(The METAL SUCKFEST that took place in NYC on Nov 4 and 5 was a milestone event — the first U.S. metal festival organized and co-sponsored by a metal blog, and Metal Sucks pulled together a fucktastic line-up to boot. So, NCS decided to document the event up-close and personal by sending two emissaries — NCS writer BadWolf and photographer Nicholas Vechery.  They returned intact, and this is BadWolf’s report of the festival’s second day, along with Nick’s photos. We’ll have interviews to come in the days ahead.)

Photographer Nicholas Vechery and I returned for the second day of Suckfest even more hung over and disgruntled than on November 4th—we wanted to look and feel our best.

I learned about the sad passing of GWAR’s Cory Smoot earlier that day, so I was all frowns… until we walked into the Grammercy and found it bustling. Tickets to the second day must have outsold the first two-to-one.

What’s more, people seemed excited. No one is very visibly excited about anything in New York except exiting a subway train (especially the Green line, ugh!). A mass of goat-throwers chit-chatted, drank, acted like an honest-to-god community—something rare for me, the Midwestern Metalhead.

Community, people coming together—that’s what makes festivals amazing.

Ultrageist

By the time I had myself situated, Ultrageist’s set was half-finished, but their set still functioned as a good appetizer for the evening’s eight-course meal.

Ultrageist fulfilled the obligations of a great opening band: they set the tone for the remainder of the evening and served as samples of what the evening had in store. Their metal is progressive and melodic, with a focus on interesting soundscapes and just a hint of hardcore in the mix.

Frontman Gabriel Perez  stood out: while the rest of his band evoked TesseracT and other such bands, he reminded me of a younger Cedric Bixler-Zavala—full of energy and an appetite for the weird. He adjusted his voice with a pedal board to keep Ultrageist’s music unnerving in places where guitar grooves felt otherwise relaxed. That contradictory texture kept me interested up until the end, and will hopefully set Ultrageist apart from the current glut of djent groups.

Rosetta

Rosetta played next, with a more mellow set. A few years ago people called Rosetta’s looping and hypnotic brand of sludge “thinking-man’s metal,” but “contemplative” suits it better. This style of Isis-like post-metal has fallen by the wayside thanks to post-black-metal’s recent upswell of popularity, but that hasn’t stopped Rosetta from having an active couple of years: they just released a split with Junius, after a new album and another split last year. No wonder, then, that Rosetta were visibly excited by their own music, though it was low-key compared to the remainder of the evening.

Scale the Summit

I was shocked at how warm the reception was for Scale the Summit. Four years ago, an instrumental metal band would have had difficulty filling a coffee shop, but Scale the Summit earned some of The Metal Suckfest’s loudest applause.

Scale the Summit cemented a longstanding opinion of mine: Djent is better instrumental. Bands like Vildhjarta and Periphery construct gorgeous sonic landscapes and then wallpaper over them with mediocre clean singing and flimsy hardcore screams—it’s the same formula that made melodic metalcore popular… and then ruined it.

On the other hand, Scale the Summit let their music speak for itself. Their songs can run together, but without vocals each individual note seems more important. In their three-song set they built from relative calm into dervish-like crescendos many times. Those high points were metal at its best: dramatic music charging listeners with energy.

This is what great festivals are all about: seeing a great band come out of hiatus, put on a killer show, and whip a sleepy crowd into a violent fervor in a half-hour burst of intensity. Admittedly, I walked in a fan. These Philadelphia boys still play groovy and violent metalcore with bluesy twists and death metal turns. Today’s Bring Me The Horizons and Born of Osirises owe them a huge debt of gratitude—and don’t make music half as good.

The pressure of years in waiting erupted all at once—finally seeing A Life One Lost was akin to staring into an open blast furnace.

“We were five, now we are four,” frontman (and professional badass) Bob Meadows said, referring to the group’s new lineup. “Get the fuck over it.” He then bloodied his forehead and launched into the audience as if propelled by trebuchet, bringing hours of relative calm to a violent end.

I was SO over it—fuck double guitars when a four-piece rocked this hard. They played choice cuts from 2005’s The Hunter, 2003’s A Great Artist, and a new song (no Iron Gag, sadly).  Judging by the show, their comeback album will fit snugly with the remainder of their discography.

3

“I bet you haven’t seen one of these tonight.” Joey Eppard, singer/guitarist of 3 announced. “This is an acoustic guitar.” Sure enough, it was the only acoustic I saw all weekend. Not that it mattered, Eppard’s flamenco-hybrid guitar style shredded as hard unplugged as plugged.

3 stood out from the rest of the bill as maybe the most progressive and least metal group of the evening. Their audience stood out as well: a lot of younger goat-throwers took their cigarette breaks during 3’s set while a motley crew of older, statelier listeners descended from the stairs to observe 3 up close.

The youngsters missed out. 3 played a heavy set (mostly) culled from 2007’s The End is Begun and this year’s The Ghost You Gave To Me—the songs suit one another despite the four-year writing gap. They’ve gotten tighter since I last saw them on the 2008 Prog Nation tour: I hurt my neck while headbanging to “The End is Begun.” For my money, 3 sound more like modern Cynic than Obscura do. The world is ready for an open-minded band with great songwriting sensibility like 3 to make a splash—here’s hoping they capitalize on prog’s current chic-ness, and spend less time writing the next record.

The Red Chord

Of course, A Life Once Lost isn’t the only band to drop a guitarist and come out better for it.

I’ve seen The Red Chord five-plus times and they always put on a killer show. Suckfest was no exception. They opened with “Demoralizer,” the opening track to 2009’s stellar album Fed Through the Teeth Machine, and kept the pressure up for their whole set. Vocalist Guy Kozowyk kept quiet between songs, and transitions stayed minimal, which is just the way the crowd wanted things—The Red Chord had the most violent mosh pit of the weekend by a fair margin.

I will say I’ve heard them with better mixes—the bass in particular sounded indistinct. No matter, rock and roll isn’t about perfection. The Red Chord in particular is about imperfection—those imperfections that make all of us deserve a fist to the nose.

Obscura

Mark my words: Obscura will be huge.

Backstage, they came across as young and cordial—if a bit nerdy—gentlemen, but onstage Obscura are rock stars. They just have the right swagger. They play their complex songs flawlessly and with a kind of smirking grace, as if to say ‘yes, it’s very cool and you love it—we know. You’re welcome.’ Somewhere between the breakneck shred solos, the sick light show, and the fans blowing their hair back in waves I had a crazy thought:

This is what it was like to see Megadeth in 1986. This is what it was like to see Death in 1993, or In Flames in 2000. This is what a metal band at their best look like.

How could it be so? Obscura use (next to) no clean singing (ha!), no brocore breakdowns, no tough-guy posturing, yet by the end of set closer “Centric Flow,” every hornhead was bobbing in unison. They had us all clapping to the beat—clapping… like we were kindergarteners and Obscura was the hot post-graduate teaching assistant. We were all happy toddlers during their marathon run: the first three tracks from Omnivium, choice cuts from Cosmogenesis, and even a track from Retribution.

Obscura is touring the United States right now. Go see them, you will not regret it.

Cynic

Paradox of paradoxes: the most popular band on the metal bill was also—debatably—the least metal of all. People had been yelling “Cynic!” to one another between bands since 6 PM, as if Cynic hadn’t played near them in a decade (not true, of course—I saw Cynic at the Fillimore in 2008). People shuffled close and banged their heads before sound check had ended.

