When I’d called Starland Ballroom earlier in the evening to ask what time Monster Magnet went on, and been told 9:30PM, that was a dirty fucking lie. I rolled in at 9PM thinking I’d catch the tail end of Seventh Void, and instead, A Pale Horse Named Death — fronted by Life of Agony drummer Sal Abruscato on vocals and one of the total three guitars — was just starting up. Thanks a lot, box office girl. True, I didn’t want to risk a Sunday night DWI and I had to get up for work this morning, but there was a bit of spite added to my lack of drinking, to be sure.

It wasn’t crowded, but there were more people than I thought would be there. The least crowded I’ve ever seen Starland was for Candlemass — which was shameful, how empty it was — but by no means was it packed even by the time Monster Magnet took the stage. For A Pale Horse Named Death, there was a decent amount of people who’d shown up early or because they’d heard it was the LOA drummer’s band and maybe they’d play “Through and Through” or something. They didn’t. Instead it was a mediocre but passable kind of doom rock, topped off with the charm of Abruscato inviting everyone in the crowd back to his house after the show for sausage and peppers, which I can only imagine would have been delicious.

Johnny Kelly, drummer for Type O Negative and Seventh Void — which also features Type O guitarist Kenny Hickey — played in A Pale Horse Named Death, pulling double duty for the evening. I think it was their first show, but they were clearly enjoying themselves, and having grown up as a heavy metal Jersey boy, I have trouble begrudging them the good time they looked to be having. However, someone should really point out to Abruscato that it was Death riding the pale horse, and that the horse itself was not Death. Five dudes in the band, you’d think someone would have been on that already.

The first time I saw Seventh Void was at The Trash Bar in Brooklyn, and they weren’t nearly that good at Starland, but they put on a more than respectable show anyway, playing songs off their Heaven is Gone full-length and what sounded like some new material, Hickey of course shouting a song (“Last Walk in the Light”) out to departed Type O Negative bassist/vocalist Peter Steele. That was bound to happen, and Hickey has stepped into the frontman role nicely in Seventh Void, which is encouraging to see. I doubt they’ll hit the commercial heights of his and Kelly‘s former band — the shitbag musical climate having something to do with that as well — but at least they’re still working.

You have to understand, back in 1993, at the tender age of 12, I used to call Pure Rock Q104.3 every single day and request Type O Negative‘s “Black No. 1,” and they, Life of Agony and Monster Magnet were the local bands that made good. As a kid just really figuring out what I liked, it was a big deal to see their videos on MTV. I think everyone has those bands. So it’s not that I didn’t enjoy this show, and it’s not that I didn’t know what I was going to get, I just have my attachments to these dudes’ work (the fauxhawk bassist and girlie-shirt second guitarist of Seventh Void notwithstanding) already set, and that’s not about to change.

It was the first time Monster Magnet played New Jersey in years, and it was clear the varying camps of supporters present at the Starland Ballroom. There was the “Space Lord” contingent, who maybe got into them from their 1998 mega-hit, the local loyalists, who’d have shown up even if they were playing the pits of hell (or worse, Asbury Park — zing!), and the stoner rock heads hoping for some older material in the set list. I count myself a bit in the latter two camps, and to the band’s credit, they did their best to feed everyone — opening with “Nod Scene” was a nice touch — and still manage to push the songs from their latest album, 2010’s Mastermind.

My heart sank when I snapped a picture of their setlist and read that “Spine of God” wasn’t on it. I’d like to think maybe it’s because new guitarist Garrett Sweeny (also of Riotgod), who was brought in to fill the rather sizable shoes vacated by Ed Mundell, doesn’t know it yet, but it could just as easily have been some other reason. Any way you slice it, it was a bummer. That had more or less been the one song that got me off the couch, but I guess you can’t have everything. Gotta make room for “Tractor” and “Crop Circle.” “Dinosaur Vacume” was pretty good though.

They played several songs from Mastermind, including starting the encore with single “Gods and Punks” and “Bored with Sorcery,” but the high point of the new material was unquestionably “Dig that Hole,” even if Dave Wyndorf‘s quoting of the n-word does rest gratingly on my liberal sensibilities. Wyndorf basically had the show resting on his shoulders and he delivered a solid set, Sweeny and Phil Caivano working well together on guitar, Jim Baglino and Bob Pantella doing the same on bass and drums. Everything was tight, everyone played well, but it was pretty clearly a show, and by that I mean if you were looking for a raw outpouring of emotion or some kind of beastly psychedelic trip, you were probably elsewhere.

I will say this, however: It’s time for Dave Wyndorf to grow a beard. And not a little one. A big, honking beard. And he needs to let it go gray. And he needs to never be seen again in public without a Hawkwind t-shirt and some gnarly jeans on, and he needs to cut his hair just short enough so it can still be messy, and it’s time for him to put on some huge-ass mirror sunglasses and take the stage like the Rick Rubin-looking biker space rock  god we all know he is underneath. He might even need a bandanna. I’m completely serious.

