It was raining last night when I left the Knockdown Center. Pouring, actually. I had parked in the venue’s lot, which I may or may not be allowed to do, but no one said no, so there it is. Two cars were parked in tight formation behind me and on either side.

Got that picture? Looking at it from above, you had two cards that were like the top of a Y, but straight, and I was the bottom. I walked out behind two dudes and asked them for the massive favor of guiding me out of that spot, which they did, in the rain. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Completely above and beyond. They stood there in the rain and made sure I got out without hitting either of the other cars. If it was you, and you’re reading this, get in touch, because I can’t even tell you how much that meant to me. Nothing says community more than shit like that.

Slept an extra hour or so this morning, though my body still thinks 6:30 is sleeping in even though it was nearly 2AM by the time I went to bed. Coffee, shower, shave the nascent neckbeard, water, protein bar, try to feel human. As refreshing as it’s been to live music for a couple full days, I don’t feel out of line saying I’m exhausted and will appreciate the earlier finish tonight. I finished the macadamia butter yesterday, but ground up a bunch of hazelnuts and brought that in some tupperware for the car, had a few bites on the way in. Life-giving. No salt, no nothing. Just dry roasted nuts, smoother than not — enough to bring out the oil — but still with a bit of natural texture. Beautiful.

It’s summer today. Sun’s out, it’s hot, and I’m sitting outside at the Knockdown Center by the food trucks, kind of half in the shade. I managed yesterday to hydrate really well. Today that will be even more important. I woke up this morning with a sorer throat than I expected, gave myself two covid home tests, both decidedly negative. Nice to know for sure.

Doors in about 20 minutes, first band an hour after that.

Greenbeard

This might be the perfect weather for a Greenbeard show. Sun’s out, it’s warm and humid enough to sweat but not totally overbearing, and up from Austin, the four-piece were an immediate rager. Their new record has a good mix of melodic and harder-driving stuff, riff-led but branching out in the way of desert-style heavy and soul, and they brought some of that to what was a pretty quick set, but along the way had time to list “some of their favorite things” in “Don’t Get Too Desperate,” including queso in a list that would do “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” proud. The party vibe was immediate, really even before they went on, but when they hit it, there was no warmup, no give-it-a-minute-and-see-where-it-goes. Greenbeard play heavy rock and roll like it’s this crazy new thing they just made up and you need to hear it right now. And it felt good to recognize songs from their new album, Variant, even if they were considerably rawer live.

—

Left Lane Cruiser

Other than a few basic factoids like they’re signed to Alive Records and they’re from Indiana and having seen their name around a bunch, I knew very little going into Left Lane Cruiser’s set. I expected bluesy, given the chair on stage and the low drums. Washboard, slide guitar, dude rambling between songs most unintelligible. So yes, bluesy, in a hard-boogie kind of way. Fiery energy, light on frills but with a marked lean into cultural appropriation. Maybe just not my thing, but I felt like guitarist/vocalist Fredrick “Joe” Evans IV laid on the Bayou banter a little thick. Wabba dabba baggle clabby. They hit it though, and I’ll give respect to both the energy and the washboard, which was soon enough used to crash through cymbals on the drum kit. It was what it was, and maybe I’ve got race on my mind because of that terrorist shooting in Buffalo, but for as much as they burned, I was left kind of cold. It’s a packed weekend. They aren’t all going to resonate.

—

Mother Iron Horse

These guys jumped from Electric Valley Records to Ripple Music for last year’s ‘Under the Blood Moon,’ and very much compatriot to Leather Lung in my mind perhaps because I saw the two together in 2019 at the much-missed Ode to Doom in Manhattan. Maybe they’re friends. Maybe they hang out on weekends, I don’t know. Even their soundcheck drew people in though, and that crowd did not dissipate when the actual set started. The band plays both kind of music, sludge and rock, and they’re unrepentant in their aggression. They made it easy though to get down with that in the side room, which grew more and more crowded as the set went on, until, finally, the heat reminded me that I very much needed to refill my water bottle. They introduced themselves though by saying, “We’re Mother Iron Horse and a woman’s body is her own fucking business.” Both true, even if the latter was less immediately relevant to the set. I have to think Samuel Alito probably wouldn’t get it had he shown up for Desertfest, but fuck him anyway. Good to know where Mother Iron Horse stand though, and more heavy bands need to be unafraid to say shit like that.

—

Big Business

On the other hand, Big Business started their set by asking who was ready for a pizza party. Duh, everyone. A very West Coast foreshadow of Red Fang to come. I couldn’t tell you the last time I saw Big Business live, but it was probably a Melvins show, if that gives you a general idea. Jared and Coady — which I call them because they’re buds; we talk sometimes, and no that is not at all true — have their thing, and they’re veterans, and they played like it. I was dragging ass, admittedly, but I don’t think I’ve heard Big Business in the last decade and not felt like I need to listen to them more. Today is no different, and thinking of bands who came up around the same time in the early to mid ’00s, they’ve held up better than many and remained true to their ethic. You got an awesome bassist and an awesome drummer and if the central thesis is that’s all you need, well, there are probably a few two-guitar acts in this lineup who’d argue, but I wouldn’t, especially not after watching them play. Good band. Maybe a bit taken for granted, but they’ve only busted their ass for the last 20 years.