Lights blinked out. Cynic’s psychedelic light show began. Things calmed to an eerie lull, and Sean Reinert walked out to thunderous applause, followed by Paul Masvidal (even more thunderous applause), Cynic’s two new live musicians, guitarist Max Phelps and bassist Brandon Giffin (formerly of The Faceless). Last, and to perhaps the mightiest applause, Amy Corriea.

Corriea took her microphone, Masvidal strummed his guitar, and she sang “Bija,” which flowed perfectly into “Carbon-Based Anatomy.” Cynic played every major song from their new EP, as well as most of Traced In Air—the only materials displayed from Focus were “Veil of Maya” and “How Could I?” Perfect, those are the two strongest cuts in my opinion. Corriea returned to sing the intro on “King of Those Who Know.” Masvidal even played a snatch of 2010’s Re-Traced, when he played some of “Integral” solo while the rest of Cynic took a breather… until they segued into the full “Integral Birth” with grace.

From “Bija” all the way through closer “Space for This,” Cynic never ceased to amaze. Their set is tight, their playing flawless (minus a sequencer misfire or two). What elevates Cynic above their peers is their attitude—no false bravado or rote posturing. Cynic ignore even basic metal clichés like headbanging and long hair. Without all the excessive accoutrement, their live performance and music became liberated—and liberating. As exhausted as I was from the weekend, Cynic made me feel full of energy, young, fulfilled.

The perfect end to an amazing show.

Oh, and if you’re still reading after all that, here’s one last anecdote: Nick’s and my “Fear and Loathing” moment.

Islander put us up in a nice hotel. We didn’t really understand how nice until we stumbled in after Cynic, reeking of smoke and beer, coated in sweat, looking like hoodlums—he in a ratty sweater and a knit hat, myself in my No Clean Singing tour shirt and black leather jacket.

Exhausted, we bolted into the elevator after a man carrying a load of bags. The elevator had already begun to ascend when I got a good look at the man: he was wearing a tuxedo, and there was a woman with him in a white dress. A wedding dress.

Oh god, this is the night after their wedding, and we’re next to them on the elevator.

A few tense (and smelly) moments passed. The engine whirred as if nobody was there at all, and we all ignored one another until the elevator doors swung open. The newlyweds sauntered out—I had to get their attention before the doors shut.

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Hail satan.”

I threw the goat. The elevator shut, and they will never see us again. I love New York.

(The METAL SUCKFEST that took place in NYC on Nov 4 and 5 was a milestone event — the first U.S. metal festival organized and co-sponsored by a metal blog, and Metal Sucks pulled together a fucktastic line-up to boot. So, NCS decided to document the event up-close and personal by sending two emissaries — NCS writer BadWolf and photographer Nicholas Vechery.  They returned intact, and this is BadWolf’s report of the festival’s first day, along with Nick’s photos. BadWolf’s Day Two report will be tomorrow, and we’ll have interviews to come after that.)

Blogs will control the entertainment industry within our lifetimes (if the industry lasts our lifetimes). TMZ will overtake Entertainment Tonight. In some ways, Pitchfork has already taken Rolling Stone’s place.  Case in point: MetalSucks just threw the first (to my knowledge) blog-driven extreme music festival on US soil, Suckfest, and NCS was there to cover it.

On November 4, 2011, suckalos—yours truly included—flocked to the Grammercy Theater in Manhattan for seven hours of thrash. NCS photographer Nicholas Vechery and I rolled in sleep-deprived and sore after a 20+ hour bus trip from Ohio. The venue –the Grammercy Theater—was indeed a theater once and remains dark and sparse.

Initially, I thought the Grammercy would be too small to fit a decent crowd, but the first day was poorly attended.  Attendees shouted “Occupy Grammercy!” between songs, but otherwise behaved themselves too well by my standards. New York headbangers seem more reluctant to mosh than when I lived in the Big Apple. I smelled a division between lineup and audience—the first day’s bands all shared a background in hardcore punk, but in general MetalSucks caters to a more technical/progressive metal loving audience. The lineup was strong, but perhaps suited for a more intimate venue. After all, who wants to see Magrudergrind behind a security barrier?

Audience aside, the first day’s bands exploded over the lower-east side with white-knuckle intensity.

Ramming Speed

I missed Prime Evil, so Ramming Speed opened Suckfest as far as I am concerned. Before Nov 4 I was unaware of Ramming Speed, the same goes for roughly half the first day’s lineup. I made no effort to seek these bands’ music out beforehand—I love pleasant surprises, and Ramming Speed fit that bill.

As the name suggests, Ramming Speed play fast—they played through a hefty amount of material even with a truncated set.  As Boston natives, Ramming Speed blend east coast hardcore with their metal. Fortunately, they also incorporate death and black metal motifs—one could call Ramming Speed an east coast alternative to Skeletonwitch, or a less black metal take on Kvelertak in that sense. I hear they may be recording with Kurt Ballou; the fruits of that labor sound tantalizing.

In 25 minutes they made a fan out of me. I attend festivals, partially, for the adrenaline rush of becoming enamored with a band I’ve never heard before. Ostensibly opening a Municipal Waste show was the perfect way to expose Ramming Speed to listeners like me, who are receptive to their style but unfamiliar with their music. One band in, and Suckfest scored a net positive.

All Pigs Must Die

That the second band at a metal fest was a crust punk band goes to show how intertwined all facets of extreme music have become. All Pigs Must Die play now-trendy Boss HM-2-core (Black Breath, Masakari, Trap Them), but groove more than their contemporaries. They recently released a new album on Southern Lord, and fit in snugly with that label’s new roster.  Their pedigree—featuring members of Converge, (ex)The Red Chord, and Bloodhorse, and a debut album mixed by Kurt Ballou—left nothing to be desired, but offered no surprises. Drummer Ben Koller, as he always does, rolled out insane fill after insane fill while the string section stayed in the pocket.

Magrudergrind

The night progressed from two randoms to a personal favorite—Magrudergrind, more than any other band, turned me on to grindcore. Their 2009 self-titled was an eye-opening slice of mania—I remember listening to it once and thinking “this is like the first time I drank sake.” I had no diea what I was tasting, but I adored it.

Live, Magrudergrind sobered me up more than anything. Their sound was raw and chafing: no bass to round out the edges, just one guitar with pickups so hot that feedback shot out the amps like shrapnel whenever guitarist RJ Ober stopped muting the strings. The light guy, sensing the change in mood, dropped the lights to a stark white spotlight array against darkness. I could not tell when one song ended and another began, if they played all new material or old material—everything came across as one blast of hot noise. A Cattle Decapitation shirt came to mind: “No scene, no dance, no fun.” I’d add to that list “No bullshit.”

Black Tusk

I was downstairs completing an interview when Black Tusk began their set. I asked my interviewee: Are they playing the record before the set?

“No, they just went on.”

“… You’re fucking with me.”

That is the degree to which they have tightened their playing: the album sounds identical to the live show, and vice versa. I saw them last a year ago on a stage one-quarter of the size (and a crowd of three, myself and Grim Kim included)—this performance was heads and shoulders above that. Everything they excel at came through in force: strong hooks, and stronger beats, even on new tunes from their 2011 record Set The Dial (which I heard for the first time). What’s more, the power-trio pull the feat off while moving around and playing to the crowd instead of to their instruments. Andrew Fidler, John Athon, and Jamie May play hot-potato with the role of frontman as well as vocalist.

