The Chimpz – Self Titled Review for Unsung Melody

Hey guys, check out my review of The Chimpz new album, on Unsung Melody! I have a bunch more reviews coming and Riot Fest Chicago (…or as I like to call it: DAY OF SLAYER!!) coverage next week.

Please and thank you!

 

 

 

 

 

With Me Now: Blacklite District Review

By Catt Garcia

The deadly cocktail of desire, creativity and passion, remains to be the merciless captor of a spell that cannot be broken. Once tasted, the option to remain among the nine-to-five slaves holds no measure or means. For South Dakota natives, Blacklite District, nothing could compare to the taste of such sweet, sweet poison. From a humble small-town beginning, to moving to LA, Florida, and finally calling tour-life ‘home’, the four members of Blacklite District are the epitome of an American band: hardworking, original, and proud of it.

Oniel “Kane” Laffitte, Bassist of BLD

Was this just another buddy’s garage on a Friday night? In unforgiving Wisconsin cold, the band members lounged in the un-heated backstage area of The Back Bar in Janesville on a January night. Concrete blocks on all sides and questionably stained couches beneath them, comfort radiated. Currently on tour with Saving Abel, Blacklite District is no stranger to the scene. Their single “With Me Now” off of the “With Me Now” EP released in 2013 hit #1 on Sirius Octane and has been climbing the Top 40 rock charts with a vengeance. While the success of “With Me Now” continues to expand, the full-length album, “Worldwide Controversy” has already been recorded and waiting to be released sometime in 2014. Their strong upper hand truly comes from the unique sound they produce.

A heavy slap of grisly rock is sliced clean by an electronic current, severing each song into hybrid creatures of watts and chords. “I think it is about time that bands started experimenting more,” says guitarist Kyle Pfeiffer, “Instead of all these bands being like ‘oh we’re tired of all this club stuff’, embrace it…why not embrace that with our sound?” The down-to-earth, say-it-like-it-is, manner of Pfeiffer reveals an authenticity of both professional musician and instant friend. “Right now there’s a lot of new talent coming up the charts along with us, which is cool to hear that something new is kinda brewing. But it was more about just doing something different and standing out from the pack…still staying true to what we do…basically diversity and just trying things.” Lead singer Roman James agrees in silent nods and bassist Oniel “Kane” Laffitte adds his thoughts sporadically. While drummer Chris Mardini was MIA for the interview, he was certainly made known once he sat behind his kit.

Drummer Chris Mardini, of BLD

When performance time rolled around, the guys were ready. Armed with their instruments, any barriers of opening-band skepticism were crushed. The tiny bar swallowed up Blacklite’s massive sound and spit out a couple hundred new fans. James’ vocals balanced a dark bassline from Kane, who kept superb time with the searing hits of Mardini. Pfieffer and his guitar were one. Between songs, the guys made sure to interact with the crowd. Not only was it personal, (but little to the crowd’s knowledge) this was Blacklite District. This was not a facade, but a mirror. Looking into the crowd, it was clear that they saw themselves in everyone. “Me and him (James) started this band 10 years ago, playing little coffee houses, y’know like little kids would do,” Pfeiffer said, “and here we are at 22 and 23 years old with our first Top 40 single on our first real album.”

Blacklite District has no intentions of taking anything slow, and are fearless in representing what they love through an incredible sound. Be sure to check them out on facebook, their website www.bldmusic.com and keep an eye out for the upcoming release of “Worldwide Controversy.”

 

 

*all photos are original and captured with permission by Catt Garcia

Ra – Critical Mass

Critical Mass (2013)

By Catt Garcia

The respect that comes with a decade of experience is nothing to be humble about. For the few bands who have lasted, surviving a decade represents true dedication. For 16 years, Los Angeles natives, Ra, have endured nationwide tours, over 400,000 albums sold and a brand new independently-released album. Most importantly, fans of Ra have fueled the tough times, set goals alongside them, and celebrated every moment with endless enthusiasm. Named after the Egyptian sun god, Ra uses a medley of exotic tones and vocals which complement their namesake’s elements of growth, warmth and light. Beneath their hard-rock core, crawls a delicate vine of exotic inspiration.

