The tour had started two nights prior at Underground Arts in Philadelphia. The night before, they were in Boston, and it would’ve been a much shorter drive to hit that show, but it was my 10th wedding anniversary. A drive down to New York to pop into Manhattan and catch Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats with Danava at Bowery Ballroom didn’t seem unreasonable. Traffic on the way down, on the other hand, was. I still managed to get to the venue before they opened the doors to the upstairs room where the show was actually happening — I’d never seen a line inside the downstairs bar before — so though I felt like I was going to be late the whole time, I still managed to get a spot up in front of the stage. Doomly serendipity.

Portland, Oregon’s Danava, who are veterans of Kemado Records, were the lone openers. A double-guitar foursome, they weren’t unknown to me, having made a somewhat less than favorable impression at Roadburn in 2012. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing them, to be quite honest. I don’t even remember what it was about their Roadburn slot that had me so irked — maybe just the simple fact that they were on before Conan and the room was so crowded– but by the time their set was three songs in, it was clear I was the one with the problem and not the band, who boogied down on winding ’70s-style riffage like they were born to do it, bangs-sporting guitarist/vocalist Gregory Meleny trading riffs with Pete Hughes, also of Sons of Huns, in a flurry of shuffle and push met head-on by the bass and drums, not quite retro but definitely skipping a couple decades in its influence.

It was a sold-out show, and people came early, so Bowery Ballroom was plenty packed for Danava‘s set. “Shoot Straight from a Crooked Gun” and “White Nights of Murder” from their most recent album, 2011’s Hemisphere of Shadows, were both aired, but the primary impression I had of them was mostly of my own jackassery after our paths last crossed. Again, not sure what my deal was or where the distaste came from, but they were more than solid and held the fickle attention of a Friday night Manhattan crowd. For that alone they deserve some measure of credit. I guess one of these days I’ll have to go back and dig into their records, but at least I know for the next time they come through that it’s worth showing up. Lesson learned.

Old tube televisions, one or two with built-in VCRs — there was a time when these things were a premium — were spread throughout Uncle Acid‘s amp backline, and they’d flicker on and off with static as part of the UK outfit’s lightshow, otherwise minimal. Guitarist/vocalists Kevin “Uncle Acid” Starrs and Yotam Rubinger and bassist/backing vocalist Dean Millar were backlit, their faces obscured, as the lights above switched colors from red to blue to green, orange, yellow, etc., each song in the set seeming to come with its own hue. Light-up cat’s eyes were attached to cymbal stands on either side of Itamar Rubinger‘s drum kit, and they remained on for the duration, feeding into the band’s schlock horror cultistry and malevolent mystique, the crowd eating it up from the start of “Mt. Abraxas” onward.

For a band to sell out a place like Bowery Ballroom is not an inconsiderable achievement, and NYC is far from the only city on the tour to receive the band thusly, but that it’s Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats‘ first run through the US only emphasizes the passionate response they have received. In the UK, they toured with Black Sabbath, and after a couple shows in London, they made their official live debut at Roadburn in 2013 with a slot on the Main Stage curated by Jus Oborn of Electric Wizard. Their two latest albums, 2011’s Blood Lust (review here) and 2013’s Mind Control (review here), are among the most lauded records in this half of the decade, and their influence is already being felt in a burgeoning movement of garage doom that one expects will only continue to grow. They’ve got a lot riding on their next full-length, but Uncle Acid are already a big fucking deal, and they were greeted accordingly in Manhattan, the audience roaring like something off a live record as the first recognizable strains of “I’ll Cut You Down” emanated from the stage.

I wouldn’t dare understate the power behind that song’s foreboding swing, murderous threat and otherworldly melody, but it was one highlight among several, “Crystal Spiders,” new single “Runaway Girls,” “Death’s Door,” “13 Candles” and “Mind Crawler” doling out rapturous hooks in Starrs‘ and Rubinger‘s vocals. They finished the regular set with “Withered Hand of Evil” and made an encore out of “13 Candles,” “Desert Ceremony” and the thudding “Devil’s Work,” a catchy finish but subdued in comparison to a lot of what preceded. No doubt this was by design, as was the entirety of the presentation, but the scale and realized sensibility with which Uncle Acid conjured up their demons and those of the multitudes in attendance — who almost to a head stuck through until the end — seemed to show a band rising to the occasion of the fervency they’ve induced. That is, while their ascendancy was already well underway by the time they started playing out, they’ve more than caught up with it. It would not be a surprise if on their next US tour, they play on even bigger stages.

Walking back the couple blocks to my car, it felt good to be back in New York. It had been a full year to the day since I last went to a show in Manhattan, which I think was the longest stretch I’ve had in more than a decade. I stopped into a cafeteria with some fantastic smelling Middle Eastern food and got a bottle of water for the road and then hit it, back up the FDR and toward the drunk-driver nightmare that was I-95 North heading into the weekend.