—

Stinking Lizaveta

The band I was most looking forward to today. Knew what I was getting, have seen them on multiple prior occasions, and was still astonished. They played as a four-piece with Paul Webb on second guitar, which let Yanni Papadopoulos shred and bounce and move wherever the very precise plan that’s in a language no one else quite understands called for him to go. They’re instrumental, but he, bassist Alexi Papadopoulos and drummer Cheshire Agusta all got on mic at some point between songs. Beyond that, the only vocals were through Yanni’s pickups and various woops and shouts while they played, and they were unreal. Radiating joy all the while, they proceeded to shred common concepts like what’s a song and which way is up and who’s rock and roll anyhow like they were so much fog from the smoke machine, each of them a genuine hero on their instrument and so tight together and so dynamic that each change brought new wonders. The word is unfuckwithable, and that is what they are. Not a single second was misspent, and they were so fucking good and their energy was so infectious that by the time they were done I wasn’t even tired anymore.

—

Dead Meadow

Feels wrong to think of Dead Meadow as the kings of mellow psych, if only because I doubt mellow psych is a monarchy. Whatever system of government the genre might be and whether you tag them as shoegaze or heavy psych or drift psych or anything else that might apply to a given languid measure, they’re masters of it. They eased their way into the proceedings with a jam and had some sound issues — bass cut out early, was fixed quickly — but they got into it with their trademark style, a kind of fascinated serenity set to groove. It’s still daylight, which feels weird somehow, and the weather remains gorgeous, but the crowd filed in once they got going and it was dead quiet in between the songs (after the applause, etc.) as those in front of the stage eagerly awaited the next dose of sweet fuzz that would emanate from it. Another act who’ve stood time’s test by understanding who they are and what they want to do in stage and in their songwriting. Mostly they want you to chill the hell out. And to aid in that cause, Dead Meadow are totally willing to close with “Sleepy Silver Door,” which is only right and proper. A band you always expect to be kind of a wreck based on how they sound but who are sneaky reliable. And oh, that jam…

—

High Reeper

If the phrase “fucking a” was a band, it’d be High Reeper. My first time seeing them live, and they were nastier than on their records but that’s certainly not a problem at this point in the weekend. A good kick in the ass is certainly justified. Crazy one two three to this part of the day, with Stinking Lizaveta, Dead Meadow and High Reeper, who play heavy rock but have a metal middle finger in the air just the same. Hot and humid in that room even with the door open and that suited High Reeper well, as one of my earplugs came partway out and the result was immediately painful. They’re of a whole cohort on Heavy Psych Sounds — see also: Duel, maybe Hippie Death Cult who signed around the same time — and you can hear their point of view taking shape in their sound. That is to say, it has taken shape and while “refine” isn’t the right word for something so brazen, after seeing them I’m left with no doubt they’ll continue to push themselves deeper into the emergent definition of their approach. If Greenbeard were the party — and they were — then High Reeper were the fight that breaks out after everyone is smashed.

—

Red Fang

Two and a half pandemic years later, you can still set your watch by Red Fang’s ability to kick ass. They launched their set with a barrage from across multiple albums and even when they “settled” into it they were explosive. Like Torche, High on Fire still to come, like Big Business earlier, this is an established act, professional, and they put on a professional show. They played “Number Thirteen,” which even with “Wires” and the requisite closer “Prehistoric Dog” would’ve been enough for me on its own, and the place went off. Of course it did. Not at all a surprise, but a definite reaffirmation of their place, which has always been on a stage. I don’t mind telling you that on an existential level, I am very much feeling the early finish tonight, but even so, having Red Fang on right before High on Fire on the main stage makes sense in a way the world hasn’t made sense in what feels like even longer than it actually has been. They’re a band that indoctrinated people into this sound in the first place, and as veterans, they reminded me at least of what a force they can be at their best.

—

Telekinetic Yeti

Oh my. You like tone? Telekinetic Yeti has some tone, and I’m fairly certain it was coming through three Orange full stacks. Statistically significant weight in those riffs. Obviously that’s the idea, and the Midwestern duo, who had an ugly split after their first record that seems to have abated with the addition of a new drummer, play it chunky style. They’re signed to Tee Pee, so there’s a New York connection, and they brought flood lights to counter the encroaching night. I’ve heard a lot of heavy shit this weekend — a lot — but beyond Torche’s bomb string, I’m not sure there’s much to stand up to Telekinetic Yeti in terms of sheer heft. Gonna need a forklift for those riffs, bro. New album in July will be one to dig into. If they managed to capture half of what they used to fill that side room for their headlining spot, it’ll be the kind of thing that’ll blow your speakers. “Stoned & Feathered,” man. Frickin’ “Abominable.” Goodness.