Taste of Madison, Madison, WI 2013

The 2013 release of Critical Mass emphasizes the strength of those who are survivors of time. For those who earn their respect by eating, sleeping and breathing music. By following the dark alleys and dead-ends, Ra has risen against the record label’s yellow brick road, paving their own way into success with bare hands. Let their wounds be your muse, for Ra will not go quietly. Does your blood, sweat and tears sound this superb?

Lead vocalist, Sahaj Ticotin

Dissolve into “Brutiful” and it’s powerful force of guitars; solid, skilled, and rooted with the originality Ra has carried through seven albums. “Ecstacy” has a hook that will set up camp within your head and become a permanent resident alongside those childhood memories. Lead vocalist Sahaj Ticotin brilliantly soars in “The Voice Inside My Head,” demonstrating a vocal range matched only by those who belong at the top. Ra’s current single “Supermegadubstep,” is on a steady ladder to the top of the alternative-rock singles charts, and Critical Mass is not far behind. Stand aside while these driven men succeed, while the years exude their strength and Ra makes it’s mark on the most important people of all: their fans.

Righteous Vendetta: The Fire Inside

The Fire Inside – Righteous Vendetta

On Saturday November 23, 2013, as cold as the local music scene, and perhaps the weather outside, sits a tiny bar on the very edge of Rockford, IL. Paper-thin walls of peeling, painted concrete were separated only by surely-hollow sheets of drywall. As feedback from the monitors buzzed through the wall, I balanced on a chair of great character (wobbly, and spilling its foam stuffing) in the VIP room. Basking under a maroon ceiling, Ryan Hayes, lead vocalist of Righteous Vendetta, let the surroundings all but fade completely. “This is the first thing we saw of Rockford,” he laughs.

Members of Righteous Vendetta at Take 20 Bar, Rockford IL

Hailing from the modest town of Cody, Wyoming, Righteous Vendetta is the metal-met-rock-and-had-one-incredible-baby, started by a couple of community college friends in 2008. Fresh off of touring with Taproot, and Trapt, RV hopped aboard a tour with Hed (PE) and Dope to promote the October release of their third album The Fire Inside. Without a breath to spare, RV wastes zero time in touring like there’s no tomorrow. “The first show of this tour we’re in this place thats called Cheers,” Hayes recalls, “the stage is tiny and there was like 200 people in a 184 cap room. And it was crazy…people chanting like they were gonna kill us and stuff.” The insane stories and Best-Of moments have yet to be made for this tour: having only performed a few shows so far, the eagerness to dive in head-first is thrilling Hayes. “We toured Europe last year, which…that whole thing was a defining moment for us…our first time ever touring internationally. We got to go to 6 different countries, playing in front of huge crowds, got to go to downtown Vienna, Austria and see just awesome places. That (whole tour) was probably the coolest thing.” While tonight resembles nothing near a European tour, Hayes made it very clear that this is exactly what he and fellow band members want to do for the rest of their lives.

Originally a song on their self titled EP, The Fire Inside encompassed their hopes for the album in progress, and eventually became the title. “’So Long’ was actually the third song we wrote on The Fire Inside,” Hayes explained,“and we actually wrote it to be a UFC fight song. We wanted it to be an anthem for UFC so initially the chorus we had written for it was a tough guy blehnyehblehnyehblehnyeh (demonstrates heavy riff with face and air guitar) and then we were like ah, we gotta change the chorus.”

I could sit here and spit stats about how many weeks The Fire Inside has dominated this chart or that, and while all of those accomplishments are of much importance, Righteous Vendetta deserves more than just stats. Buy yourself a copy of The Fire Inside and hear the blisters on their fingertips, the rivets of sweat from a single scream. Hear how a small town band never gave up, how faith is more than just saying you have it, and seeing your tour mates naked is actually normal. Righteous Vendetta? Needs no introduction or ending.

Visit them at www.righteousvendetta.com, facebook.com/righteousvendetta and be sure to pick up The Fire Inside on iTunes and Amazon.

For A Good Time Call: DOYLE – The Abominator

DOYLE , The Abominator

With the devilock still spared of grey, Doyle Wolfgang von Frankenstein lets none of his 49 years performing with The Misfits, Danzig, and changing his name to that nauseatingly theatrical paradisiac, age his talent.