More pics after the jump. Special thanks to Jon Freeman for making this one happen and thanks to you as always for reading.

Read more »

I had a pretty set vision in my head of how the night was going to work. Having left Massachusetts the evening prior and spent the day at work like so, so many others, I left the office early to get into the city. Traffic was anticipated and delivered, but I still arrived at Bowery Ballroom in Manhattan well advance of doors opening for Vista Chino — the time limit on needing to put “formerly Kyuss Lives!“ after their name seems to be running its course now that they have an album, Peace (review here), out — Black Pussy and Kings Destroy. The plan was simple: Get up front and plant. Take pictures of the bands and then, a little while into Vista Chino‘s set, drop back, relax and enjoy the fuzz. I’m happy to report that more or less that’s exactly how it went.

No joke, it was Kings Destroy who sealed the deal on my hitting New York instead of Philadelphia to catch the tour. There was no Boston date, and if I’m already driving four hours south, what’s another two? But when Kings Destroy got added to the bill as openers, that made the decision much easier. I knew I’d manage to catch them somehow before they headed north next month, and I don’t regret doing so. Their set, as has been the case the last couple times I’ve seen them, emphasized just how far they’ve come in their sound, opening with “The Mountie” from the first album but nestling into its real groove with cuts like “The Toe,” “Blood of Recompense” — an early highlight of the show — and the always gleefully bizarre “Turul” from this year’s A Time of Hunting.

That’s nothing new. The change was the size of the stage they were playing on. Now, I know Kings Destroy has done runs through Europe, that they played the Getaway Rock festival in Sweden, that they’ve done Chaos in Tejas and others — not to mention the shows some of these guys have done in bands like Killing Time, etc. — I’m not shocked they can hold it down on a big stage. Hell, the stage at the St. Vitus bar is pretty sizable and they kill it there on a regular basis, but it was particularly awesome to watch Kings Destroy deliver a pro-grade and unbelievably heavy sampling of their material — Rob Sefcik‘s drums came across especially loud and were welcome, and I stood in front to the side of the stage by bassist Aaron Bumpus and guitarist Chris Skowronski with no regrets; Carl Porcaro‘s solos had no trouble cutting through — with vocalist Steve Murphy not making mention of the fact that he, Sefcik and Porcaro played with Kyuss at C.B.G.B. nearly two decades prior, working at the time under the banner of Mind’s Eye.

The changeover between Kings Destroy and Black Pussy was quick enough, though honestly it didn’t matter if the Portland, Oregon, five-piece took the stage and delivered the stoner rock equivalent of “Raining Blood,” there was no way their music was going to make a bigger impression than their name. I’m not sure how you get five guys to agree on calling a band something like Black Pussy, but okay. Never mind the fact that “pussy” is one of three words in the English language I wouldn’t say in front of my mother, the group says that they took “Black Pussy” from the working title of The Rolling Stones‘ “Brown Sugar,” and that they don’t condone any kind of racism or sexism or whatever else. All well and good dudes, but whether you condone it or not, you still called your band Black Pussy and here I am talking about it instead of your music, which was actually pretty cool in that ultra-groovy and relaxed heavy psych kind of way.

It wasn’t long before white dudes in the crowd were doing Dave–Chappelle-as-Rick–James voice saying the band’s name between songs, and the whole thing was both a bum-out and a distraction from their material, which again, was quality: Thick guitar and bass filled out with analog synth and Korg swirl, pusher-manned by classic rock attitude-soaked vocals and drums that were both theatrical and precise. As a privileged white guy whose only experience with cultural discrimination has been getting called fatass by, well, everyone ever, it was easy enough for me to look past the racial element and get lost in the dense fog of immersive nod, but the simple fact that it was there to be looked past seemed needless. I’m not going to pretend it’s cool just because they played well. Saying you’re not racist doesn’t undo racism, and if you need to go out on a limb and put it out there that, “we’re not racist,” maybe a harder look is needed at the reasoning pushing you to do that. If you want to say I don’t get it, fine. They were a better band than their shitbird moniker. I didn’t have cash on hand to buy a record, but I would have picked one up if I had.

Brant Bjork produced their forthcoming second album, Less Info More Mojo, so that they’d wind up on the road with Vista Chino made sense — certainly their first album, last year’s  On Blonde, which was dedicated to Bjork, owed him a sonic debt as well — but the night belonged to the headliner. I saw Kyuss Lives! twice during their run with that name, in New Jersey and in Philadelphia, but with the new songs from Peace and Mike Dean of Corrosion of Conformity on bass in place of Nick Oliveri standing opposite on the stage from guitarist Bruno Fevery, the appeal of Vista Chino was fresh despite the added appeal of seeing the four-piece play Kyuss songs as well. I won’t discount the value of hearing John Garcia sing “Gardenia” and “Thumb” and “Freedom Run” live, especially as someone who never got to see Kyuss during their original run, but I was just as happy to hear him absolutely nail “Sweet Remain” from Peace and make a home in the laid back groove of “Adara,” which opened their set leading into “One Inch Man” from Kyuss‘ 1995 swansong, …And the Circus Leaves Town.