—

High on Fire

There is likely no hyperbole left that has not been said at some point in their more-than-20-year career. They are a juggernaut, they are marauders, they are both the unstoppable force and the immovable object. They are the single axe swing that takes your head off clean, first time. Speaking of first time, I’d yet to see them with Coady Willis on drums. I was always a Des Kensel fan. Dude had a style of play that was all his own. Willis, though, is a fucking monster. He not only handles the older parts but owns them, makes them his own, and executes the material with a vitality that pushes into aerobics. He and Jeff Matz as a rhythm section are well matched and crushing in kind. And what of Matt “For President” Pike? He is the master of ceremonies at the Red Wedding. High on Fire were so intense they were in a league completely of their own. Genre doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Their volume was consuming — loudest of the day, I think, which may be by design — and their ferocity unmatched. As extreme as Desertfest got with some of the more death metal-style stuff, I feel like High on Fire added extra blast to their attack tonight and it was every bit as glorious as one could hope. The perfect ending in that nothing could hope to follow it.

—

Other Random Observations:

– Good music makes life better. Great music makes life great.

– The Yankees have been away all weekend and I suspect that’s made the drives in from NJ easier. Fortunate.

– Lunar eclipse tonight. Feels about right.

– I think I might end everything I ever write about Dead Meadow from here on out with an ellipses.

– Counted no fewer than four Obelisk shirts today, including one on Yanni from Stinking Lizaveta, which was truly humbling. Sleeveless, no less.

– Thanks for reading.

I did get to watch some of that eclipse on my way home. Imagine that for a second. Incredible. More pics after the jump.

Read more »

When it comes to festival survival, the value of being able to take a shower in your own shower is not to be understated. I wanted to scrub myself with dish detergent just to cut through all that rock and roll greasiness. Alas, resisted the impulse. Still, your own water, soap, toothpaste, towel? These are luxuries not everyone gets to enjoy at an event like this, and which, most of the time, I don’t either.

The tradeoff is commuting to NYC four days in a row, but whatever. The ride today was easy enough, and the ride home last night was bearable even with traffic because the lower level of the GW was closed. There need to be at least three more Hudson River crossings from the Jersey side, though I think you’d have to level Weehawken to make that happen. Eminent domain.

Second day of the fest proper. I’m hanging in. Ground myself macadamia nut butter for the car ride, had a protein bar this morning. Saw a wonderful bunch of people yesterday and expect the same tonight; such are the comings and goings. A boost of energy from that. I was beat to crap by the time C.O.C. went on though, and managed about five decent hours of sleep once I got home, a little after 1AM. You get what you can get when you can get it. Showing up early today, I got to watch WarHorse soundcheck, and that was a win, as I expect much of the day will be. Doors are in an hour.

Green Druid

A fresh take on atmospheric sludge that, when they decide it’s time to slow it down, is god damned brutal. It’s easier to get a handle on where they’re coming from live than on record, big crash, big lurch, plenty of creeper vibes, but delivered with an element of rawest-style post-metal. Low end is ferocious with bass and two guitars and the vocals swapping between cleaner singing and harsher screams is arranged more creatively to suit the mood. Quick set, but they made a positive impression on an already-warm room and for a day that’s more about weight and extremity at least in parts than was yesterday, they seemed to be just right in terms of bridging worlds. If you need me I’ll be at the merch stand. So long as there’s no cartoon boobs, I’m all over it. [Actually, turned out I barely looked at the shirt before I bought it. It’s got a big ol’ bong on it. Probably won’t wear it much, but screw it, gave the band some money. Gas ain’t cheap.]

—

 

WarHorse

I like to think of WarHorse playing 20 years ago and clearing out rooms of people who just don’t get it. As they are now, they manage to be both devastatingly heavy and a good time. You can tell watching them that they’re having fun playing the songs, and while their sound remains utterly miserable and Jerry Orne’s gurgle is as guttural as ever, he and Terry Savastano are into it immediately while Mike Hubbard lays suitable waste behind them. For a reunion that started kind of casually, not a ton of hype around it, WarHorse have become a force. They were one before, obviously, but the appetite for such things has clearly changed in the last two-plus decades. I don’t know what label I’d put them on — Profound Lore? Season of Mist? — but they sound like a band too dead on in their game not to put out new material. I love watching wretched sounding metal played with a smile. Also with a grimace.

—

 

Somnuri

Nothing follows slow-brutal-fun like periodically-thrashz-fast-brutal-fun, and I’ll tell you, that thrash with a ‘z’ was a typo but I’m leaving it because fuck it, it works. Like Green Druid, they change it up arrangement-wise, but their take is more directly lethal, and they manage the balance between heavy tones and rip-face thrust well on stage. Justin Sherrell is stupid talented. They got a new bassist since the last time I saw them, but so it goes. Last summer’s Nefarious Wave full-length has held up, and frankly it deserves every airing it gets. I seem to recall they did a tour for it earlier this year, and they opened one of the YOB shows at the Saint Vitus Bar — not the one I saw, but still — their stuff is a rager unto itself and the latest incarnation of the regional penchant for creative confrontationalism that once birthed Hull. That’s good company to keep as far as I’m concerned. The fog machine was rolling and the riffs were bludgeoning breakdown-style and offset by ambient stretches like a seething just waiting to explode. Like me on the George Washington Bridge last night at 12:30. Their version of that feeling is better.