After a couple of side projects and a Danzig tour, Doyle put down some roots and went back to the good ol’ days for his latest musical venture, DOYLE. Together, longtime friends Alex Story (Cancerslug), Dr. Chud (Misfits) and “Lefthand” Graham Reaper (Let It Burn) formed the self-titled band, creating a whole new wave of horror-punk magic. More guitar, more bass, more Dr. Chud. Time to dust off that old tube of white face paint.

Doyle Wolfgang Von Frankenstein

DOYLE’S debut album The Abominator, is a big ol’ slice of warm punk pie: meaty riffs, drilled-in-your brain lyrics and a chunk of hearty originality to keep those cravings satisfied. The Abominator is a mirror of what their favored  genre does so well: let nothing be your brand; create, destroy, repeat.

While beginning tracks Abominator and Learn to Bleed rip open the fresh stitches of a Doyle-shredded wound, it is the venom of Dreamingdeadgirls which spreads the disease. Brazen in Dr. Chud’s kick drum, DOYLE’s version of the perfect girl includes females who are slightly less alive. Showing off some vocal range, Story nails Love is Like Murder to a wall of Graham’s drippy bass lines, meeting on terrifying ground.

Alex Story

The war-ridden cries of Bloodstains fire incessantly at love, sparing no one the glamour of falling head over heels. But hook, line, and sinker, this is The One. Bust them speakers wide with the exaggerated tragedy we call ‘love’ double dipped in malicious vocals and butchered melodies. Follow the trail of carnage straight into Hope Hell Is Warm and you have yourself a chilling feast of the same abhorrence from which the album takes its name.

Doyle and Alex

Previously on tour with Danzig, DOYLE is currently on their first headlining tour, eager to dive in head first. But you better keep up, these boys are on a mission to bleed ears, noses, and teeth. Most pleasantly, of course. If 49 years old treats us as good as Doyle, nothing excuses you from challenging that barricade at each and every show. Buy the album, buy the ticket, live.

*photos courtesy of No Problem! Marketing

A Tip-Toe In The Punk Scene

The melting pot of musical preference in my household is always at odds against our radios, iPods, and Spotifys. While I do not always agree with that which is being played, I am delighted by the wide spectrum of taste. A bittersweet morsel of the good, the bad, and the Bieber. Perhaps this is how I found myself front and center, clinging for dear sweet life to the barricade of a Bad Religion concert. My very first punk show. And I have the scars to prove it.

I usually enjoy the company of a big, burly metalhead stranger becoming my personal linebacker at metal shows. A bearded smile would take pity on my 95lb frame in the sea of flying fists and soaring bodies, and there is where I would be wedged. Safe and sound in the 2ft pocket between a couple of 7ft tall men. Were those my expectations going in to Bad Religion? Sure, to an extent. Were any of my expectations fulfilled? No, not a bit. But boy, was it a good time.

A Lesson in Punk Shows:

1. Never, Ever, EVER Stand at the Barricade (if you are barely 5 feet tall…): On April 5, 2013, my younger brother begged me to take him to see Bad Religion at the Congress Theater in Chicago. Like the “cool” sister I wanted to be, I did. Due to being one of the first 15 people in line, I had the awful idea of running straight to the barricade so we could have a good spot. As it turns out, we had the best spots in the house. So good in fact…everyone else wanted it as well. As opening acts The Polar Bear Club and The Bronx took the stage, you might compare the feeling of standing at the barricade to a mild scuffle between middle school children. Nothing more painful than a squeezing of my ribs from the pressure of fellow fans and a lot of stomping on my feet. I am a big girl, I am a big girl, I am a big girl. Oh, I’m sorry conscious, calming mantras are not allowed at a punk show. Nor is politeness, manners, or pity. All of which I forgot to leave at the door when I walked in. As soon as Bad Religion stepped on the stage, a hurricane of tatted necks, spiked hair and chained wrists pushed me flat against the barricade, pancake style. I dug my fingers ever-deeper into that metal railing, praying I could hold on for the next blow of forward pushing. Ribs? Flattened. Boobs? Gone. Just gone. I was cemented by pressure and gasping for what little air my lungs could hold. While I was being killed slowly, it was quite the opposite for my little brother standing behind me.