Presumably, the hope is that as Vista Chino continues to develop as a new band apart from Kyuss and Kyuss Lives!, they’ll work more original material into shows. As of now, there’s only so much they have to put into a 90-minute set. The ratio was six Vista Chino to 10 Kyuss songs, but the division was equitable, bouncing back and forth initially only to deliver a one-two-three of classics to finish with “Thumb,” “Green Machine” and “Freedom Run” before coming back out for an encore that included the new song “Planets 1 & 2,” on which Bjork shared vocals with Garcia as he does on the album. Frankly, new or old, it all rocked. The frontman made one mention of the lawsuit from former bandmates Josh Homme and Scott Reeder that forced him and Bjork to give up the Kyuss name last year, working it into the lyrics of “Supa Scoopa and Mighty Scoop,” but other than that, it was encouraging to see Vista Chino pairing their own work with the Kyuss songs and having Mike Dean on bass takes them to a whole new level.

I won’t say anything against Scott Reeder or Nick Oliveri. Not a fucking chance. They are tremendous bassists and hugely influential songwriters. I know it’s easy and fun for fans to pick sides in that kind of thing, but that’s not what I’m about. I like music. So to watch Mike Dean live in those parts — not just play them like a recital, but to crawl inside the new and the old material and actually make it his own — was vividly exciting, and it made Vista Chino that much more of its own entity. He owned “Hurricane.” And he made the shuffle in “Dark and Lovely” positively irresistible, Garcia‘s voice cutting through front and center of the Bowery‘s P.A. while Fevery‘s guitar seemed to fluctuate in prominence but ultimately settled in nicely. Bjork, who said recently in an interview here that Dean was his favorite rock bassist, was clearly enjoying sharing the rhythm section with him, and the swing the two concocted felt righteous and invigorated. I shudder to think what those guys and Fevery would/will be able to come up with when it comes time to jam on new material for a follow-up to Peace.

“Planets 1 & 2” fit well in the encore with a medley of “Whitewater” into “Odyssey” from Kyuss‘ genre-defining Welcome to Sky Valley and at the end of the set, Garcia offered a heartfelt applause for the crowd who stayed till the end. It had dwindled some as they pushed past midnight — nothing like a late Thursday to turn Friday into an utter blur — but for me, however long and far they go and however many times I’m fortunate enough to see these guys play, I don’t want to miss any of it.

More pics after the jump. Thanks for reading.

Read more »

With nearly 40 shows under their collective belt in support of their 10th album, Earth Rocker, Maryland roaddogs Clutch are still really just beginning the touring cycle. Fresh off a couple weeks’ break following a long run with Orange Goblin, they returned to Manhattan last night with The Sword and regular tour compatriots Lionize opening, playing a set that included all but two of the tracks from the new album as well as a few classics from their vast catalog.

There aren’t a lot of bands who can get away with this. The rock and roll cliche is that when you hear, “Here’s one from the new album,” it’s time to go get another drink. Clutch, and their fanbase, are an exception to the rule. Earth Rocker (review here) has been out for about a month and a half, and it was the new songs that people wanted to see, to get to know in a live setting, to find out where the band — guitarist Tim Sult, vocalist Neil Fallon, bassist Dan Maines and drummer Jean-Paul Gaster — would decide to throw in a jam here and there, and to learn how the new stuff meshed with the old.

Clutch last came through in December as part of their annual holiday tour (review here), and they had played a few of the Earth Rocker cuts then, but now with more gigs behind them, the songs were unquestionably more refined. And there were more of them. Save for “Unto the Breach” and “Mr. Freedom,” the entirety of Earth Rocker was spread throughout the set — eight tracks — mixed with a few cuts from its unofficial companion piece, 2004’s Blast Tyrant (the two albums shared a producer in NJ-based Machine), including “Cypress Grove,” “The Mob Goes Wild,” “Profits of Doom” and “The Regulator,” as well as “Mice and Gods” from 2005’s Robot Hive/Exodus, “The Yeti” from 1998’s Elephant Riders, and the finale, “Electric Worry,” from 2007’s From Beale Street to Oblivion.

The real kicker here is that no matter what Clutch play at a given show, they both picked the setlist right and left something out. 10 albums deep, there’s no way they can get to everything in a single night, so they’re probably right not to try, and with the expectation that a New York crowd probably doesn’t have a lot of first-timers in it — they’ve done and continue to do really well in the area; the sheer size of Terminal 5 can stand as testament — the way for Clutch to give their audience something it hasn’t seen before is to play the new songs. Frankly, that’s what I was there to see.