—

 

Cloakroom

Not a band I knew a ton about prior to their taking the stage, but they were a big swap-out in mood from Somnuri and the fact that they carried their shoegaze-informed take on heavy across so well and so immediately transformed the spirit of the big room after WarHorse is much to their credit. I’ll admit that I didn’t stay probably as long as I should have because I knew I wanted to be up front for Brume, but their roll was like a deep, fresh, cool breath and watching them I got shades of early Jesu and newer Elephant Tree both — neither of whom I imagine they sound like on record, but that’s where my brain went; I heard tell later that the guitarist is a big Weezer fan, which makes as much sense as anything — and there’s nothing but to dig about that. True to their style, they were pretty subdued on stage for the most part, but their combination of depth of tone, volume and melody made them immersive in a way that no one else up to this point has been. Five years from now, when I’m probably sweating everything they do like the Johnny Comelately poseur I am, I’ll probably brag about having seen them at Desertfest.

—

 

Brume

There have been and still are a lot of bands I want to see this weekend, but Brume were my most eagerly anticipated. They offer something that nobody else on this bill does in the same way, and the spaces they create with their material are incredible. I was right to look forward to it. I ended up taking pictures blah blah and then just stayed up front for all but about the last two minutes of the set, and goodness gracious I’m glad I did. The addition of Jackie Perez-Gratz on cello and a couple backing vocal spots puts them in another echelon. Put out another record already. [Edit: I talked to them later in the night and told them I wanted to hear it finished by Tuesday; they said they needed a deadline.] The stage energy was surreal and I did, I just planted myself up front and that was it. Every bit what I hoped their set would be and when I went over to the main room for the start of Inter Arma, I was annoyed with myself for not seeing the last 30 seconds or whatever it was of Brume. Yeah, I know how the song ends, but still. At least I can take comfort in knowing what’s in store for next time. Back to Rabbits I go until then.

—

 

Inter Arma

Like, six dudes? Yeah, I think six. Could’ve been 40, they were so intense. Fucking death metal. Inter Arma’s Sulphur English was so widely hailed it actually got annoying, but they brought that chug and death stomp to the stage with all due brutality and then just a little extra on top. First theremin of the weekend, which is always a good sighting, but the core of the band is the fact that they’re punishingly extreme and still manage to evoke some presence beyond that in their sound. I was more into it than I expected to be, especially coming off Brume, but there was no real question about their intention from the start, and it was a reminder that I actually enjoy death metal even if it’s not what I always write about. But even in that sphere they’re a legit creative band with less genre-strictness than many, and that’s a thing to be respected. I don’t reach for their stuff all the time, and I don’t think I’ve seen them since their first record, but they were killer.

—

 

Yatra

Yatra are a death metal band. They started out as kind of a deathly sludge act and have leaned decidedly into the more teeth-gnashing side of their approach. Their new album is their first for Prosthetic, which is a good fit for them label-wise since that’s where metal bands go who do more than one thing, and they played the title-track “Born Into Chaos.” I’ll confess I haven’t really dug into the record yet — I think the promo came in my email on Thursday? — but their last one wasn’t exactly subtle about the course they were setting and that’s just fine. They can play here, they can play Maryland Deathfest, they can play a kid’s backyard birthday party and get arrested, whatever. Let them be the death metal band who heavy rockers are into, or at least one of a very select few. It’s gotta be somebody, and the more direct route to aural decapitation suits them. Only surprised there was no mosh, even when the blastbeats started.

—

 

King Buffalo

What catharsis. I feel like I’ve been waiting the whole pandemic to see King Buffalo again. Admittedly, there have been opportunities in the last year as they’ve gotten back out, so it’s me, but to finally be in the same space as these songs. They opened with “Silverfish.” That’s the whole story. What more do you need than that? This trilogy of albums, The Burden of Restlessness, Acheron, and the third to come, are a fucking document of this era and if you don’t realize how fortunate you are that this band is doing this work right now, you’re missing it. You’re fucking up. It’s not too late. I was all set to go watch Silvertomb, who I hear do Type O Negative songs too and that’s great, but King Buffalo started to play “Orion” and I knew that if I moved I’d regret it no matter what. Then they break out “Loam?” Come on. Where in earth could you possibly need to be more than you need to be here? Huh? King Buffalo stand among the best and most forward thinking heavy psych bands of their generation and there’s nothing to make me think their best work isn’t ahead of them. Bands like this don’t happen all the time. This. Is. A. Special. Band. Tell your friends. Shit, tell your mom. She’ll be into it. You know how good it was? It was so good that I just stood there and enjoyed it.

—

 

Silvertomb

Somebody’s going home with covid tonight. Kenny Hickey. He called it a rite of passage. Maybe it is. He also called the crowd a bunch of potheads, which is fair considering the smell in the room right now. I was late to the start of the set, but managed to finagle my way around the side to catch what remained. Of course the relation to Type O Negative gives a nostalgic feel. Hearing Kenny Hickey sing brings back fond memories, but also in reminded of a time when no less than 80 percent of the metal bands in Brooklyn sounded like this, about 20 years ago. Getting to see a guy who was in no small part responsible for that — especially on the last two Type O records, both of which I continue to love — is probably enough of an appeal to earn Silvertomb the spot on the bill, honestly, but they also rocked. I whiffed completely on their last album, but had checked out the one before. Kenny teased an “Oh Darling” cover on acoustic guitar, which might’ve been fun, but no dice.