2. Nothing is Off Limits: During The Bronx’s set, the energetic lead-singer decided to hop into the crowd and rile the fans. From afar, this act is beautiful. Drenched in sweat and choking out lyrics, the vocalist hops onto the barricade and reaches into the crowd, holding as many hands as possible, declaring his love for those reaching right back. The key words in that phrase are FROM AFAR. I happened to be the lucky lady whose face was trying to get smashed into the crotch of the lead-singer as he stood on the barricade in front of me. It was all I could do to hold my chin up and yank my head as far back as I could, while the force of a couple thousand people tried to use my head as a crotch pillow. Yes, I truly received the full effect of having the most desired spot in the entire venue. After enduring a full hour of my hair being ripped out, soaked in other people’s sweat and getting elbowed in the ear for the 5th time, I called it quits. You win, barricade, you win. I yanked my brother into my spot, told him not to let go and desperately reached for the nearest security guard. They slipped me out like a feather in the breeze. And let me tell you, breathing never felt so good. After finding a calm spot next to a chick with a bum knee (she popped it during “Past Is Dead”, Bad Religion’s first song of the night) I found myself watching a boy empty his pockets into the palms of his friends. Before I could imagine the worst, he bounded forward. Dodging a security guard and parkour jumping onto a huge speaker, he ran full speed onto the middle of the stage. Flipping off the crowd as he ran, he leaped for his life over the heads of unsuspecting security guards and the 10ft gap between stage and crowd. Soaring for a solid second, he landed in the welcoming arms of ecstatic fans. Bad Religion’s lead vocalist Greg Graffin whipped out his phone and smiled proudly.

3. Its All Good: While I felt like a walking corpse the next day, complete with bruises in neat little rows up the full length of my legs, I was happy. Seeing my brother punch the sky, veins bursting out of his neck from screaming each and every song,  truly was my reward. Wholeheartedly, I would do it all again. No, not to be “cool” but to see my brother come alive in the shadow of a band he respects, appreciates, loves. The passion of youth is lost with time, and if for just a moment, just one punk show, I was able to keep him 15 years old, with not a care in our crumbling world, I would do it again in a heartbeat. With a terrible recording from my phone, we sat in my car, weeks after the show, singing “Sorrow” at the top of our lungs. Eagerly he began spilling histories and new bands and the origin of this or that, as I relished his words. Punk is not just elbows and anger. It is living life to the very fullest. It is escaping the routine, mundane, rules, laws and government. It is about the here and now. And right here, right now, I am going to sing Bad Religion with my little bro and follow him to any punk show he wants to go.

Meshuggah At Long Last

Perseverance is quite the clever dog. For what, after all, is success without brushing off your skinned knees, peeling away the scabs and finding fresh skin anew? Seeking only another climb upon the thorny staircase of survival. For naught, it seems, while perseverance steadily rushes you into a burning building, shark infested waters, and toxic wasteland. Such buoyancy is the thrill of life; balancing on a ledge much narrower than you will admit is safe. But boy, is it fun. Enter Meshuggah and the Ophidian Trek, 2nd Slithering Tour of 2013. On February 22, 2013, Chicago was stripped of anyone roaming the city in a black t-shirt. The House of Blues was a sold out cavern of brooding fans with un-laundered clothing in every faded shade of black. Packing it up all nice and tight like, the night began with the laser haze of Intronaut. Spraying the stage with red and green flecks of light, the four members of Intronaut let the colorful beads bounce above writhing first riffs.

Intronaut

Intronaut’s projector

Their steady hands dripped bass at point-blank; loud, louder, and loudest, emerged Milk Leg. The Literal Black Cloud and Past Tense showcased an equality in sharing this stage with the big boys. The uninhibited excitement buzzed in drunken shouts as the venue groaned under bloated capacity limits.