It was like being front row for the shoot of a Headbanger’s Ball-type metal video in the 80’s, except with no spandex and actual metalheads playing actual metal with pop sensibility, not pop with shred guitars.

Howl

Up until this point, speed ruled the evening. Howl’s set of sludge-doom provided a welcome reprieve for my cervical vertebrae. The crowd seemed a bit cold to Howl in particular—I guess NYC doesn’t have the hots for sludge like I do. The thinning of the crowd gave me the opportunity to observe Howl up close. I still haven’t given their 2010 debut Full of Hell a proper spin, but from what I observed the name is fitting: Howl made my fists clench and teeth grind involuntarily.

That said, seeing Howl back-to-back with Black Tusk shed light on the essential schizophrenia of the evening. Unlike Black Tusk or Ramming Speed, Howl’s music does not “rock” in a punk sense—there is no sense of fun or glamour to it. In terms of attitude, Howl and Magrudergrind share a grimace in their music. The bands on Day One all shared a certain fealty to hardcore, but half of the acts played a fun variety, and half played with more grit. While I love both styles, mixing them together confused me and (I think) fellow listeners. It is difficult to proceed from smiles to frowns and back in rapid succession.

In a smaller venue, on a bill with let’s say Dark Castle and High on Fire, Howl would elicit a hotter response.

This is Hell

No stay in New York is complete without Hardcore. When I think big apple I think Madball, Agnostic front and The Cro Mags. Long Island’s This Is Hell carry the torch of those bands, with melodic guitar riffs and tough breakdowns. In my experience, straightforward hardcore bands fall flat on live stages, the music is just more adapted to small, claustrophobic venues. This is Hell, however, seemed more at home than many of their peers. They put on a very physical performance with jumps and spin kicks while playing as a tight unit. They I guess they got their act down pat during their recent tour with    Gallows and The Cancer Bats.

As hot as their playing was, the audience seemed cold about them. Perhaps metal and hardcore aren’t as close as I had previously thought. Or maybe the character of their stage show clashed with listener sensibilities. Either way, I felt This Is Hell deserved greater applause.

Today Is the Day

The opportunity to see a legendary band perform in a great venue is the other indelible appeal of music festivals. Case in point: Today Is the Day, who played a no-nonsense set. The crowd gave Steve Austin a hero’s welcome when he walked onstage for an incredibly brief soundcheck. The lights dimmed. A video, apparently homemade, projected onto the band and away they went into the most intense half-hour of the festival.

In fact, Today Is the Day played one of the most intense sets I’ve ever seen. Their music does what black metal purports to do—saps the energy from the listener. Standing front row felt like being sprayed with a fire hose—the music pushes you out. One must fight to listen to it.

Austin’s high pitched screams did not come through—this could be due to age, a brief soundcheck, or a bad mix. Either way, that’s my sole critique. The man is one towering verb wearing knee-high rain boots. At the end of the Set, Austin tossed his guitar around by a string, drenched the audience in a wall of feedback, unplugged his pedals, thanked the crowd and then left. That’s it—simultaneously badass and consummately professional.

Municipal Waste

Municipal Waste summed up the evening thusly: “Welcome to Suckfest. Well, It’s going to suck when they have to pay us and only 200 people showed up.” Tactful, boys. If any band has the right to poke fun, it’s the Waste. Initiating a subgenre trend should have its perks.

Virginia’s finest know how to pick a setlist. They played a raucous set mostly culled from 2005’s Hazardous Mutation, along with some of their most crowd-friendly songs from other records: “Sadistic Magician,” “Wolves of Chernobyl,” and “Wrong Answer” (wall of death! YAY!!!) .

I had to revel in the absurdity of it all: Municipal Waste play crossover thrash in form only. Their best songs are made for huge venues packed with people singing along: Waste play the best pop-punk I know, and they do so tight as a drum, soaked in gutter-punk wit.

For example, instead of playing a new song, they played “I Want to Kill the President” (Yay Waste ‘Em All!) followed by “Black Ice,” (Yay Cliff Burton tributes!). Then, Tony Foresta announced they would play a new song “Black Prez,” as a tribute to the two previous songs and President Obama, and . . .

They played Napalm Death’s “You Suffer” with the words ‘black prez.’ Reader, if you don’t find that funny you should not be reading this site. The Virginia quartet fucked us all up with their signature anthem “Born to Party.”

I left the venue drenched in sweat and overpriced beer, exhausted, and at the same time jonesing for more.

(Stop the presses!  Andy Synn attended Dimmu Borgir’s performance in Nottingham last night and he’s already delivered this concert review, plus two videos he filmed of the show.  Further proof that, like killer whales during their first month of life, Andy does not sleep.)

“An Evening With Dimmu Borgir”, as this occasion was billed, saw the band performing two sets during the course of the evening. The first featured Enthrone Darkness Triumphant performed in its entirety, while the second, subsequent set, saw the group concentrate on its most recent quartet of albums for a more dynamically varied mix of material.

For the first two songs, “Mourning Palace” and “Spellbound (By The Devil)”, the guitars were annoyingly muted, resulting in a mix of heaving bass lines and rumbling drums which, although powerful, lacked much of the clarity and sharpened melody which the songs require to truly breathe their morbid magic.

Thankfully, the sound picked up just near the end of the second song, allowing “In Death’s Embrace” to spread its blackened wings with malevolent grace and majestic glory. With the sound levels thus balanced out and the guitars now slicing through the mix like razor-edged scalpels, the song provided an early high-point to the evening, the 6 members performing as one blasphemously tight unit to produce glorious swathes of blackened riffage and sweeping, evocative keyboard lines.

An apocalyptic rendition of “Tormentor Of Christian Souls” also provided one of the night’s early highlights with its tumultuous blasting pace, spiky thrash dynamics and violently shifting structure. The riffs were scorchingly delivered throughout, cutting through the air like knives of molten fire, threatening life and limb with their deadly potency. The crowd responded in kind, roaring their approval with one terrible voice, fists hammering the air in unison with every crackling snare beat and crunching riff.

The mournful funeral procession of “Entrance” brought some light and shade to the proceedings, its stately pace providing some much needed breathing room in the set, segueing smoothly into the blast-happy fury of “Master Of Disharmony” and “Prudence’s Fall”, whose blisteringly abrasive delivery allowed drummer Daray to demonstrate his precision blasting abilities with perfect power and accuracy. These song’s scathing guitars and venomous vocal hooks provided an obvious counterpoint to the initially epic, yet ultimately surprisingly anaemic take on “A Succubus In Rapture”, which followed, producing the night’s first (albeit minor) disappointment.

Thankfully, the first set off the evening was capped off by a monumental “Raabjorn Speiler Draugheimens Skodde”, matching ominous grooves with sharpened needles of icy guitar melodies and ethereal keyboard runs, stabbing and slashing away with unholy vitriol to end the evening’s first encounter in darkly spectacular style.

Kicking off their second set with a thunderous rendition of “Kings Of The Carnival Creation” proved to be a smart move, its furious pace and crushing guitar work immediately differentiating the second set of the evening from the first, more nostalgic, performance.  The ever-hyperactive Galder stalked the stage like the ghoulish guitar hero he has become, all wide eyed stares and suggestive leers, while his more restrained comrade Silenoz chose a more introverted path, planting himself firmly with one foot atop the monitor in order to survey the assembled throng.