—

 

Torche

Impossible to watch them play and remove it from the context of Steve Brooks announcing on Thursday that he’s done in the band after their Fall tour with Meshuggah. Still don’t know if that means the band are done, but they played as trio, owing to Jon Nunez getting covid. So it goes. They did “Mentor,” and they did Floor’s “Iron Girl,” and they closed with “Tarpit Carnivore,” is if this is the last time I ever see them play, I can’t possibly feel like Torche owe me anything. For them, there was a pit. And yeah, that makes sense. I put myself in the crowd to watch, and there were some laughs, some fuckups, and so on. It was not the tightest Torche set I’ve ever witnessed — have I ever told you about the time I saw Torche and Black Cobra circa ’06 in a shoe museum in Los Angeles? yes? well anyway they rocked the shit out of that footwear and the lucky several individuals who happened to be in attendance — but it’s hard not to be in a good mood when they play regardless of the circumstance. Bomb string, man. Maybe they’ll get back together at some point in some incarnation. Isn’t that what bands do at this point? A six-week hiatus? That’d be fine. Not that they owe it or anything.

—

 

Baroness

I’ve never successfully managed to get on board with Baroness. I’ve tried — I promise, I have — but it just hasn’t happened. Even knowing this, and knowing there’s a good lot of modern heavy that has operated and continues to operate under their direct influence, I did my best to keep an open mind and try to catch the vibe. And I think I succeeded in that at least to some extent. They’re like Rush. You listen to Rush, and a whole lot of other bands across a bunch of different styles start to make sense. Baroness engage with a lot of different forms of rock and heavy music, metal, punk, prog and so on, and they’ve turned it into their own thing. I might not dig it, but I’m not going to rag on them either because what they’ve accomplished is significant even before you get to what they sound like, their massive, won-the-hard-way chemistry as players, their attention to presentation (a setlist with lighting instructions being just one example), or their stage presence. In many respects, they are the quintessential headliner. So, they headlined.

—

Other Random Observations:

– I don’t think I’d be a very good bartender, and for someone who’s spent so much of his life daydreaming about opening a venue, I’ve considered it a fair amount.

– On the other hand, someone drove through with a forklift before doors and that looked like good fun.

– Tried not to be starstruck when Jackie Perez-Gratz walked past me wheeling her cello in its case. Did it work? Maybe. Still gonna put on Grayceon’s All We Destroy on the way home.

– Can hear the Morbid Angel influence both in Yatra and Inter Arma. Ties them together in a way I wouldn’t have expected.

– Wow.

– Slower start to the day in terms of crowd, but it filled up. The party must’ve gone late last night.

– Again, folks be inebriated. Guess it’s Saturday. Get home safe.

– That macadamia nut butter may have saved my life.

More pics after the jump.

Read more »

Doors are in about half an hour. From the cursory reconnaissance I’ve done at this point, it’s easy to think the Knockdown Center could become a multi-year home for Desertfest New York. It’s big, which certainly helps, and there’s more space than is being used right now. The second stage room is tiny — the sense I get is that by the time Sasquatch go on that will be an issue, but no one’s here yet except for bands and I’ve got basically a warehouse room to myself to write this.

Got in last night at 1AM, woke up around 7AM, so not the worst night of sleep ever. I was destroyed last night by the end of that show. Utterly bludgeoned. But I made it home and I expect I’ll do the same tonight. Hydrate. Advil. Who wants to hear my litany of old man complaints about my plannar fasciitis in my right foot? Nobody, I know. But it’s there. A presence in my life.

Sasquatch are here, and Mothership, John Garcia and the Band of Gold are soundchecking. Geezer and Howling Giant and various others, some I know and some I don’t. It looks like a show. I still have no idea how I’ll cover it but I’ll write when I can while bouncing back and forth between stages and see as much as I can see. That’s pretty much always the plan anyway. With the support of the egg and cheese on chaffle sandwich The Patient Mrs. made me this morning and the bit of pecan butter I finished up on the ride in, I should buy myself a couple hours of go. After that, will need coffee.

But alas, one crisis at a time.

Leather Lung

They had some new songs and asked if there were sleazy motherfuckers in here or not. If not, I think the general humidity in this room should provide some before the night’s out. Leather Lung were one of the last bands I saw before lockdown, and their heavy swinging sludge-rock-plus-extreme-this-and-that remains as nasty as I remembered. They’ve filled the room and heads are nodding, more and more coming in. I can feel the rumbling of the low end in the concrete floor, so take from that what you will. The start of a fest like this is always nerve-racking. You have to find the groove of the place, the groove of the crowd, the groove of the timing and the groove of your own mindset. Fortunately, Leather Lung have plenty of groove to spare to aid that process, and their taking stage isn’t so much a wading into the river of riffs — the riffver??? — as a full-on crazy old-timey Southern church baptismal dunk. Who says you can’t have aggro songs about getting fucked up?

—

Black Tusk

I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this band before, but I’m also pretty sure it’s been at least a decade, if not longer. They’ve had their ups and some real-life tragedies along the way — like everybody — but they’re a pro-shop metal band and they play like it. First act on the big stage and similar to Leather Lung, The intent seems to have been to roll out with something meaner rather than a languid style. Hey man, mean works. They’re piping them outside to where the food trucks are through a separate P.A., and I guess if you want furious riffs with your souvlaki, that’s a go. I will abscond momentarily to the smaller room again for Howling Giant, whom I’ve only seen at Psycho Las Vegas, but whose shenanigans are already legion in my brain. I’ve been looking forward to it, as I’ve been looking forward to all of this. Black Tusk though, digging that ferocity. Pummeling. And very much in that way of bands who’ve spent forever touring that they could just plug in wherever and make that happen.