Stretching her belly wide, a carnal roar filled the HOB with the presence of Washington D.C. natives, Animals As Leaders. Guitarist Tosin Abasi glanced at his fellow bandmates with an amused smile as the large screen obscuring the crowd’s view of the stage rose slower than normal. With trigger fingers ready, the three men reveled in the erupting applause, teasing the audience with a brief pause before detonating into Earth’s Departure.

Tosin Abasi, Animals As Leaders

Javier Reyes, Animals As Leaders

Thunderous bass lines slathered more than just square inches as Abasi and fellow 8 string guitarist Javier Reyes wound the song tighter and tighter; two halves of an unrivaled whole. What could be seen of drummer Matt Garstka was mostly elbows and drumsticks, but what could be heard surely infuriated more than one aspiring drummer in the sea of fans. How such precision and speed birthed this man of inhuman skill is beyond me. Yes, he was that good. Tempting Time and Do Not Go Gently melded with brilliant spherical shapes and neon colors beaming from large screens behind the trio. Unfortunately, their set did have to end, but with energy still ablaze, it was finally time for the band of the hour.

Sweden’s finest took to the stage with the sounds of a provoked beehive coaxing them out to play. Swarm was the asphyxiation of a thousand poisonous stingers fleeing from the guitars of Fredrik Thordendal and Mårten Hagström. Though vocalist Jens Kidman had been battling a nasty flu for about a week, not a growl was out of place as he followed his carnal pack. The infamous and notorious breakdowns had begun. As Combustion surfaced, the floor bounced beneath pitting bodies, aching of old age. Drummer Tomas Haake matched the crowd’s fury with leaden arms beating ruthlessly against his skins.

I Am Colossus, Bleed and Behind The Sun were bassist Dick Lövgren’s natural-born instincts. The deepening notes vibrated the exposed skin of your neck and arms, smothering you in endless pulsing. With rivers of sweat following the deepened ridges along their faces, Meshuggah performed as if it was still 1989. As if age was nothing but a number and time was nothing but a suggestion. The disappointment of missing their last HOB show was immediately soaked up in the salty sweat of perseverance. How unbelievably wondrous this night was.

 

 

*All photos original and taken with permission by Catt Garcia

Resolving To Be a Handful?

The summer of 2012 is now a nostalgia I visit more often than I care to admit and long to return to on a weekly basis. While my cochlea, achilles tendon and body mass index have been thoroughly grateful for the brief holiday heal and recovery time, I am as restless as never before. The hours of toasting my skin in the oven-like sun and using my sleeve as a tissue during the freezing winter nights are the true thrills of life around here. Of course, natural concert elements are nothing compared to physical: The certain Giant photographer who purposely blocks your perfect shot; the security guards who rub against you on “accident.” How I miss them all! Drama aside, 2013 snuck in the back door late last night armed with an impressive year for all that is Metal. Over-eager and mega-prepared once more, I cannot help but begin the new year with a resolution; better late than never! It was an unsuspecting concert that is to blame for the issue I personally resolve to abolish.

The paths of various musical genres are narrowly followed by their fans. Indulging in one particular style is perhaps the most destructive case against ever-evolving creative genius and exposing marvelous elements of sound which might never be heard in your genre of choice. Simply put, fans are the catalyst of a fatal musical grid: inducing, attracting and spurring others who only resemble themselves into supporting one such style. Completing the cycle includes dressing, talking, and dating only those who support this genre and therefore can only be related to through the similar likes and activities approved by said genre. The madness! Far too many “fans” tread the line of another genre by the tips of their toes. Because of course, liking a different song or two constitutes as the actions of a poser. Such generic, childish feuding over who listens to what and why should be nothing but a fart in the wind. One too many stories have claimed the lives of a decent band selling out to please the very fans they created.