A gloriously epic “Dimmu Borgir” and a stupendously punchy “Ritualist” swiftly followed, with Shagrath taking on both his traditional vocal parts and the still-vacant clean singing role with equal gusto. Indeed, the frontman was clearly in his element before an adoring crowd, equally adept at taunting them towards greater ire as he was in thanking them effusively for their dedication.

As one of my companions remarked to me, “[Dimmu] make standard tuning sound so heavy”, a fact that was attested to by the dense and angular delivery of fan-favourite “Gateways”, which, although suffering slightly due to the (necessary) use of pre-recorded backing vocals, utilised an array of hammering rhythms and blast-furnace drums to defiantly up the ante in terms of speed and intensity, delivering a stunning performance of shock and awe.

The evening saw a pretty even split between Shagrath and Galder as to who provided the most obvious focal point and worked the rock star moves best. The former varied between slithering rock star cool and messianic posturing, while the latter stood proudly and defiantly in his chosen guitar stance swinging his arms and gesticulating with wild abandon as he peeled off tasty morsels of prime riffage and sweet lead lines.

The rhythmic devastation of “Puritania” drew a rabid response from the crowd, prominent keys adding a buzzing, industrial aesthetic to the artillery-scale drumming and utterly crushing guitars, all of which led into the cinematic scope of “The Serpentine Offering”, which once again saw Shagrath acquit himself manfully to the task of handling both clean and harsh vocals.

The night could only end one way however, with a cataclysmic performance of the now classic “Progenies Of The Great Apocalypse” whose dazzling lights and devastating sonic violence brought down the house in a perfectly harnessed maelstrom of gleeful misanthropy, blasting and heaving and clawing its way towards a welcome oblivion.

Photo credits: Barry Anderson, MetalStorm.net

(Andy Synn was on hand when Devin Townsend played ULU in London on November 11, and he provides this report of the show. This was one of four DT shows in London last week, each one devoted to the performance of a single Devin Townsend Project album from start to finish.)

Surprisingly, the venue for tonight’s epic extravaganza (epstravaganza?) was smaller than I would have anticipated, however still a decent size, with a large stage, high ceiling and spacious standing room for the sold-out capacity crowd. With more than a few Ziltoid puppets (mine remained behind to guard my car against interlopers) already waving in the air, it fell to Manchester prog-rock quartet Amplifier to warm up the already very receptive crowd with their brand of Brit-rock Tool-esque musical expressionism. Indeed, the band clearly had a reasonable fan-base of their own in attendance, judging by the impressively loud and clear response they received from those gathered in the front rows.

However, tonight was really about one man, or one band, depending on where one draws the already blurred lines between the two entities. As the crowd finally swelled to its full, massive throng, we were treated to an array of comical images and video stills superimposing Devin’s distorted face onto a series of film posters and movie montages, which kept everyone entertained during the inevitable lull in musical activity as the stage was torn down and set back up again for the night’s headline act. As things began to take shape we were “treated” (inverted commas to imply sarcasm there folks) to the joys of Ziltoid Radio, playing all the most terrifying and chipmunk-esque pop trash that could be mustered to prime the already expectant crowd.

Finally The Devin Townsend Project took the stage, to rapturous applause yet surprisingly little fanfare in their own right. An effusive and visibly moved Devin Townsend took the time to introduce his band for the evening, the largest cheers being reserved for the ever-present Dave Young (Devin’s right-hand man) and the beautiful Anneke Van Giersberg. Treating the event as one giant, informal party, Devin stated simply, “Let’s do this,” as he swung into action, peeling out the opening riff to “Addicted!” with obvious pleasure, grinning ear to ear as he commenced his unabashed musical celebration of life in all its glory and strangeness.

The night simply unfolded from there, getting better and better as things went on. The band were impressively tight throughout, with Anneke’s own contributions actually adding more than on record, her voice cutting through with compelling power and grace. Few people in the world have a voice that can stand up to Devin’s in full flight though, whether or not he was snarling his way through the bouncy aggro-pop of “Universe In A Ball” or soaring operatically in “The Way Home”, which gave his impressive pipes a real work-out and, thanks to a thunderous drumming performance by Ryan Van Poederooyen, rolled over the audience in impressively heavy fashion.

There was also some sheer delight to be had in seeing a room packed full of otherwise respectable metal and prog fans bouncing around and singing along unashamedly to the irrepressible pop-rock of “Bend It Like Bender”, Ms Van Giersberg’s vivacious singing adding the cherry on top of an already sugary sweet moment. Indeed Van Giersberg’s role on the night was, seemingly, much beefed up from that found on record, adding extra layers of backing vocals and taking on a much larger role in the night’s overall success.

On such a night it seems almost churlish to focus on any singular elements or songs over any other, however some particular highlights of the evening were: the stupendously heavy delivery of the mighty “Supercrush!”, its pounding main riff accented by Anneke’s pure tones, Van Poederooyen’s brilliantly nuanced stick-work behind the kit, and Devin’s own effusive declaration of love for the audience. Most pleasingly of all the second verse was delivered by Devin Townsend himself (rather than Anneke, as is done on record) allowing his huge range and emotionally vibrant delivery to swell and fill the room with life and character.

This was followed by an ebullient rendition of “Hyperdrive”, which saw Devin happily stepping aside from the spotlight to act as band-leader for Anneke’s moment of glory, allowing her to really take the song and make it her own, producing a huge and vibrant spectacle filled with a energy and life.

By contrast, the stripped-down acoustic rendition of “Ih-Ah”, featuring only Devin, Young, and Van Giersberg onstage, provided the evening’s quietest and most reflective moment, its quasi-pop, folk-esque styles bringing an enjoyable hippy-ish vibes to proceedings which Devin referred to as his “More Than Words, Extreme moment” (look it up if you don’t get the reference). With only a pair of voices (Townsend and Van Giersberg) and a pair of acoustic guitars (Townsend and Young), the song took on an entirely different form than the familiar version, and was all the better and more compelling for it.

Between songs, Townsend would stop and chat amiably with the crowd, clearly humbled by the ecstatic response and the sheer verve with which his lyrics were chanted back at him. He made sure to thank all those involved in all four shows several times over, from the merch girl to the lighting tech, from the crowd in front of the stage to the stage-hands behind it, clearly aware of what a life-changing experience it was for all involved.

Yet even all good things must end in time; following a wonderfully trippy and spaced-out rendition of “Numbers”, a wistful yet ecstatically happy Devin Townsend hefted his mighty guitar one last time to let rip the catchy-as-hell opening riff to “Awake!”, the band diving headlong into the song with a sense of beautiful finality and acceptance, every member giving their all and really delivering each note and beat with a sense of joyful abandon.

The band’s encore was a much speculated issue, with no-one outside of their inner circle aware in advance of what songs would be plucked from Devin’s varied back-catalogue to send the night off in style. A visibly emotional Devin Townsend quipped that although the band hadn’t actually left the stage we should pretend like they had, to give the night that rock star feel, though he himself clearly wanted nothing more than to simply to stay onstage to breathe it all in. And rightly so. With all the effort that had gone into making each of the four nights such a special occasion, it was only fitting that the man be given time to truly absorb the singular and amazing nature of the experience.