—

Howling Giant

These guys are a riot. A lot of bands can goof off and visibly have fun while playing their songs. Howling Giant can do that, play at a humbling level, and base it around killer material. They might be the only even vaguely prog-leaning heavy band out there who balance that against not taking themselves too seriously, and they absolutely refuse to leave their audience behind. Yeah, it was pretty god damned packed in that little room — they call it the Texas Stage, which is a little ironic considering the proportions — but my reason for walking out before Howling Giant were done had less to do ultimately with the heat and humidity and more with the sudden, very powerful urge I felt to buy a Howling Giant t-shirt. So I did that. Then, because there was no getting in whatsoever as the space was slammed with hoo-mans, I scootched over to the main stage again and chatted to some folks about this and that. Trying to remember to do that. There’s something like 1,400 people here this weekend. I feel like everybody’s everybody’s friend. That’s easier to think while Howling Giant play.

—

Mothership

Doesn’t matter who you think of from that infinite set of list ’70s heavy rock bands, Mothership do it better. Texas trio, trip on the ship, all that. Just a great time. I guess they’ve been off tour for a while — who hasn’t? — but they made the big stage feel small with just the three of them and a vitality that few in whichever microgenre can match, and that energy is infectious, particularly from Kelley Juett on guitar, who is the classic wildman on stage. I have seen them three times now, at Maryland Doom Fest, in Boston with C.O.C., and here, and in this big room and that small one, they filled the space with sound and a genuine feeling of celebrating rock and roll. Kyle Juett on bass and vocals is more subdued, and drummer Judge Smith sits back there like he’s about to start laughing his ass off any minute. And then he does. Even better. You gotta be doing something right when Orange Goblin are on this stage next and people are asking for one more song.

—

Geezer

Seems silly because I’ve seen them a bunch of times over their years — not much recently, duh — but I was really looking forward to Geezer’s set. It’s okay to like a band, right? I feel like I know their new album, Stoned Blues Machine, pretty well, since I was there when most of the basics were recorded and don’t tell anyone but I’m streaming it this coming Wednesday, but it was nothing but a pleasure to hear those songs come to life on stage. “Cold Black Heart,” “Atomic Moronic,” “Logan’s Run.” That’s a good-ass time. And they seemed in high spirits, no implication intended as to lucidity. Kind of a release show for them, since the record’s out next week, but I still haven’t seen any merch from them around. So it goes. The smaller room — I’ve heard a few complaints; it is what it is; be earlier — has a kind of raised floor along stage left and I went up there for a bit and watched. They’re not quite hometown heroes in NYC, but they draw a good crowd and deliver to them. That made it a little extra satisfying to watch them kill as they did.

—

Orange Goblin

Orange Goblin. I mean, what do you say about a band like that? This was my first time seeing them with Harry Armstrong — apparently also his first time in New York, as was declared from the stage — but come on, was there any way it was going to be anything less than stellar? My real question is whether Ben Ward will come out for a guest spot with John Garcia later. But I’ve been seeing this band live for well over a decade and a half and I’ve not once been underwhelmed. I’ve seen them here, in London, elsewhere, and all they do is rock and roll. I feel like there are so many other bands I don’t need to see because I’ve seen Orange Goblin, and that’s not a slag on anybody, but god damn. You never know when they’re not gonna come back (to take the living), so I feel like every set should be treasured, and this one certainly will be. That sounds corny as shit, but I mean it. I read they’ve got new material in the works too. How hard will they tour? How feasible is it? I don’t think it’s a question of how much they have in the tank, because watching them play, the answer is plenty, but with all they’ve done, the influence they’ve had, they still get on stage and bring it like a hungry band. They’re one of a kind, much to the chagrin of the many pretenders out there.

—

Holy Death Trio

It certainly did get dark in that little room. And I guess not so much with turning lights on. Okay, you make do. Holy Death Trio came up from Texas to play this show, and they played like a next-generation act, like they’ve got it together, have a plan when they go on stage and have put in the work to make their presentation as engaging as possible. One assumes it would’ve been even more so with lights on, but you know, sometimes it can be like a secret. Hey this band is super-cool but shh. Their record came out through Ripple last year in the label’s Blasko-curated splurge and if they’re going to tour for real life, it seems like they’re the kind of act where people are going to ask if you’ve seen them yet. I have now, and I’ll hope to again. They’ve got a party atmosphere — if you want to keep it to Austin bands, they’re like a less frenetic Amplified Heat — but they’re all the more exciting since they seem to be finding and still developing their approach. And make no mistake, asses were kicked. All I’m saying is that if they keep on the way they’re going, more will be in the years to come.