And they did not disappoint. Opening with “Earth Rocker” into “Book, Saddle and Go” and “Cyborg Bette,” the rush was immediate and their energy palpable. Fallon as ever was back and forth on stage, gesticulating wildly to emphasize the lyrics while Sult, Maines and Gaster held down the still-funkified rhythm behind. “Earth Rocker” seemed a little slower than on the album, but they got up to speed with “Book, Saddle and Go,” and when “Cyborg Bette” slammed into its last verse and chorus — “Cyborg Bette/You done me/Wrong for the last time…” and so on — it was clear by the sing-along just how quickly the crowd had taken to the new material.

Any night I get to see Clutch, I feel like I’ve won out, and any night I get to see them play “The Regulator,” all the more so. Maybe it was because the bulk of the newer songs are faster and more straightforward, but the slowdown mid-set seemed even more dynamic, Fallon picking up a guitar and easing into a more melodic delivery. By then, they’d run through “The Mob Goes Wild” — suitably riotous — and “Profits of Doom” en route to working a jam onto the end of “D.C. Sound Attack” that only added to one of Earth Rocker‘s best grooves, cowbell included. Clutch are known to alternate which member of the band picks the setlist each night, and I don’t know who got this one, but it flowed well and “The Regulator” made a good marker after “Mice and Gods” and “Cypress Grove,” which was shouted out to all the ladies in the house as much good vibing ensued.

In December, “D.C. Sound Attack” had seemed rough in some of its transitions, but that was resolved and the song executed as smoothly as everything else. It feels like a given to say Clutch are one of the tightest live acts I’ve ever seen — like, well duh, of course they are — but it’s worth highlighting just how impressive they really can be on stage, and that even in a space like Terminal 5, with two balcony levels above the floor and a stretch back to rival Roseland Ballroom, not at all intimate, they managed to bring the crowd along with them for the party they were throwing. I’m sure it helped that those in attendance were so willing to go, but still. To seem human in a place like that is a feat and they pulled it off like it was nothing. One more reason to keep coming back.

“Oh, Isabella” followed “The Regulator” and led to “The Wolfman Kindly Requests…” which closes the new album. Sult‘s guitar did well in conveying the grandiose sensibility of the final moments, but I wondered if Clutch wouldn’t go so far as to add a second for that part, whether it’s Fallon handling it or someone else, just to give it that extra push when it kicks in at the end. I guess they probably have another 300 shows or so to figure out if that’s a choice they want to make, but it’s a great live song anyway, and fit surprisingly snug with the subdued “Gone Cold” following, that in turn giving way to “The Face,” a highlight of Earth Rocker and probably the song I was most hoping — aside from “The Regulator,” which is a constant on my wish list — they’d play.

Similar in its scope to the ending of “The Wolfman Kindly Requests…,” “The Face” makes an impression on the album through its sheer size and its story of rock and roll redemption. Live, it’s obviously rawer, but its epic riff sounds no less epic, and Fallon nailed the rhythm of the verses, making it all the more thrilling to watch. Hopefully it’s one that stays in the set for years to come. For the encore, Clutch threw in “The Yeti” and added a jam to the end that transitioned into “Burning Beard” — it wasn’t easy, but they got there — and then capped with “Electric Worry,” as one has come to increasingly expect over the last couple years.

For me, it was a laid-back kind of night. I’d worked late the few days prior and been pretty beat, so hitting up a Clutch show was more like seeing old friends — also helped that there were plenty of those in the crowd — than something to stress over. I got to relax, lean back and belt out a few killer tunes along with the band, and I don’t think there’s anything more I could’ve reasonably asked for a Thursday night. They were done just before midnight, I got back to my humble river valley a couple minutes after one, and woke up this morning with “The Face” still stuck in my head. It was the best Clutch show since the last one and it’ll be the best until the next one. That’s how they do.

More pics after the jump.

Read more »

It had been four weeks since I’d last seen a show, and for lack of better phrasing, I was out of my fucking mind. Not that nothing had rolled through in that time — there’d been plenty of opportunities to get out — my mental and physical energy was occupied elsewhere. But when my weekend calendar seemed to be open just in time to catch Russian Circles at Radio City Music Hall, it was too cool an opportunity to pass up.

I mean, Russian Circles are a good band, but they’re still basically an underground act. Instrumental post-rock? The ads plastered up around the place were for people like Mike Tyson and Leonard Cohen. Even Coheed and Cambria, who were headlining the show, seemed like a stretch to me. I always thought of that as the kind of place you had to be Elton John before you could play. At very least James Taylor. Russian Circles you’d expect at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, or if you had to keep it in Manhattan, the Bowery Ballroom. To catch them at Radio City — in a place that big, in front of what would still be thousands of people even though they’d just be filing in at the time — seemed pretty special.

Even for that, the show was something of a departure for me. Usually, one idolizes seeing a bigger band at a smaller place — see any number of shows Brooklyn’s St. Vitus bar has put on in the last year-plus — so this, seeing a known but still relatively underground act at what’s indisputably a major venue, took the opposite route toward being an exception. Generally speaking, I don’t like big venues, big venue shows or big venue bands, but like I say, it had been four weeks and though there was other stuff going on I could’ve hit up, Russian Circles struck me as the one to catch.