For their finale, the band had three carefully selected songs left to deliver: an extensive and progressive version of “Pixillate” (from Synchestra), a beautiful and flowing version of “Life” (from Ocean Machine), and finally an uplifting and majestic version of “Kingdom” (from Physicist) which particularly pleased a certain someone I was with. In particular, the sentiments and gorgeously melodic delivery of the latter provided the perfect send-off for the night, capping off an evening dedicated to love in all its many forms.

The climactic inclusion of these 3 songs, each subtly altered and delivered in a more mature and expressive manner, showcased how deeply the common threads run through all of Devin’s material, every song an expression of the man’s complex and often vulnerable personality. It was truly a privilege to be there and partake of the night’s festivities and the emotional connection built by the music. It was an experience I will never forget.

Stay tuned for my thoughts on “Ghost – Live at Union Chapel”, which I was also lucky enough to attend!

“Addicted!”

“Supercrush!”

I just wanted to use my favorite word in a post title today. Actually, that’s only part of the reason for this. The other part is that I saw Chimaira last night, headlining a show in Seattle that included Impending Doom and Revocation. Chimaira played “Power Trip” and about 10 other songs.

After full audio immersion in the music of those three bands, my neck muscles were so destroyed when I woke up this morning that I had to strap on the custom-designed NCS neck brace, the one with the heated gel packs on the inside and the drinking straw attached to a pouch of chilled Stoli.

Chimaira had the strobe lights flashing and the smoke machine pumping and Sean Z (Daath) on keyboards, carpet-bombing the crowd with more bass drops than I’ve ever heard before and growling backing vox, and it was fucking glorious. A packed crowd on the floor was in non-stop mosh mode, and the Chimaira dudes looked like they were having the time of their lives on stage. And speaking of glorious . . .

Revocation. Glorious. Dave Davidson said this was the band’s fifth performance in Seattle, and I’ve been to four of them. I never get tired of watching and listening to this band. Immaculate musicianship. Usually, I’m so transfixed by what Dave Davidson is doing with his guitar that I don’t pay enough attention to what else is going on, but last night I got a good look at drummer Phil Dubois-Coyne. Dude is a goddamned machine.

One reason I got such a good look was because he sat in behind the kit with Impending Doom, whose own drummer is out of commission. The style of drumming on Impending Doom’s more-deathcore-oriented songs is totally different from what Phil normally does with Revocation, but he killed it.

And speaking of killing it, that’s what Impending Doom did. Heavy as the heaviest fuck. Bludgeoning as a Teutonic mace to the back of your skull. Getting covered over in the bridge-collapsing sound was yet another reminder that this kind of music is 10 times better when experienced live than on recordings (and I like Impending Doom’s records, too, mind you). They played a new song from an album that’s due sometime early next year, and it’s one of their best yet. I’m pretty sure that’s when I tore the first of my neck ligaments.

How ’bout one more Chimaira tune? Another one of my favorite Chimaira tracks from last night’s show:

“Nothing Remains”

(This is Part 2 of a post by BadWolf reviewing the 2011 edition of OGREFEST in Lansing, Michigan. Check out Part 1 HERE.)

Wastelander

Here begin the veteran acts. Wastelander Guitarist/vocalist Xaphan dedicated their set to his 14-year-old daughter, who attentively watched from the side while wearing an Asking Alexandria tee shirt. Ah, the generation gap. She should be proud of her papa; his band is badass.

Wastelander plays to my personal weaknesses with their mixture of black metal, groovy thrash, D-beat/crust punk and just plain ballsy metal-rock with a lyrical focus on post-apocalyptic survival. They sonically recognize Motorhead as the inception of all extreme metal, and play music that would make Lemmy proud, with twists of Amebix, mid-period Bathory, early Venom and NWOBHM-y goodness sprinkled on top. They made me go ‘ooh!’ and headbang from the first second—as they always do.

Growled vocals, big chords, mechanical beats (they used to play with a drum machine) and hairy, sweaty swing made for a compelling forty-five minutes of hair flying. I cannot imagine anyone, be they kvlt-er, beardo, neo-thrasher, or ordinary metalhead, who is immune to the charms of Wastelander. Since then they’re released a split 7” with a band called Abigail. (Their 2010 debut album is Wardrive.)

(more after the jump)

Next up . . .

High Spirits

My opinion of Chicago’s High Spirits is already well-documented: I love them. Ogrefest ’11 was the beginning of that musical affair. After hours of high-intensity darkness and brutality, the harmonious and melodic NWOBHM-revivalism of High Spirits was a welcome change of pace. The band’s watchword was unity—the members of High Spirits played in matching black-and-white uniforms and sang as a group with harmony.

A cursory listen to High Spirits separates them from the growing ranks of retro-revival metal bands. Their songs are solid riff-and-chorus fueled packages of distilled forward momentum. I found it impossible, even in my exhausted state, not to fist-pump along. Chris Black is a sharp singer and also a pack leader when it comes to re-capturing the days when metal was unapologetically party music.

Every member of High Spirits is a great performer full of jovial audacity. It takes serious chutzpah to break a song down and go a capella in the middle of a mountain of death and doom bands. I was invigorated by singing along when the audience joined the gang-harmony of their self-titled song. Their new record, Another Night, has just been released, and I fucking love it.

High Spirits was necessary and vibrant, the last shaft of light before darkness fell and all hell started breaking loose.

Satyrasis

Satyrasis, the pet project of Dave Peterman, the guy who runs Ogrefest, are one hell of an old-school death metal band.

This was the year Satyrasis cashed the check that the best moments of their first album wrote. That disc was a great big coulda-been, but has been in heavy iPod rotation anyway. It hinted at a fantastic and creative death metal band marred by poor execution. No more.

This year’s Satyrasis opened their set with a 15-minute prog-death epic that at times recalled some of the genre’s finest: Human-era Death, Immolation, The Chasm. Their riffage segued easily and logically from crushing intensity to more immersive and psychedelic soundscapes.

Their entire set followed suit with moments of musical tranquility and introspection as well as firebrand viciousness. Years of playing Rush covers and gigging alongside bands like Cleveland’s Deadsea have sharpened Dave and co’s chops into subtlety.

Satyrasis were this year’s most pleasant surprise. I need them to record that fucking death metal epic. I want to play it while doing donuts in church parking lots.

And next . . .

Genocya

For those of you loving the old-school DM revival, Genocya is the band for you. Expect an interview with them and a review of their excellent new LP Ever Descent, which is 100% independent, and streaming at Bandcamp.

Every year there is one issue at Ogrefest—last year Satyrasis had to give up their set entirely. This year Lansing’s favorite sons, Genocya, were forced offstage after only four songs by a misunderstanding over start times. A shame. Genocya have been in the game for a good long while and have the kind of local credibility teenagers with pan-hair and emo jeans dream about. Their manual assistance also makes Ogrefest a possibility. If anyone deserved a full set, it was they.

But they have nothing to be ashamed of, because those four songs were absolutely disgusting. Speaking from experience, Genocya put more ‘oomph!’ in twenty minutes than Job For a Cowboy put in an hour. Fingers flew fast. Hair was everywhere (most certainly NOT screaming infidelities, just praising infidels). Fists holding cans of PBR were raised like sacred chalices. People knew the words and shouted them out—Genocya only need 4 songs to slay.