—

John Garcia and the Band of Gold

A good mix of John Garcia solo stuff and the requisite Kyuss tunes. “July” from Slo Burn. How could you fit everything from such a career? He said from the stage that they hadn’t done anything in two and a half years. Me neither, dude, one YOB show and a couple outdoor Sun Voyager gigs notwithstanding. Perhaps the weekend’s most brutal conflict is John Garcia on the same time as Sasquatch. That’s a hard one to live through, though not like there’s a wrong answer, except leaving. “Whitewater” felt duly like a watershed moment, the band by then totally warmed up and killing it. I guess you’d say Garcia’s stage presence is quiet. He has his moves but doesn’t go nuts or anything. He thanked the crowd and the Desertfest crew though respectfully and even when Sasquatch went on in the smaller room it was packed. Less all-charge than Orange Goblin, because that’s the music they play, but they tore up that jam in “Whitewater” and earned that whole Band of Gold moniker, even before they kicked into an uptempo take on “Green Machine” to close out. I saw Vista Chino play that song. That was cool too. This is a drunk crowd. Maybe I’m not the only one for whom this is pandemic-breakout, which inevitably is more fun than an outbreak, also happening but let’s not talk about it.

—

Sasquatch

I know it’s been a long day because I had to look up whether Sasquatch’s new album, Fever Fantasy, had been announced yet and I’m the one who wrote the announcement. You want rock and roll? There it is. That band. Keith Gibbs, Jason Casanova, Craig Riggs. Holy shit. They are the American heavy rock ideal, unstoppable in their momentum until they pull the rug out from under and lock in another killer groove. They opened with “Just Couldn’t Stand the Weather.” I fucking love “Just Couldn’t Stand the Weather!” How did they know? And I kind of feel like people holding up their cellphone flashlights when the band asked for more light on the stage was as close as the universe was going to come to doing me personal favors tonight, beyond simply being here. But Sasquatch have already been back on tour and they’ve got more in the works as I understand it, but god damn, just go see them. Just go. How many bands pass 20 years since they started and still deliver like that? There are a couple on the bill tonight, actually, but outside this building it’s far rarer. It was packed in the room 15 minutes before they went on, and the lights were low again, but whatever, it’s fucking Sasquatch. Bullshit need not apply.

—

Corrosion of Conformity

They went on 15 minutes late, which, you know, so it goes when there’s no one else playing behind you. Plenty of Judas Priest to listen to in the meantime. By the time they were through the jammmy take on “Paranoid Opioid” that opened the set, Mike Dean starting it off quiet on bass — fucking rad — time didn’t matter. Plenty of the standards in the set, including “Vote with a Bullet,” which I wondered if they’d break out (Pepper Keenan said something about it on stage but I didn’t catch what), but I guess it’s been a year since there was an insurrection on the Capitol Hill, so, fair game. Highlight for me might’ve been “Born Again for the Last Time,” which will be stuck in my head forever and that’s just fine, but there was plenty of competition there, and I was just really, really happy to see them again. I wonder if they’ll do another record. That’d be interesting. They probably don’t need to yet, really — I don’t think there was anything from the latest album in the set — but I’d be curious what they came up with after a few quiet years and the road time they put in before and apparently after the covid era, such as it is. Bottom line though is new album or not, I’ve been listening to this band since before I hit puberty and every chance I get to watch them play I’m happy to do it. More so as time goes on.

—

Other Random Observations:

– Dude in the Ween shirt wins shirts. In general there’s a bit of deviance from the black-shirt-blue-jeans norm. I support that.

– I have good friends here, new and old. It’s important to remember that. I have been and continue to be pretty isolated in regular life.

– Lot of couples attending.

– Knockdown Center could have four stages going, easy, and that’s before you put anything outside other than the food trucks.

– I have hugged and been hugged more this evening than in the last two and a half years.

– I’m still not 100 percent sure if I’m in Brooklyn or Queens. Life, huh?

– Still feels a little weird being out, but I brought a mask and I haven’t felt compelled to wear it as yet, so that’s… progress?

– Thanks for reading.

More pics after the jump.

Read more »

Is it real? Doesn’t feel yet like it could be. I was at Desertfest New York in 2019, and it was a blast while obviously shooting as well to be a proof of concept in terms of whether or not a DF-branded thing could work here. It was also 10 lifetimes ago.

And before we go any further, I propose the official game of Desertfest NYC 2022 is that, whoever feels so clever as to point out that Brooklyn is indeed not a desert ecosystem gets punched in the arm. “Ah you said it!” Punch. Doesn’t have to be a hard punch.

This is the pre-show, which makes the coffee I pounded at the shop down the way as the pre-pre-show. It’s been the better part of three years since I was last at a festival like this, and with coordination by the powers that be at Desertfests London and Berlin, this second DFNY has significantly upped the scale from its lone predecessor. Friday, Saturday and Sunday, packed. Tonight is “just” four bands. An easing in, if you will.

I don’t have a coverage plan for the next few days. I’m going to write when I can, take pictures when I can, do my best to stay hydrated and unconcerned about shit like catching the plague or where to stand so I don’t feel like an asshole. That’s gonna be a big one in terms of difficulty.

But I got to the Vitus Bar early, which is fine because I’d rather sit in a coffee shop than traffic, and apart from needing to use the restroom [I did avail myself of the W.C., labeled as such], I was reasonably comfortable if restless. I took a Xanax before I left the house but am otherwise lucid. I made and brought pecan butter to eat in the car, because that’s who I am. And I have to feed the meter sometime between 5 and 5:30 so I don’t blow it on parking. All of this felt very urgent, because I was nervous about the show.