It was the last night of a 28-date run, Russian Circles supporting Between the Buried and Me and Coheed and Cambria, though there was little of the end-of-tour pranking that I’d seen at Enslaved‘s recent Manhattan gig. Just as well, since Russian Circles essentially play in the dark and so any shenanigans might not have been seen by the crowd anyway, not to mention the heads-down-locked-in feel they have on stage. Before they went on, Coheed and Cambria‘s Claudio Sanchez and someone who appeared to be his wife, Chondra Echert-Sanchez, came out and did an acoustic, poppy take on “2’s My Favorite 1,” which apparently isn’t the teenybopper hit the title might imply, but a track of Coheed‘s latest album, Afterman: The Descension, released just at the start of the tour.

As someone who’s never even come close to being a Coheed and Cambria fan, I could’ve cared less, but the crowd, still milling in at the time — just about 7PM — went off, cell phones in the air to get the video. When the song was over, the Sanchezes said thanks and split on the quick and a couple minutes later, Russian Circles emerged, their stage lit by two single lightbulbs on either side — one in front of guitarist Mike Sullivan, one under the keyboard of bassist Brian Cook — and two floodlights behind drummer Dave Turncrantz. Last time I saw the band was in 2008 opening for Clutch‘s New Year’s tour at Starland Ballroom — not their crowd — so I knew they kept the lighting minimal, but at a place the size of Radio City, it was all the more accented, the shadows as expansive as the hall itself.

Russian Circles only played four songs, but in that time gave a fair sampling of their catalog. From 2008’s Station came opener “Harper Lewis,” followed by the title-track from 2009’s Geneva, which led into “Mlàdek,” the gallop-happy highlight from 2011’s Empros (review here), and from 2006’s debut, Enter, the closer “Death Rides a Horse.” For most of their time, I was up front taking pictures — a “first three songs” rule for a four-song set gave me a chuckle — so apart from having to crouch down in front of the stage, it probably wasn’t all that different from seeing them in a smaller room, but once I shuffled back to my seat for the duration of “Death Rides a Horse,” the sense of space really set in.

The three of them on the stage looked like they were playing in the mouth of some prehistoric megawhale. Their tones — Sullivan playing Verellen amps through Emperor cabinets, lest there should be any doubts of their dueling Chicago/Seattle origins — were full, but running through a house P.A. at what I don’t doubt was a don’t-be-louder-than-the-headliner level, so as I pulled my earplugs partially out to get a better listen, it was Turncrantz‘s snare that cut through most prominent. That said, Russian Circles managed to be ambient at Radio City Music Hall, a place scientifically engineered for acoustics but not for a wash of sound, and that seemed like a triumph. At very least, a hell of a way to end a tour.

Empros was by far the freshest on my mind of their material, so I was glad to catch “Mlàdek,” and their demeanor fit the mood of the material. There was no showy thrashing around, no arena-rock foot-on-the-monitor posturing. Russian Circles, apart from being older and perhaps more suspendered in the case of Cook, were much as I remembered them, which I was glad to see considering how it seemed to work for them last time around and on their lush studio work. They finished and said goodnight with as little ceremony as they’d walked out onto the dim stage, and I split likewise shortly thereafter.

It was not yet 8PM when I got back to my car. Probably I could’ve stayed and watched Between the Buried and Me or Coheed and Cambria, but yeah, no. I left the city like I was getting away with something. The Patient Mrs. and I went out to a late(r) dinner and still got to enjoy a decent portion of the evening, and I exhaled for what felt like the first time in two weeks, worried much less that my brain was going to explode for not having been out in so long, so on the existential and practical levels, this one was a win. Took an odd route to get there, but it got there, anyway.

Extra pics after the jump. Special thanks to Dave Clifford for making this happen and to you for reading.

Read more »

Following up on last month’s tribute to Exciter‘s Heavy Metal Maniac, in his latest Spine of Overkill column, Chris “Woody High” MacDermott takes us back 28 years to a night seeing Exciter, Mercyful Fate and Motörhead share a bill on Dec. 14, 1984, in New York. This is one for the ages. Please enjoy:

Zeptember 1984 was a big month for me. It was the beginning of my senior year of high school but more importantly, the rebirth of Motörhead. 1983’s Another Perfect Day was a great album with Thin Lizzy guitarist Brian Robertson, but was not received well by a lot of fans. I saw them live at L’Amours in the summer of ‘83 and was thoroughly blown away. I’d seen the Ramones up close and personal at Iona College and Judas Priest/Iron Maiden at Madison Square Garden in the cheap seats but neither event prepared me for Motörhead’s live assault. My ears rang for EIGHT DAYS afterwards. After Robbo left I faithfully checked every new issue of Kerrang for the latest news on Lemmy’s next move. It was announced that two new, unknown guitarists were to join the band — Phil Campbell and Wurzel. They looked dirty enough for the job. Then it was announced that Philthy Animal Taylor was leaving to go play in Robbo‘s new band. I was relieved to find out that Pete Gill of Saxon was replacing him. Having worn out Wheels of Steel and Strong Arm of the Law, I knew he was the man for the job.