Dagon

If you’re an NCS frequenter and you don’t know Dagon, FAIL! As far as I’m concerned this is the pinnacle of American Melodeath. [Check our Dagon reviews here and here.]

Dagon put on good shows with the effortlessness of a practiced trapeze artist and Ogrefest was no exception. I’ve written before aobut my tremendous love of Dagon’s music. Their album Terraphobic is one of my favorite Melodic Death Metal records.

I was nervous when I found out they would be premiering a new member. Fortunately, that member turned out to be guitarist Matt Trzcinski of Satyrasis. He and Chris Sharrock traded off blistering leads while performing their asses off. The pair even unveiled some tongue-in-cheek stage moves such as Immortal-esque crab walking and doing the wave (sports stadium style). Normally this sort of thing is a turn off to me, but Dagon have a levity to their music that suits this sort of behavior.

Dagon played an eclectic set with an old favorite (“To the Drums We Rise”) and a very killer cover of Ozzy Osbourne’s “Perry Mason.” They updated the song very well while playing to their strengths of powerful vocals and hooks.  They also jammed on some songs from the then-unreleased Vindication EP. In a live setting some of the more subtle selling points like lyrics and guitar solos—things Dagon excels at—are lost in the rush, but are in excellent condition on Vindication. Expect a review of that, as well as a Dagon interview, in the future.

In the meantime, once again, sorry for the delay. Ogrefest is the best local metal show I’ve ever been to—hopefully some of you will make it out next year!

(In this two-part post, which begins today and concludes tomorrow, BadWolf reviews the 2011 edition of OGREFEST in Lansing, Michigan, and we’ve got music for you from most of the bands whose performances he covers.)

[This article has been the absolute bane of my existence for six months. The weather messed with my car, I missed some bands while interviewing others, none of the photos turned out, half the interviews were unlistenable, and other variables (loss of employment, re-gaining employment, writing at InvisibleOranges) just fucked it for me.

That said, seeing as how I’m about to go to Suckfest (and have a blast!) I figured I would warm you readers up with another festival report, that for Lansing’s annual Ogrefest. I was going to put this article up at my personal blog, Midwestern Metalhead, but I spend so much time writing here and at IO that my personal project has fallen by the wayside. Therefore, this article is for you, dear NCS-ers!

Also, posting this article to a wider readership is my little way of apologizing for the unreasonable delay—it won’t happen again next year! Dave, Jim, this one’s for you guys!
And all of you strangers—come to Michigan. See Ogrefest. It will be the shit.]

Here’s the nitty-gritty: Lansing has the best underground metal scene in the US, IMO, and Ogrefest, curated by Satyrasis’ Dave Peterman, is that scene’s annual showcase. It’s held every year at Mac’s Bar and is always the show I anticipate most. At least one of these bands always ends up a personal favorite, and 2011 was no exception. On to the narrative!

It was a dark and stormy day in Lansing, Michigan on April 16–the typical midwestern spring weather for Ogrefest 2011, maintaining the dankness of summer with the darkness of winter. Mac’s Bar was packed with damp headbangers struggling for decent views of the stage. Seating was scarce and in all likelihood the crowd was a fire hazard. People of all ages and both genders (in a close-to-even spread) huddled around one another on the wooden patio to smoke cigarettes and other things. A collection of classic and obscure grindhouse films on scratchy VHS played on the TVs mounted from the ceiling. One could smell the evil from a block away.

In short, conditions were ideal. People wanted to be crowded inside and were well primed for metal by the alcohol, darkness, uncomfortable atmosphere and ready access to nudity (real) and gore (phony). The crowd was the most eager to clap and sing I’ve noticed at Mac’s; a good sign.

2011’s festival had a cohesive sense of community spirit and, as always, a strong lineup. The quick-and-dirty summary is: biggest crowd, most bands, least moshing and least problems (with one glaring exception). From an objective perspective, this might be the best we’ve ever had.

Some thoughts on the lineup:

In any festival there will be ups and downs, period. De-facto. This year there were no bad acts, just acts outclassed by their peers. Every band put on a strong show.  The power of ___core has spread even to the Michigan underground: more beats broke down [yay serial consonance!] this year than in all previous years put together, but the bands performing said controversial mosh parts were respectful and respectable at their style (more than I can say for my hometown). Also, no slam-dancers mucked up everyone else’s fun, just fists, headbanging, and the occasional push-pit. The lineup was also the most diverse it’s ever been, with almost every sub-genre with the exception of ‘true’ black metal represented. Oh well, Sauron cannot play every year.

FLOOD THE DESERT

Every Ogrefest has one band that doesn’t quite fit in, and one band I have never heard of that blows me out of the water. Both of those titles this year go to Flood the Desert.

The band is only a three-piece, which can be a dice roll as a musician—there’s less to hide mediocrity behind. FtD have no problems in that area: every member is fantastic with their instrument. Together they play a brand of expressive and progressive sludge that is heavy on guitar wizardry and instantly recalls Mastodon’s Blood Mountain album.

The Michigan underground definitely respects technicality, but it’s rare to find a true progressive metal band in these parts, and Flood the Desert fit the bill. They made up for the relative airiness of the music with solid stage presence and an air of utter professionalism.

I respect any band that will go on in the middle of the afternoon to a tight-knit crowd and still come off cool, calm and collected. I also respect any band where the drummer lights his snare on fire and keeps playing. My hat comes off for Flood the Desert, I am now a fan.

TERATOMA

Terratoma’s music is pretty ‘hip,’ as the young people say. They use some sweep picking, some breakdowns, some very safe diaphragm-friendly vocals and lots of technical-but-brutal melodies. In short: they are nothing surprising.

That’s fine, because Terratoma, unlike many of their peers, is great at what they do. The songs were engaging, the performance was lively, and their frontman Brian Sheehan is a laugh-riot; I will never forget hearing a man trigger a breakdown with the words “Maple pussy.” Terratoma are a common idea executed with uncommon grace and for that I salute them.

ULTRATHRASH

Ultrathrash frontman Adrian Von Overlord is a local legend. I feel the much talked about Botswanan Metal Cowboys [http://www.vice.com/en_uk/read/atlas-hoods-botswanas-cowboy-metalheads] must have had some contact with him, because the similarity is uncanny. His band, the finest in Grand Rapids, play old school death thrash (obviously) with a Teutonic edge. Some good points of reference would be Sodom, Slayer, Possessed, Sodom and early Morbid Angel. Except Ultrathrash may outpace them all. I’m serious, these mother**kers are fast.

Ultrathrash, both diamond sharp and solid from years of experience, are best experienced live. The appeal is intricately linked to Von Overlord’s imposing menace and high-pitched shriek (I’d love to see him tour with Vektor to compare vokills). It helps that Ultrathrash packed their own banners and light show, making for a pleasant and grim spectacle.

THE DEVASTATOR

The Devastator is a Michigan band trying to blend the old-school Michigan style with more modern trappings. In this case, the focus is way more on brutal, technical death metal with loads of dissonant melodies. They pull it off—brutal riffs, alternating between melodic and atonal comprising off-kilter songs with plenty of high and low growls trading off. Definitely a band for my fellow NCS writers and myself to watch. Touchstones would be Heartwork-era Carcass and Cannibal Corpse.

