. Yessss.
And the hits just kept rolling after that. I’d read good things about openers Dreaming Dead, mostly from Cosmo Lee at Invisible Oranges, but never checked out the tunes. A few dudes in the crowd appeared puzzled by their dual female shredder lineup, but Liz Schall’s first mic-check growl seemed to convince the skeptics that they were still going to get a death metal show–and a pretty good one at that. Their Death-infused, Swede-style death metal is intricate, but was punchy enough to fit in with the rest of the lineup.
Krisiun stole the show. They play brutal death metal the way I think it should sound: raw, fast, loud, atonal, and fucking angry. I’m a long-time fan, but had never seen them before–it’s a pity. They’re just as savage live as they sound on record. Alex Camargo’s vocals are a big part of that; his voice is more of a bellow than a growl. His whole gut, chest, and throat are behind it; it sounds like his real voice, just louder, and connects more than “false voices” like cookie monster growls or kvlt rasps. Those effects are great — a lot of great metal is and always has been theatric — but Camargo is way more threatening than most metal vocalists, and that’s how I like it.
The testosterone in the crowd was enough to lift a kid who looked 300 pounds up and over the crowd–and to keep him there long enough to slowly roll onto the stage. Even Camargo laughed for a second. It was awesome. See this band when they come to your town.
It was a tough act for Immolation to follow, but the NYDM vets had a big contingent in the crowd–mostly surly older guys with longsleeves and goatees. They played a bunch of songs with moderately atmospheric, semi-groovy slow parts interspersed between the blast beats, because that’s what Immolation songs sound like. Don’t ask me to name one. It’s always cool to see old-school bands, especially if they’re still vital 20 years into their careers.
Last time I saw Nile was during the Annihilation of the Wicked tour cycle. I think I had seen them three times in 13 months at the same venue–downstairs at the Palladium. I got burnt out on them for a few years, but Those Whom The Gods Detest got me excited again in a big way.
That excitement deflated a bit while we waited a solid half-hour for them to come on. They had four or five techs working for them, none of whom could figure out how to get Karl Sanders’ mic to come through the PA or keep his PC from crashing. I’m glad part of my $25 ticket went toward paying them.
When Nile finally came on, about half the crowd did a double-take when they realized the chrome-dome onstage was actually Dallas Toler-Wade. He pulled a Devin Townsend and Bic’ed his skullet. Another soldier lost. Nile played a solid set, but I didn’t leave feeling blown away. The performance was great, they played the tunes I wanted to hear, but I can really only handle like an hour of such pummeling music. Looking around, the a decent portion of the crowd looked fatigued by the time they pulled out “Black Seeds of Vengeance.”
I planned to be a solid eight hours into a two day New Year’s bender when I saw Clutch at the House of Blues on Dec. 30. But since I’d been drinking constantly since around Christmas Eve, I couldn’t bring myself to become the shitshow I desperately wanted to be. Instead, I had more of what Clutch would call a “Subtle Hustle” going on: kinda fucked up all day, but nobody can tell. It was a good state of mind to be in.
Wait, maaan...whaaat?
Clutch had always been on my radar but I only really started paying attention around From Beale Street To Oblivion. So I was little confused when two songs into a five-song mini-set of Strange Cousins From The West, Neal Fallon reminded us “in case we didn’t get the memo” that they’d be playing the entire self-titled record. “Make yourselves at home, cuz we’re gonna be here a while.” I guess missed the memo.
Yes, it felt like 1994 in the House of Blues. As soon as the hee-haw chorus of “Rock ‘n’ Roll Outlaw” kicked in, it was pretty clear who the the old fans were (can’t say I was one of them). It was a nice nod for the long-timers, the guys and girls that showed up to hear more than the guys bang-bang through “Electric Worry” (which they didn’t).
Neal Fallon is Clutch’s entire stage presence. In a different era, he would’ve been a preacher, spitting some verse at the true believers, gesturing because it just makes good fuckin’ sense. Some movement, any movement at all out of Tim Sult and Dan Maines would’ve been great. But if they have to stand like statues to sound that good, so be it. Meanwhile, JP Gaster looked extra baked. Clutch has been in my regular rotation since the show.
Doomriders, whose catalog I also haven’t spent a lot of time with, also were great. In some way, a way I expect nobody to understand, Nate newton reminds me of Danzig as a frontman. He doesn’t air hump or moan like a wounded animal; maybe it’s because he’s kinda small (he looks a lot smaller next to the lanky guy from Disappearer than he does next to Jake Bannon). It’s probably because his music makes me wicked happy.
This whole show made me wicked happy. 1994 must’ve been awesome as long as you weren’t a diehard thrasher.
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.”
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:
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.
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!
I spent the weekend listening to Now That’s What I Call Slam, a Metal Inquisition joint/Invisible Oranges production (mix-taaape!). I had almost completely forgotten how much fun I used to have listening to this stuff! When I was like 15 or 16, going to local metal shows to watch my friends’ bands play, it seemed like the only kind of death metal anybody played around the Boston area was of the slammy persuasion. In recent years, I just kind of assumed that nobody really played it anymore, but this mix was brutally pleasant reminder that it exists.
Yeah, it’s tough to tell bands, let alone songs, apart, but the style has some really endearing qualities that, I think, stand up well against more modern interpretations of death metal, like deathcore or needly tech-death. The pacing is much better—that is, it’s possible to listen to this stuff for an extended period of time without ear fatigue (shit, I’m tired of After the Burial after (hah) two minutes). Maybe it’s just because I’m so tired of the current trend, but 85 percent of the time, I’d rather listen to a slam over a breakdown and an effects-laden gutteral belch over a effects-laden scream-whine.
Here are some select slabs of early-2000s Boston-area slam I found buried within my iTunes. Both are pretty good!
Terminally Your Aborted Ghost – Open Concave Chest Wounds
Dysentery – Baptized in Disbelief
There’s a certain warts-and-all charm that comes along with all low-budget recordings; in this case, it’s the sound of max-gained guitars played through shitty amps with the clamor of hollow piccolo snares, wet kick drums and ice-bell cymbals all around it. Even the bands with drum machines, like Putrid Pile, manage to sound more alive than some of the Sumeriancore bands with real drummers, like Born of Osiris.
Maybe I’m just being nostalgic and having a case of selective memory, but slam feels like a grassroots thing for dudes who would be into hardcore but like drugs and Devourment. It’s a small niche with, really, no ability (or need) to grow. Kill babies!