A few months ago, I found myself listening to the Sublime station on my Pandora an unusual amount of time. California on blast during my quiet Rockford winter. It was upon this station that I discovered Iration; a reggae-alt band rich with those sweet Cali roots and oceanside melodies. On the purest of whims, my sister and I trekked up to Milwaukee for their concert within the very same month of discovering them. They were unlike Sublime or Pepper or Slightly Stoopid. They were unlike the music I routinely subjected myself to, and in an instant, attraction magnified. The show can only be described as a friend: strangers were alive with the jams; swaying with the people next to them, arms around waists and shoulders and hips. It was a tangle of body parts aligning and colliding in smooth puzzle form, fitting together in the simplest of embraces between sound and spirit. I felt this! I felt this like I felt the metal in my belly, swirling in deathcore anticipation. People were singing , singing with inhibition and release. Real voices, in correct tone and pitch. Rising and falling like the drowning lungs struggling to survive this epidemic. And no one stared at the kids wearing Tapout tees or the boho chicks wearing floor-length skirts; the salt and pepper haired men and the blonde-blonde Avenged Sevenfold adorned teen girl. What was this? Our eyes popped wide and my sister and I let it soothe our genre wounds and found our hips. We roamed our tiny space with arms and legs possessed by the rhythmic wave of an ocean thousands of miles away. In this darkened room with low ceilings and smoky clouds, we crooned along in exhilaration. Expecting a night of choking on blunt smoke and feeling out of place in our skinny jeans could have been nothing further.  Appreciating every sound produced by an instrument is to be respected without fail. Without preference or image. It is mind over matter: take a bite and taste it. That bittersweet scramble of trumpets and sax; a raging blast of 2 minute bass-solo extravaganza. Achey-breaky-hearts rejoice! The mournful cry of a cello amidst an electric guitar is nothing to be afraid of! If I cannot entice you with these words, surely your wonder will betray you someday. This year, I will embrace those tugs of interest I have had in reggae, EDM and ska. I will listen and listen hard. Tasting that which is sweet and that which is bitter. While I ache for the return of Metal Alliance, Mayhem and Summer Slaughter ’13, I will not just stick to what I know. Thank you, Iration. Someone is going to be an even bigger handful than last year.

Give Me Liberty or Give Me Dethklok

When all is dark and the night things begin to creep, wide awake is the child in front of the TV. Suppressing fitful giggles and snorts of hilarity, shoveling down Cheetos with both hands, slurping up Pepsi and Dr. Pepper mixed together, what bliss could be attached to anything less than such childhood gems?

Why, Dethklok, of course! And do forgive the emo-dripping metaphor above, because honestly, it was I. Destroying Cheetos and attractively giggle-snorting during the midnight hour. It is a dear display of devotion, us Metalocalypse fans. I was introduced to Metalocalypse only a few short years ago, sitting in front of a laptop, oozing over the fictional metal band upon which my ultimate crush had begun to form. Toki, Pickles, Skwisgaar, Nathan and Murderface had me whipped at episode 1. Their barbarous, gruesome, primitive and satirical antics cook up a vicious humor and raging fleet of musical genius. The fifteen minute episodes are only too short in filling a late-night desire for castle-dwelling-underwater-recording-mermaid-warring adventures of the greatest metal band that never was. You see, the perspective within Metalocalypse is that the world revolves around Dethklok. They are the GREATEST  and ONLY metal band…ever. Creator (songwriter, and 3 out of the 5 character voices) Brendon Small has truly created a monster; a European, long-haired, belching monster at that. And am I ever in lust.

I had planned on seeing Dethklok live, when they first announced their North American Tour with Lamb of God and Gojira back in August.  Due to LoG’s lead vocalist Randy Blythe’s overseas jailing incident, the tour was quickly cancelled and my compassion almost excessed into buying a ‘Free Randy’ t-shirt. Luckily, the situation is under control and LoG is back on the road, currently touring North America themselves. In the meantime, Dethklok bounced back with a headlining tour including Black Dahlia Murder, Machinehead and All That Remains. Thankfully, the tour stopped in Chicago on November 16 at The Aragon Ballroom, allowing yours truly to finally see her version of Justin Bieber(s).