The kicker (pun intended)? The Devastator’s drummer, Jim Dempsey, is an absolute beast behind the kit. His style is fast and punishing, but maintains a firm sense of tension and control, which is crucial in any mix of hardcore and extreme metal. When The Devastator are hitting full power, he is the lead player. When they are about to collapse, he holds the songs together.

I can see this is a band whose fanbase has grown perhaps a bit prematurely, but there’s real talent present—given time, I can see a bright future for The Devastator if they focus on their strengths and dedicate themselves to making memorable songs. Their self-titled debut EP was released digitally in May—it bites like a rabid dog.

HEAVY LIES THE CROWN

Now this is some heavy, brutal music right here. Heavy Lies the Crown worship at the altar of mosh-friendly death metal with great fervor, and it suits them. Stylistically, I’d file Heavy Lies the Crown with The Devastator, except even less melodic and more brutal—the sound is thick, bass-heavy, and emphasized groove. I’m not sure I heard any slams, but I flashed back to Vital Remains and Suffocation more than a few times. One need only view the cover of their album, Gears of Inhumanity—pure old school evil right there.

Since Heavy Lies the Crown is from Indiannapolis, I expected them to be tired and cranky, what with playing to a bunch of non-fans who, in general, knew one another. Not so. HLtC were more than just professional, they put on a great show with monolithic charisma. For the second time I’m going to shout out the drummer, John King—the kid’s an absolute beast, and his snare tone makes my ears smile (yeah, they do that). They played smooth and tight—clearly they practice often enough to have that effortless synchronization that makes great musicians into a great band.

********

Come back tomorrow for Part 2 of BadWolf’s Ogrefest show review.

Last night NCS co-founder Alexis and I went out to Seattle’s Studio Seven and met up there with our friend Travis for a bit of vigorous headbanging. There were massive attractions on the bill, starting with one of our favorite combines of local dudes, Blood and Thunder (whose new album we’ll be reviewing shortly). In talking with them after their set, we learned they’re recording a new song and we got a look at a new piece of artwork that will likely appear on future merch — it’s a huge eye-catcher, and I hope to splash it all over NCS soon.

And then we got the chance to see another Seattle band who I’ve heard good things about — black metallists Funeral Age. Their set was killer and I’ve now got their latest album, which I’m looking forward to ingesting. More likely, it will ingest me.

After that was a surprise — Rings of Saturn from California’s Bay Area. I didn’t know these maniacs were part of this show (they weren’t listed on the Studio Seven web site), but man, I’m glad they were. They’ve now got a new 7-string bass player and a new man-mountain of a drummer, and they delivered a high-energy blast of technical death metal. The calculatingly dead-pan stage banter of their frontman Peter Pawlak was also funny as shit.

And then came the band Alexis and I really were there to see — Fleshgod Apocalypse, who were making their second Seattle appearance of the year, after their all-too-brief set on the SUMMER SLAUGHTER tour stop. We moved up close to the stage for this one and just got completely mind-blown. We weren’t the only ones. The floor crowd was clearly eager for this set and exploded at the same time as the band’s first song exploded. So, in addition to getting mind-blown, we got treated to non-stop body slamming until the set ended. It was fucking spectacular. I didn’t think it was possible for me to become any more enthusiastic about FA than I already was, but yeah, it happened.

And then, we sort of lost the rest of the night’s music, missing out on Decrepit Birth and Decapitated, because we got engrossed in conversation at the tour bus with FA guitarist Cristiano Trionfera, later joined by Francesco Ferrini (keyboards), frontman Tommaso Riccardi, and drummer extraordinaire Francesco Paoli. More about that after the jump, plus another jaw-dropping Francesco Paoli drum-cam video that SickDrummer released yesterday from FA’s performance on October 11 in San Francisco.

The discussion with the FA dudes wasn’t an interview, though Alexis, Travis, and I quizzed them incessantly about whatever popped into our addled heads. But since it wasn’t an interview and I wasn’t taking notes, I’ll just say that they all reinforced the impressions they made when we spoke with them at SUMMER SLAUGHTER: These are some genuinely nice, open, unpretentious people. They’re smart, they’re incredibly dedicated to perfection in what they’re doing, and they’re having a blast riding the huge surge in popularity generated by their latest album (Agony) and extensive touring of North America this year.

I don’t mean to leave bassist and co-vocalist Paolo Rossi out of this post — we saw him before the FA set, and he also couldn’t have been more warm or engaging.

It’s not necessary that musicians in great metal bands be nice or smart or articulate. After all, it’s the music that matters most to fans like us. But it’s a huge plus when you see it, and we saw it last night. It made a great evening of music all the more memorable. Fuck, even the very serious, very intense Francesco Paoli gave me a hug before going back into the bus.

And that brings me to the drum-cam video. I wanted some kind of film of FA playing live to include with this post, and when I went looking I found by coincidence that this clip was just released yesterday. The song is “The Violation”, from Agony. It was filmed at the DNA Lounge in San Francisco just a few days ago. It’s a helluva thing to watch and hear. After the video is a schedule of the remaining dates on this NorthAm tour. If you’re in the vicinity of one of these venues, this is a show that’s definitely worth seeing.

UPDATE: I just found that new Blood and Thunder artwork:

Over the weekend, I added a post about an article by Sasha Frere-Jones on black metal in the most recent edition of that bible of all things metal, The New Yorker magazine. The article has drawn scorn in certain quarters of the underground metal empire and provoked a nice, protracted discussion in the Comment section of that NCS post. One thing Mr. Frere-Jones did was to contrast (in a way some think was condescending) the original Norwegian BM scene and sound with American black metal bands such as Wolves in the Throne Room and Liturgy.

By sheer chance, I experienced a similar black metal contrast of my own this weekend after adding that post. On Saturday night (Oct 8 at El Corazon) I witnessed a live performance by Portland’s Agalloch. They played a show in their home town on Friday night and then made the trip north to Seattle for a second show, and that’s where I caught them. If there were a heaven as well as an earth, I would have moved both to see that, because I have such vividly awesome memories of the first (and only other) time I got swallowed up by Agalloch performing live.

In Seattle, the band closed a very long set with two songs, “In the Shadow Of Our Pale Companion” from The Mantle (2002) and an instrumental called “The Lodge (Dismantled)” from The Grey EP (2004). More about those songs, plus a live video of the latter from the Portland show after the jump.

The Norwegian half of my contrasting BM experience came via Ragnarok — not the “death of the gods” cataclysm from Norse mythology, but the cataclysmic black metal band who borrowed that name for themselves back in 1994. I’d never spent time with their music until getting an e-mail from Patricia Thomas, who seems to manage about half the black metal bands in Norway. She reported that Ragnarok was finishing a 14-date tour of Brazil and Mexico and would be returning home to continue work on their seventh full-length album. She included a link to a Soundcloud player that includes all the songs from the band’s live set list, plus another link to an official video of the band performing the title track to their 2004 album, Blackdoor Miracle, with frontman Hoest from Taake providing the vocals. (more after the jump . . .)

I watched the video and then listened to the first few songs on the Soundcloud player and emerged from that experience with all the skin shredded off my face and skull, figuratively speaking. The band unleash hellfire, churning out a fireball of head-whipping black thrash that I found irresistible. The video, in particular, captures the wild, cathartic mayhem of the music in the barely contained viciousness of a live performance. Hoest’s vocals are also amazing, like a full-force flood of acid being ejected from a firehose straight at your face.