On a rare Saturday afternoon in Zeptember that I didn’t have to work, I hopped on a Metro-North train into Manhattan then headed downtown to It’s Only Rock N Roll on 8th Street. My mission was to spend every cent I had in my Motörhead velcro wallet on the latest metal releases. Turns out it was my lucky day. They had just gotten in the brand new Motörhead 12″ single “Killed by Death” and a brand new compilation album called No Remorse. Holy shit, I was excited. Not just for new Motörhead jams but No Remorse was in an album sleeve made of LEATHER!! I can’t remember what else I got that day but the awesome photos and liner notes inside No Remorse helped speed up the torturous train ride back to New Rochelle. More than just a greatest hits compilation, No Remorse had four killer new songs and a bunch of rare B-sides that I hadn’t been able to track down yet. The 12″ single had two great new ones, too, both titled “Under the Knife.” Fucking awesome!

But things were about to get even better. It was announced that the new line up of Motörhead were coming to tour the US. In the year since I had first seen them I had browbeaten several of my friends into getting into Motörhead, too. We were all ready. Alcohol and weeed consumption had greatly increased and tolerance for non-heavy jams was now a thing of the past. Metal or die! Motörhead‘s return to New York was scheduled for Friday, December 14, 1984, and they were bringing two of the heaviest bands with them — Mercyful Fate and Exciter. Holy fucking shit. I don’t remember where or when I got tickets but I do recall the weeks leading up to the concert as pure hell. Who wants to go to school or work when the heaviest bands of all time are coming to blow you away?

Finally December 14 arrived and it was time to get a pint of Jack Daniels to slip into the inside pocket of my denim jacket. We met up on the platform of the Metro North station in Pelham to go space truckin’ into NYC. Other passengers were probably going to a fruity Broadway show or something but we were going to see MOTÖRHEAD, MERCYFUL FATE and EXCITER!!! I can’t imagine that we talked about anything other than how awesome it was going to be. Before heading into the Beacon we hung out in Verdi Square on 72nd St. to guzzle JD and Coke and do one hits of cheap Bronx weeed. It was freezing that night but there’s nothing more metal than partying outdoors in the wintertime. Entering the venue was pure heaven. The merch stall was loaded with killer shirts for all three bands. This stuff was really hard to find back then, even in New York City. Not a lot of retailers were interested in carrying t-shirts with slogans like “Violence & Force” on them.

I’m not sure if we sat in our assigned seats or not but we had a killer view in the middle about halfway up from the stage. When Exciter took to the stage I went completely berserk. These guys were my heroes. I played their two albums Heavy Metal Maniac and Violence & Force constantly and I was finally about to see them. They were so loud and so fast I don’t remember seeing much of them because I was banging my head so frantically. Guitarist John Ricci and bassist Allan Johnson were covered in leather and spikes. All I could see of drummer/vocalist Dan Beehler was his enormous mushroom cloud afro behind his giant drum kit and a gooseneck mic stand angled down so he could scream into it. When he wasn’t singing he was headbangning. “Pounding Metal,” “Heavy Metal Maniac” and some other classics were played before Beehler announced a new song. They had a new album coming out called Long Live the Loud and played a song called “Sudden Impact.” Back then I wasn’t used to bands playing songs that hadn’t been released yet but something about this one grabbed me right away. I knew exactly when it was my turn to scream “Sudden Impact” so I did. It was all over and they walked off the stage. What the fuck, that was only like 15 minutes! Man, lemmy tell you, we were PISSED!! We started kicking the seats in front of us and screaming about “what kind of bullshit is this?” etc. Still fuming, we went downstairs to take a leak and stumbled upon an unlocked janitor’s closet. The memory is foggy but I do recall knocking over some shelves full of paint cans, making a big mess while ranting and raving about the injustice of Exciter‘s short set. I mean, really? Why bring them all the way to NYC from Ottawa for 15 fuckin’ minutes? They didn’t even get to play “Iron Dogs!”

Our mood improved when we stole some money off of one of the bars to buy beer. Mercyful Fate was up next and they better be really fucking good if they were going to be following Exciter. I must admit that back then I wasn’t sure how I felt about Fate. I loved their music but found King Diamond‘s singing pretty annoying. Bob Muldowney of my favorite fanzine Kick*Ass had started calling him Queen Rhinestone so I did, too. Fate‘s audience included a lot of dudes who were pretending to be Satanists, which I thought was silly. I had heard rumors of cults in Yonkers and White Plains but the reality was that they were living with their parents and smoking a lot of weeed, just like I was. I had a job after school and on the weekends which didn’t leave me a lot of time to worship Satan. Anyway, Mercyful Fate started playing and most people loved it while some hated it. I was pretty indifferent. I was also completely blotto. King Diamond was doing his banter in between songs in that ridiculous falsetto, which I thought was totally lame. I wasn’t really impressed with his bone mic stand, either but the band was tight as shit. I don’t think I watched their entire set and probably went back to the bar to try and steal more money for beer. I actually like Mercyful Fate a lot more now than I did back then and am able to enjoy King‘s unique voice. I often fantasize about an album I’d love to produce called Diamond Meets Diamond, duets between King Diamond and Neil Diamond. Can you imagine the incredible version of “Delilah” they could do?