It is no surprise that time proceeded to fly during a small bout of traffic and delayed trains. Therefore, we (my boyfriend, his friend and I) arrived at the Aragon just after Black Dahlia Murder had performed. Why. Does. This. Always. Happen. Machinehead was off the bill due to a band member’s medical emergency and I had no real desire to see All That Remains, but, since I actually paid for my ticket this time, I might as well get my money’s worth. Ha. ATR’s stage props boasted fences with barbed wire, garbage cans of “fire” and a huge screen blasting military/army/navy images. Yep, definitely sold out. Their set began with This Calling; all members pranced out onto the stage with the cliche act of an over-indulgent, radio-rock band. It didn’t get much better. Their performance reeked of showing off and cocky demonstrations of Look-At-Me-All-Famous-And-Shiz. After This Calling, a plethura of their FM hits followed suit. Boy, I wonder how they painted that mural on the ceiling. Anyways. Accept my apologies if you are an ATR fan, for this is exactly what dilutes a decently-beginning band into a puddle of jello beats: fame. Stick your roots down deep, and weather the blows. Or get a bunch of barbed wire fences and garbage can “fires.” That keeps you famous as well. Um, lets see. Their last song was the uber-famous 2 Weeks. The end.

When the first stagehand dressed in full Dethklok minion garb appeared, the night felt better at once. All the stagehands dressed in black cutoff sleeve t-shirts, and black head coverings with slits for the eyes. A glorious roar arose  as the techs began testing guitars and setting up mics. The outfits mimicked the exact outfits of the Dethklok staff: maids, cooks, drivers, etc. Within the show, all wore the black outfit as a uniform for everyday duties completed for the band. And apparently it didn’t stop there. The stage was cleared of the previous clutter and the lights dimmed low.

The modest foursome simply walked onto the stage and pulled the trigger to a night of blowing our brains to bits. A growling Deththeme erupted. Small and crew played with vicious force; neither speaking, moving or having direct spot lights upon them. This was Dethklok’s time. The massive screen behind the stage accompanied the Metalocalypse theme song with the opening images of the show: introducing each character on the fantasy-tech motorcycle built for 5. In one swift transition, I Ejaculate Fire consumed the crowd. The music video aired on the screen above the ravenous double-bass bomb. SO MUCH DOUBLE BASS. Ridiculously splendid. Small and band mates blew through the strength-sucking set of Murmaider, The Galaxy, Dethsupport, Thunderhorse and Hatredcopter.  Intense plumes of guitar-and-bass force nailed against your aghast and awed face. Virtual reality resumed on the screen above, evoking a good chuckle or brazen fist towards the five men who were alive and thrashing upon this night. Even Rockso, the over-obviously drug-addicted, lime-green-spandex-wearing clown, made a cameo. While Small took a short breather, Rockso appeared on screen, taking over the gig with a flashy and obscene skit of shouting and butt-wiggling. Nathan Explosion ended his shenanigans quite quickly soon after. Oh Rockso!

The night closed magnificently with the beloved screen turning black and the bright lights aimed straight at Small and band. Not having been able to see them all night, a surprising image of four wrinkle-and-grey ridden men was suddenly before me. Like teenagers in a basement, they played with endless energy, abounding drive and selfless promotion. Dethklok was their baby; and finally, here was the admiring gazes and proud gait. A quad of parents who chose to share their talents as a whole, original reflection of not just another metal band, but THE metal band. The ultimate and only-ever metal band. Outsmarting everyone by creating the best. That was the moment: observing their exchanges of pride and joy. All smiles and relishing just one moment of fame at the end of the show.

The next time I choke between mouthfuls of Flaming Cheetos and the hot-tubbing contemplations of Toki Wartooth, I won’t think about the four men whose world belongs to Dethklok. Instead, I will be grateful. And remember the time I saw “the best metal band in the entire world.” For it is only because of Brendon Small and crew that such a world exists, and can be appreciated in ways only a child would approve of.

*I did not shoot or own any of the above photos; all rights reserved to original owners.

The Turkey Coma Has Ended

Hope everybody had a lovely Thanksgiving! Now that my arteries can properly squeeze the remaining remnants of over-indulged sugar, fat and caffeine straight to my thighs, I am mobile and coherent enough to post. My holiday season began with a last-minute trip to the Aragon Ballroom to see Dethklok and an early christmas present from Unconscious Disturbance! Mind’s Corner will be released December 4, but keep an eye out for my full review coming ASAP. Adventures in DethklokLand will also be uploaded as soon as I add a few more Oh-Em-Gee-I-Loved-Its. In the meantime, I will entertain you with some re-blogging fluff and stuff.