He’s obviously not doing the “check me out, I’m on pills” thing anymore, right? But the stage show hasn’t really changed, it’s just become less believable. Time to adapt. Time to unleash the weirdo within. He could hit the jam band circuit and have these fucking hipsters eating out of his hands in no time flat and and start bringing a crowd again in the US, but it’s a change that needs to be made. Every time he threw his hands in the air singing, I couldn’t help think to myself, “Dude, it is time to get strange on these motherfuckers.” Also, “Play ‘Spine of God!'”

I was splitsville before they closed with “Powertrip” — some of us do, in fact, have to work another day in our lives — and I caught an easy Sunday night back north on 287 to get to the valley around 1:00. Easily worth the trip, but not necessarily ideal. You know how it goes. At least I wasn’t asleep at the wheel like after the Pentagram show in Brooklyn.

I took some extra photos, which you can see after the jump.

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Man, was it crowded. I’m talking about “can’t breathe because if you do your gut’s gonna wind up pushing someone out of the way” crowded. “Can’t get a beer because of the swarm of humanity” crowded. “Too many fucking people in the room” crowded. The saving grace? Scumbags outnumbered hipsters at least four to one — a rarity in that borough these days. And, you know, good for the bands too, though I guess when you say “Members of Type O Negative” to a certain faction of Brooklyn headbangers, a crowded room is inevitable. No, they didn’t play “Black No. 1.”

Or maybe they did. To be honest, I had to leave before it was over. Staying was only going to lead to more drinking, and with more drinking, I wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere, so by the end of the night, it was get or be got. A question of DWI-less survival. Amazing how often these things come up.

Seventh Void. Yeah, it was fun to see Kenny Hickey and Johnny Kelly walking around the Trash Bar (as much as anyone could walk anywhere with so many people) like they weren’t two of the four dudes who put out October Rust, but really, I was there for The Resurrection Sorrow‘s CD release show for their first album, Hour of the Wolf. After the years I’ve seen frontman Alex Dementia (After Dark) and bassist Alex Coelho (Tides Within) put into the NYC underground, showing up seemed the least I could do.

Their set was what I’ve come to expect particularly from Dementia over time, and by that I mean insanely energetic. Guitarist Zak Gross and drummer Louie Gasparro filled out the lineup and fit in well with Coelho and the vocalist, who seemed to be doing laps between the front and rear of the stage for a goodly portion of their time, smiling wide and busting through tunes from the record. The crowd was into it, undulating and shifting in a way that might make a beery stomach seasick, but fortunately there were no incidents. At two intervals, I had to go into the front room for air. Have I mentioned it was crowded? Good. It was.

Ditto for Seventh Void. I remember reviewing their Heaven is Gone record a while back and digging it well enough, though I never actually bought the thing until the show, figuring I’d find it used somewhere along the way — that I didn’t is indicative of something, I suppose. They were loud, they rocked, everyone loved them. Not really much else to say about it than that, which is perhaps why I waited so long to pick up the album. They’re good, Brooklyn sure as hell likes them, and that’s that. I wasn’t blown away, but by then my mind was on the drive back to the valley anyway and thinking about how good the cool air would feel outside the venue. I’d give them another shot under different circumstances, to be sure.

And I hope to catch The Resurrection Sorrow again in the near future as well. Along with meeting the venerable Seldon Hunt and telling him how much I liked the artwork for the Ol’ Scratch record, their heavy riffs and thick chugging were an easy evening highlight. Better than the drive home through Manhattan, no contest.

The last time I saw long-running Brooklynites Type O Negative was at New Jersey‘s Starland Ballroom last year. They were headlining a Jagermeister show with a bunch of crappy bands opening; by the time they went on I had wished I?d stayed in my car to listen to the Yankees game. I sat in a chair on the side of the venue, up in the back by the bar, and watched the evening unfold, and when Type O finally took the stage, it looked like bassist/vocalist Peter Steele was just about on his last legs as far as the band was concerned. An on stage exchange between he and guitarist/vocalist Kenny Hickey concluded like this:

Kenny: ??Yeah but you got all the money.?
Peter: ?I put it all up my nose. I?ve snorted a mansion.?

Everyone laughed, but as the show wore on and Steele snarled and yelled unintelligible syllables instead of lyrics, it was clear from the faces on Hickey, keyboardist Josh Silver and drummer Johnny Kelly that the antics had worn thin. Of course, people have been counting Type O Negative out for a decade and the ?00s have produced some of the best songs of their career, but it wouldn?t surprise me at all if that show winds up being the last time I ever see them.

Whether or not that?s the case, Hickey and Kelly have formed Seventh Void with guitarist Matt Brown and bassist Hank Hell, and their first album, Heaven is Gone (released through Pantera drummer Vinnie Paul‘s Big Vin Records), is doom by default. That is, I doubt any of the members would call it a doom record, let alone stoner, but with a strong influence from the likes of Black Sabbath and Trouble, there?s really no getting around it. Even ?Descent,? which sounds more like Dirt-era Alice in Chains than anything else (at least as regards the music) is a doom song. That?s just the way it goes.

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