Once Fate was done, it was time for the main event – MOTÖRHEAD! Exciter and Mercyful Fate both had a lot of amps on stage but Motörhead’s backline dwarfed them. This was gonna be good. Back then smoking was still allowed at shows and there was always a giant cloud of pot smoke over the crowd. As we were sitting there wishing we had saved some of our weeed, a good samaritan turned around and passed us a HUGE joint. It was Jim and Pete, two friends from Pelham that were a year or two ahead of us. They must have spotted us and decided to help us out. This random act of kindness would be repeated several times over the years – Johnny Winter, also at the Beacon, Bad Brains at L’Amours, Rollins Band at CBGB. Thanks again bros, I owe you both big time.

Now that our attitudes had been fully adjusted and my insanity level was at its peak, Motörhead strolled out. Lemmy picked up an empty Jack Daniels bottle off the stage and yelled into the mic “I get hit with anything, the show’s over!” before blasting off with “Iron Fist.” Just as I had hoped, it was really, really loud. The headbanging I’d done earlier in the night was merely a warmup. “Stay Clean,” “Metropolis,” and “Ace of Spades” were mixed in with the new “Killed by Death” and “Steal Your Face.” Everyone was going completely mental. Rows of seats were now completely loose, not just from people kicking them but from shaking them violently as they clutched them while headbanging. This was before slam dancing, or “moshing,” became expected at metal shows. Hair was flying around, fists pumping and row after row of heads moving in unison like pistons in a giant engine of steel. While introducing the song “Jailbait” Lemmy demanded to see some tits and several ladies obliged. Could things get any better? Yup. When they cranked out “No Class” none other than Wendy O. Williams came flying out on stage to sing it. She had barely any clothes on and was screaming her brains out while running around like a maniac. Eventually it all came to an end with “Overkill,” as it always should. Dumbfounded, everyone left. There was no question that Motörhead wrote the book on what was becoming known as thrash metal and were about to write a few new chapters for everyone else to steal from.

This really was one of the greatest nights of my life. It was so much fun and so full on. Not much has topped it in the past 28 years. As fate would have it, December 14, 201,2 fell on a Friday night and my band Mighty High played a gig at Trash Bar in Brooklyn. Was it anything close to what went down in 1984? No fucking way, but not a bad way to have celebrated this anniversary. Stay clean in 2013!

Motörhead “Steal Your Face” live 1984

Exciter “Iron Dogs” live 1985

Mercyful Fate “Into The Coven” live 1984

I was stoked for this show. If I hadn’t been, I probably wouldn’t have gone. Still, there was a point early into the evening at which I stood back and had the thought, “I’m at a CMJ showcase.” It’s been years. Like a lot of the overblown hoopla in the music industry, I usually skip out on NYC’s CMJ fest — because here’s the thing no one tells you: It’s no different from NYC every other night. Oh, there are 100 shows and industry types lurking around in suit jackets and jeans? Sorry, that happens every single week. It’s a big part of why the last show I went to in Manhattan was in March.

This, however, was the Heavy Planet CMJ showcase, and if something was going to get me to drive my jaded, been-in-this-business-too-long ass across the self-proclaimed greatest city in the world, it was the chance to see Borracho, Valley of the Sun, Eggnogg and Summoner on the same bill. Shock Radar opened and the show was at Fontana’s — a place that, if I’ve ever been there, it was probably when I was in college, and then probably a CMJ show — and after being kept late at work, I got there early into Shock Radar‘s set, having parked outside at the same time Borracho arrived and seen them get into a parking altercation with another driver. They were right to not want to give up that spot. It was prime.

Much like the show itself. Here’s how it all went down:

Shock Radar

New York natives and apparently somewhat responsible for lining up Fontana’s as the venue for the gig, it was my first experience with Shock Radar in a live setting after checking out some of the tracks from their Live Like Lions 10″ in advance. Admittedly, I didn’t catch the whole set, but I must have gotten most of it, and in any case, it was enough for the band’s post-grunge affected East Coast noise crunch to make an impression. The vocals had that kind of throaty 1995 vibe like when everyone realized they couldn’t be Layne Staley and had to think of something else to do, but they were solid — the kind of moody act you’d happen onto on one of those nights stumbling through the city, winding up in some hole with more liquor in your system than you intended. Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything.

