Jun 212012


(Last night . . . June 20, 2012 . . . Seattle . . .)

Met some old friends and some new ones at The Honey Hole after work (yeah, that’s the name of the place, no lie).  Shot the shit. Had some adult beverages.  Had half a samitch , made on a crusty French roll with sliced steak, goat cheese, peppers, pesto, and some other shit. Awesome.

The new friends urged me to try a soup with a name I can’t pronounce. Had a cup of that. Was made with hot curry, coconut, cream, veggies, chicken, and I don’t know what else. Extra awesome. Had a second cup, with more adult beverages. Told the pretty lady from the kitchen who made it that it gave me an orgasm. May not have actually used the word “orgasm”, but same concept. She brought me a cup of cheese soup with broccoli in it. And people say men can’t have multiple orgasms.

Reluctantly left the Honey Hole before trying the third kind of soup on offer.  Drove with the old friends to Studio Seven. Got there in time to have a beer and a shot before Revocation’s set. Fourth time I’ve heard them, never gets old.

Listened to a couple of songs from the balcony bar while taking pics, then went down to the floor and locked myself in about two feet from the stage in front of David Davidson. Whole band was firing on all cylinders, and then some. Realized again what a fuckin’ wizard Davidson is. Pretty sure I levitated. Pit would start up and then kind of stop, cuz people just couldn’t help but stare. The downside of being so damned brilliant.

Bought a Revocation shirt, so they can eat. Plus the shirt is awful fine. Went outside with the friends to smoke cigarettes and watch the beautiful people in all their black finery. More beer afterward. Then Dying Fetus began to crank it up.

Took a few pics from the balcony and headed for the floor. Muscled my way up front, one layer of metalheads between me and the stage. Pit was non-stop, and violent. Something about the Fetus music stimulates the reptile brain. Trey Williams is a human drum cyborg. All three of them, machine-like, vacuum tight, locked-in like lasers. They don’t move much, no pandering to the worshippers, so focused. Music is like sticks of dynamite thrown into the crowd. Bodies flying, necks snapping, utter mayhem.

A few vicious fights in the pit, one dude gnawing on another one’s neck. Two dudes in front of me took turns trying to choke each other out in headlocks. I pried them apart once, cuz it looked out of control, they came up smiling. Did it again.

Me on the front edge of the pit, trying to watch the stage, getting body blows from behind and both sides. Hung in there, music was galvanizing. Might be blood in my urine tomorrow. Tried to take a few pics, what a joke. Using some of them in this post anyway, what the fuck. Wishing Dying Fetus had never stopped playing. Fuckin’ brutal, literally.

Had to leave before Six Feet Under played, to make my ferry boat home. Goddamned early day tomorrow, cuz of the fucking day job. Made the ferry boat with 2 minutes to spare. Banging out this post over the water. Got off the ferry and drove home. Downloaded the pics. Too tired to be selective. Too tired to edit them. Wish I had some photo training. Anyway, so almost all the photos — put ’em in the post.


The end.




  16 Responses to “THE STORY OF MY NIGHT”

  1. Next time you say aforementioned pretty kitchen betty, inform her of the possible urinary plasma. blame her delicious liquid food. Also: please inquire how she feels about attractive, single wolves.

  2. Wish I was there!!!!!

  3. Bought Dying Fetus and Ihsahn new records via Itunes and been playing them non-stop

  4. I was at this show last night! Sick as fuck. Good job on the photos.

    • Thanks for saying that. I think I could do an even better job if I read the instructions for my camera, but that would be too easy.

      • Instructions are for pussies.

        • That’s really always been my theory. Success isn’t worthwhile unless it’s backed up by a shitload of trial-and-error failures. Besides, no one gave the cavemen instructions on how to make fire or fuck, and look how they turned out.

          • They turned out fine indeed.. Just look at how awesome we are.

            Well, atleast us with viking blood, can still be considered awesome.

  5. Ferry home? That’s always my problem with Studio Seven! It’s a bitch to get back from there to the ferry terminal in time. I missed this one, but I have a few more upcoming that I should be able to make with my work schedule the way it is. Maybe I’ll see ya there!

    • Having to remember the ferry is definitely a bitch, especially late at night when they really get spaced out between departures. It’s always grim remembering that you’ve still got at least an hour ahead of you before you can get home after you leave a venue — and even longer if you forget about the late-night schedule.

  6. Still need to see Revocation. My one chance at them headlining…I had an exam.

    For fucks sake.

    • Well, I really can’t recommend it strongly enough. As much as I like their albums, hearing and watching them on stage is a whole ‘nother level. I really wasn’t exaggerating when I said it never gets old.

  7. Why don’t you just get a speed boat car with all the money you make off NCS?

  8. I’m a little late to comment, but great review! Keep the photos as-is, will all their flaws…it makes them genuine.

    And I feel your pain with day jobs…I’ve missed more than a few concerts just so I could pay rent, eat, and buy more music. It’s a vicious cycle.

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