Here’s the video, and after that is the Soundcloud player. I’d recommend at least listening to the first track, a re-recording of the song “It’s War”.

And now, let’s go back to . . .

AGALLOCH

In all genres and sub-genres of metal, the music evolves over time, borrowing from other musical traditions (or other styles of metal), branching off and leading to something different from where it started. Agalloch represents a branching of black metal that has carried the music to a quite different place from its Norwegian roots. It’s unabashedly emotional and sweepingly melodic, embued with a kind of nature-centered mysticism, often ambient in tone and feel, and even incorporating elements of prog-rock or prog-metal. Agalloch isn’t the only band in the world doing this (Ireland’s Altar of Plagues comes to mind, as well as the afore-mentioned Washingtonians in Wolves in the Throne Room), but they’re certainly one of the standard-bearers.

The stylistic divergence of Agalloch’s music from the scalding acid-bath of the original Norwegian template doesn’t mean the music has become wimpy or hipster — not by a long shot. Especially in the band’s live shows, where even the acoustic parts of their music are performed by fully electrified guitars, the experience is one of complete immersion in primal power, though of a very different kind from what Ragnarok conjures — more the power of an immense forest of oaks than the voraciousness of a wolf pack on the hunt.

In Saturday’s show, Agalloch played long instrumental jams that emphasized the melodic sweep of their oeuvre. Fittingly, the night ended with “The Lodge (dismantled)”. The original version of “The Lodge” was an acoustic instrumental that appeared on The Mantle. On The Grey EP, Agalloch stripped away the acoustics and converted the song into something quite different, calling it “The Lodge (dismantled)”. On the EP, it lasts for more than 13 minutes, which includes about 4 minutes of feedback at the end.

In the live show I saw, it didn’t go on for that long, but it still retained a load of feedback at the end, with the guitarists and the bass player sawing on their instruments with wooden sticks, rubbing the strings against poles supporting the ceiling of the club, holding them above the heads of the audience and shaking them. By that point, I’d already pretty much lost my mind in the music, and that ending left me in a quasi-zombified state of bliss.

Here’s a fan-filmed video of the song from the Portland show — the video and audio quality are about what you’d expect (mediocre), but it will give you a sense of how divergent Agalloch’s music is from where it all started. After that, I’m also including the penultimate song from the set, “In the Shadow of Our Pale Companion”, with lyrics, just because.

“IN THE SHADOW OF OUR PALE COMPANION”:

Through vast valleys I wonder
To the highest peaks
On pathways through a wild forgotten landscape
In search of God, in spite of man
’til the lost forsaken endless. . .
This is where I choose to tread

Fall. . .so shall we fall into nihil?
The nothingness that we feel in the arms of the pale
In the shadow of the grim companion who walks with us

Here is the landscape
Here is the sun
Here in the balance of the earth
Where is the god?
Has he fallen and abandoned us?

As I’m stalked by the shadow of death’s hand
The fire in my heart is forged across the land

Here at the edge of this world
Here I gaze at a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone
If this grand panorama before me is what you call God. . .
Then God is not dead

I walked down to a river and sat in reflection of what had to be done
An offering of crimson flowed into the water below
A wound of spirit from which it floated and faded away

. . .like every hope I’ve ever had. . .
. . .like every dream I’ve ever known. . .
It washed away in a tide of longing, a longing for a better world
From my will, my throat, to the river, and into the sea. . .
. . .wash away. . .
. . .fade away. . .

Here is the landscape
Here is the sun
Here at the edge of the earth
Where is the god?
Has he fallen to ruin?

As I’m stalked by the shadow of death’s hand
My heathen pride is scarred across the land

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ABOUT THESE BANDS:

http://www.facebook.com/ragnarokofficial

http://www.ragnarokhorde.com

http://www.facebook.com/AgallochOfficial

http://www.agalloch.org/

(NCS writer BadWolf was on hand in Columbus, Ohio, earlier this month to witness Wolves in the Throne Room live — and he brought with him photographer Nicholas Vechery, whose awesome pics illustrate this review.)

Wolves in the Throne Room are, without a doubt, the best smelling metal band I’ve ever seen. I say that with honesty and seriousness. They smell amazing.

But I’ll get back to that later. First things first, I saw Wolves alongside Thou and local openers Vit at Columbus’ Ravari Room, and thank god the place was empty when I got there so I could get a good look before the floor was completely packed with bodies.

Someone could get lost in that comely place, with its abundance of dark corners. Everything about the bar felt apropos for an underground ritual—burlap-wrapped red and orange lanterns hung from a high wooden ceiling, but the atmosphere was thick and dark. Huge brick arches framed the bar and every alcove. The place could be the remains of an illegal gin distillery from the 1920’s, with all of its vitality and character.(more after the jump . . .)

And speaking of character, Vit have it. These four Ohioans released their “-“ album via bandcamp over a year ago[physical release via Music Ruins Lives in May of '11] , and while that record is excellent, it feels very restrained. Live, Vit left me breathless. Folk twang and perhaps a touch of early Led Zeppelin serpentine through the slow hardcore skeleton of their music—think a rust belt cousin of Isis, or a less metro, more trucker Have A Nice Life. Their vocalist thrashed and screamed in the crowd. Kudos to him for rocking on all cylinders, even during the long stretches of instrumental vamping that filled most of Vit’s time.

Unfortunately, Thou did not sync with me in a live setting. Thou are a band who’ve gotten a healthy dollop of critical acclaim in the last twelve months but I don’t hear it—the sound is there but not the songs, unless of course they are covering Nirvana. In Colombus, the six Louisianans played to one another instead of the crowd, with the exception of the vocalist, who struggled to keep a steady tone. Their rocking and bobbing carried enough spirit, but their myriad tones muddled one another in the air, leaving just that awful plane-takeoff-plus-drums sound (you know the one!). I hate to harp on a band that clearly loves their own music, has a DIY attitude and releases through a label that began in my hometown [Gilead Media], but I feel their blades need sharpening.

Then, Wolves set up. The band lit oil lamps and set them around the stage—all other lights, except for one beneath the drum kit, dimmed to near-darkness. They laid pine boughs over the stage, and everything smelled fresh, regenerated and transformed in some way. Then, they filled the room with smoke and, moments later, the sound of epic black metal lullabies.

Wolves in the Throne Room play stripped-down and tight in a live setting; there was no bassist; there was no female vocalist and therefore none of their operatic tracks; the audience was barely acknowledged; all the synth backing played through a Macbook, leaving no room for jamming or improvisation. Paradoxically, the feel of their show is gaseous. Both guitarists headbang so much and are so shrouded in artificial mist that they seem more like entities than men. LED lights shone up both guitar necks and cast huge shadows of their gyrating fingers onto the wall and ceiling. When they turned, the bright blue beams swept out over the crowd like the signals from two distant lighthouses on an unseen shore.

Wanderer(s) on a sea of fog indeed. Wolves in the Throne Room is all about setting a mood and following it to some obscure, ultimate conclusion—introversion is the point. At the side of the stage, a few people sat cross-legged and meditated to their music. I had to wonder, who are these people? Are they part of the same spiritual group Wolves is? More importantly, do they ‘get it’ more than I do?

Those meditators made the show for me: There is more to Wolves’ music than I currently understand, and because of them I want to get deeper. I will be seeing Wolves in the Throne Room again when they return.