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Giveaway: Win Tickets to See Kyuss Lives! at the Wellmont Theatre in NJ

Posted in Features on December 6th, 2011 by JJ Koczan

I took this picture.In conjunction with my full-time gig at The Aquarian, I’ve been granted permission to host a giveaway for tickets to see Kyuss Lives!, The Sword, Black Cobra and The Atomic Bitchwax this weekend at the Wellmont Theatre in Montclair, New Jersey.

The show is Saturday night, Dec. 10, and the only snag for the giveaway is that it ends tomorrow afternoon, Wednesday, Dec. 6. If you want to go, just fill out the info below and hit send:

[Please note: This contest is now closed. Thanks to all who entered. Winners will be notified by email.]

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Live Review: Olde Growth, The Sun the Moon the Stars and Yorba Linda in Jersey, 01.07.11

Posted in Reviews on January 10th, 2011 by JJ Koczan

The place was unmarked from outside by everything but the hip-looking kids loitering in front of the restaurant next door. I’d never before been to The Meatlocker in Montclair, but I went to see Olde Growth (down from their home in Boston) and a couple other acts, arriving half an hour late for a 9PM start and finding I was still about two hours too early. They were just gonna wait for some more people to show up. I went to the bar by the train station. See you later.

A round of Smithwicks later, Brooklyn post-whathaveyou kids Yorba Linda started the show off. The Meatlocker, for all its “I’m a fire hazard basement” atmosphere, was actually run pretty efficiently. The dudes from Dutchguts, who I’d seen a couple weeks ago at Lit Lounge for a Precious Metal show with Rukut that I meant to review but never did (it was the week of Xmas), seemed to be involved with running the show, and they had it going festival style: one band plays on one stage while another sets up on another. By the time I got back from the bar, Yorba Linda was maybe halfway through their set, and the tiny room in which they played was so packed I could barely poke my head in. It’s okay, I could hear fine from the hall.

It is a basement. Graffiti on the walls, space heaters, cement. Kids by the dozens and me standing there wondering where all the sludge-heads came from and where the hell they were six years ago. As the more bearded of my two show-going compatriots accurately pointed out: Grade school. Six years ago, they were in grade school.

Even before I heard the Saint Vitus song that so concisely put it into words, I’ve always thought of myself as being born too late. In 1981. And I don’t say that so if you’re older than me you can say, “If you were born too late, what am I?” like it’s some fucking contest. I only mention it because the peculiar timing means I’m too young by a few years to be prime Generation X and I’m too old by a few years to be whatever the hell these kids are now. Music-wise, I skew older, but I’ll admit to being not a little jealous of the scene at The Meatlocker. I never had that. Even when I was younger and really into metal, I couldn’t go to a place in my town and see three or four local bands play. And now I’m right on the border of being the creepy older guy at the basement show. I missed my shot at that. I’m back and forth on the regret level.

I’d bought a disc from Olde Growth before leaving to go to the bar, in case I didn’t make it back, but there was one more band between Yorba Linda and their set. In the bigger of the two active rooms (it looked like the venue could have gotten a third going if they’d wanted), local-types The Sun the Moon the Stars lit up a Relapse-style new-school Southern metal pit the likes of which I’d not seen in a long time. Standing there and watching, I realized that four years ago these were all probably scenester post-hardcore kids. They kept the skinny jeans and started doping Dixie Witch riffs at double-speed, but it was energetic, and it was good, and the crowd loved it. I alternated between nodding, like I do, and shaking my head at the moshing heathens, also like I do.

Once they were set up back in the small room, Olde Growth got a couple songs off from their stunning self-titled disc soon to be reissued on MeteorCity before the bass amp blew out. When you’re a bass and drums duo, you kind of need that, so a break was taken while they got it operational. It took a minute or two, but they did, and you knew it was real doom because no one could mosh to it. A couple kids tried, but it was too slow, too thick. I like that.

It was made apparent when the bass went the second time that it was going to be a theme for the evening. I felt bad for the band, and doubly so since apparently Dutchguts — who were the night’s big draw, apparently — decided to start their own set in the big room right then. I don’t know whether they thought Olde Growth were finished or what, but by the time Olde Growth got to the point where they could play their last song, there were six people watching and I’d brought two of them with me. The other three, to their credit, were Yorba Linda. A skinny weirdo kid with a bad moustache popped in every now and again to do homoerotic spazz-freakouts dangerously close to the band. He’ll probably grow up to be a CEO.

While their equipment was working, Olde Growth were refreshingly good. A formidable rhythm section playing grooving doom is never unwelcome as far as I’m concerned, even if that’s all there is in the band. Drummer Ryan Berry hit hard and refused to end the set after the second time Stephen Loverme‘s bass blew, which was admirable, and Loverme in turn delivered in tonal weight on the three-part closing act, “Cry of the Nazgul.” I didn’t at all feel like a guitar was missing or would have added anything to their sound that Olde Growth wasn’t already delivering, and I hope it’s not the last time I see them play.

I caught about two minutes of Dutchguts‘ abrasively-stoned sludge assault on my way out the door and left off to the shortest ride back to the valley I’ve had from a show in recent memory. It’s unlikely I’ll be a regular at The Meatlocker, but for the purpose I needed it to serve, it was just right. Some shows call for a grimy basement, and I’m glad to know a place like this is out there, fostering a scene of which I’ll never be a part.

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