Summoner

I could tell right away that Boston’s own Summoner were used to playing on stages this size because every time vocalist/bassist Chris Johnson turned around, he pulled the neck of his bass in toward himself so as to avoid a collision with guitarist Joe Richner. The four-piece had impressed at SHoD, so I wasn’t necessarily surprised by the vitality they brought to their performance or the appealing interplay of Richner and AJ Peters‘ guitars, but their new-school crush satisfied nonetheless, and both Peters and drummer Scott Smith went out of their way to mention they’ll be recording a new album next month. Their latest, Phoenix, is still pretty fresh, but I look forward to hearing the intensity they bring to new material in the studio. In the meantime, “The Interloper” from Phoenix was a highlight and they went back to their early days as Riff Cannon to close out with the title-track to 2009’s Mercury Mountain, a last-minute burst of energy that made for a raucous finish. I could’ve done with a longer set, but Summoner made every second count, and the smoothness with which they execute their changes and the sheer joy they seem to take in playing these songs made them a pleasure to watch. Again.

Eggnogg

My second Eggnogg gig and I’ve no doubt I’ll be back for thirds. The Brooklyn trio included two new songs in their set from their forthcoming and mostly completed new album, including the eponymous “Eggnogg,” which seems to revive the elephantine stomp of “The Gods Will Destroy the Hive” from their prior EP compilation, The Three. Their methods are simple, but their employ more than effective. They riff and groove — tonal thickness is a must — and bassist Bill O’Sullivan‘s bluesy delivery took a turn for the shoutier on the newer material. Especially seeing them right after Summoner emphasized the stark contrast between the two young acts. Both are very good at what they do and cohesive beyond their years, but Eggnogg‘s patience and relatively simplistic songwriting modus and Summoner‘s intensity and rampant dual lead-work seemed to be coming from different places entirely. I liked that, though. Eggnogg are getting their bearings as a live act, but between this gig and the show at the St. Vitus bar in August that I was lucky enough to catch, they’ve affirmed what I dug so much about their recorded material and given me something to look forward to on the next one. Time for them to start piling up amplifiers and get their tones to room-shaking volume.

Valley of the Sun

The lesson of Cincinnati’s Valley of the Sun — and this is a lesson I’m happy to learn anytime the opportunity presents itself — is “oh what a difference a great drummer makes.” You know the scene. You’ve seen those bands that seem to have it all together, and there’s just that one missing element. In my experience, what can really put a good band over the top is a killer, creative drummer, and Valley of the Sun have one in Aaron Boyer. Guitarist/vocalist Ryan Ferrier and bassist Ryan McAllister had their shit together, no doubt about it, but together with Boyer, they hit a level of professionalism that’s road-ready and completely attuned to its aesthetic. Valley of the Sun also played some new tunes, as well as a few highlights from 2011’s The Sayings of the Seers (review here), which I was stoked to be able to pick up on vinyl, and it was crisp American-style heavy rock, desert-fuzzed and in the Kyuss tradition, but fluid in its ’70s worship and presented with the utmost confidence. This being my first time seeing them, what I got was exactly what I’d hoped to get. For having just two EPs out, their sound is remarkably mature, and that speaks to Ferrier, McAllister and Boyer having a clear idea of what they want to do musically, which can only serve them well leading into their next studio outing. Good band, man. A name to watch for.

Borracho

In another flashback to this year’s Stoner Hands of Doom, the three-piece incarnation of Washington D.C.’s Borracho — or, as I’ve come to call them, Borratrio — took the stage at Fontana’s with barely so much as a hello. Led by guitarist Steve Fisher (who seems to have an inexhaustible supply of classic rock t-shirts — awesome) in the absence of guitarist/vocalist Noah, who is out of the country on what I can only assume is a dangerous spy mission, they once again let the riffs do the vast majority of the talking, though vocals showed up in what would otherwise be the backing lines toward the end of “All in Play” and in “Concentric Circles,” which remains viciously catchy no matter who’s fronting it. Overall, Borracho were much tighter here than at SHoD, not only for the lack of technical difficulties, but in general on the level of chemistry between Fisher, bassist Tim Martin and drummer Mario Trubiano, who seemed only too happy to pick up the gauntlet Aaron Boyer threw down in Valley of the Sun‘s set. The two bands are reportedly headed back to D.C. tonight for another gig. They worked well together, so hopefully this isn’t the last time they join forces. Despite Noah‘s continued MIA-ness, Borratrio have new songs in progress as well.

Ultimately, I think that’s what made last night special — the fact that Borracho, Summoner, Valley of the Sun and Eggnogg all have new stuff on the horizon that hasn’t yet been released. Maybe Shock Radar too, I don’t really know, but to have everyone on board playing fresh material alongside a few familiar tracks was awesome, and in true showcase fashion, I felt like I was watching acts each in their own way poised to hit the next level in what they do. Kudos to Heavy Planet for putting together an excellent bill (I got to meet Toby at the show and he seemed like a good dude), and to the bands for kicking ass.

More pics after the jump.

Read more »