—

Druids

Their new album is about to come out on Pelagic. They have it for sale in the back, reportedly, which I may have to investigate for myself. The Des Moines trio were supposed to be touring with Planet of Zeus, but so it goes. They did well in the opening spot, had a good and celebratory crowd on their side from the start. Some sludge, some more modern progressive heavy, and they carried it across well in a short set. I could tell you how long it’s been since I’ve seen a band for the first time, but frankly it’s embarrassing. Druids made it easy to remember why I enjoy that kind of thing. Circumstances permitting, they should tour as much as possible. And for having had their tour essentially pulled out from under their feet, they were putting in admirable work on stage and making the most of what they had. For being unfamiliar, I was impressed by their range.

—

Freedom Hawk

Freedom Hawk are one of at least two bands on this bill about to put out their best album to-date. They played two new songs in “Take All You Can” and “” and their older stuff was a joy to revisit. Doesn’t seem like that long ago since the last time I saw them here, but turns out it’s been a few years. Live there’s always extra heart in their stuff and the fun they’re having comes across more when you can see them having it, even though Mark Cave’s bass had to be turned down because it was “insane.” And so it was. While I’m thinking of the rhythm section, watching the drums during “Blood Red Sky,” which might need to be moved to a set closer position, have me a whole new appreciation for the snare work in that song and elsewhere throughout Freedom Hawk’s oeuvre. Mostly they were a blast though, whatever you were paying attention to, and they must certainly found welcome in the increasingly packed out room.

—

Valley of the Sun

I didn’t drive 11 hours to be here tonight, but Valley of the Sun did, and I don’t know about for them, but it was certainly worth the trip for me. It’s been a decade easy since I last saw them and they too are about to put out the best record they’ve ever made. They had the songs in their set to prove it. “The Chariot,” “Devil I’ve Become.” And I won’t say a bad word, ever, about “Riding the Dunes,” but with so much good new stuff around it, it was just one of a number of highlights even if the last one. They tore it up, and Ryan Ferrier has assembled a lineup for the band that feels built for the stage. They were a joy enough that my neck will be sore tomorrow and I feel lucky to have seen them right now. I asked immediately when they were going on tour and the answer was soon. I’ll be keeping an eye out for that announcement, and if you’re reading this sentence, you should too. What a night this is.

—

The Atomic Bitchwax

Fuck, I think I got motion sickness from The Atomic Bitchwax’s riffs. No, really. From the stage, Chris Kosnik, “You wanna hear a fast one or a slow one? Trick question, they’re all fast ones.” I mean, it’s been years since I’ve seen just about anybody, but I feel like it’s even more too long when it comes to these guys. To wit, this is my first time since Garrett Sweeny joined on guitar, and it just works. I’ve seen him play with Monster Magnet — same goes for all of them, I guess — but this band is all about letting loose and ripping it up. And especially in a style where so much is about slow groove and nodding out, here come the Bitchwax just daring you, the other bands they’re playing with on any given night and humanity in general to keep up if you, they, all can. As a band, their oneupsmanship is unreal. It is right that they are headlining. And they did “Kiss the Sun,” and “Birth to the Earth” and “Hope You Die,” and oh, the years since the last time I saw them just melted. T-t-t-total. Freedom. To think a few hours ago I was sitting at the bar reading a book and the place was dead. Now this. How is it not magic? I guess it is. I think I’m gonna throw up though. Still dizzy. Might die. But I’ll die with “So Come On” stuck in my head, so mark that a win.

—

More pics after the jump if you’re up for it.

Read more »

God damn, Desertfest.

Importing Stoned Jesus, Green Lung, Planet of Zeus and Orange Goblin (as much as the latter count as an import; they’ve certainly been here before) to play alongside Baroness, High on Fire and Monster Magnet, Red Fang, C.O.C. and Torche?

That’s a big frickin’ deal.

If Desertfest NYC 2019 was a testing of waters to see if such a think could succeed and be feasible over a longer term, Desertfest NYC 2022 is an immediate play to become the preeminent heavy festival on the Eastern Seaboard of the US. To be a genuine Desertfest, in other words, of no less scale than Berlin, London, or Belgium. I’m glad to see Sasquatch and Fatso Jetson will be coming from the West Coast — I’d expect Fatso Jetson will be touring with Planet of Zeus, as that was supposed to happen in the long-long ago — and Somnuri are sure to represent NYC well and Stinking Lizaveta and High Reeper likewise for Philly, while The Atomic Bitchwax headlining the Vitus Bar pre-show warms my Garden Stater heart no end.

There are more to be announced (I have a couple picks of my own, not that anyone asked), but already this is the best heavy fest lineup for New York City in recent memory. It will be something special to behold. I hope there’s a photo pit at the Knockdown Center.

Behold Arik Roper‘s gorgeous poster art below, followed by the announcement:

Desertfest New York announces Baroness, High on Fire, Monster Magnet, Red Fang + more for second edition in 2022

TICKETS ON SALE NOW VIA WWW.DESERTFESTNEWYORK.COM

Europe’s leading stoner rock collective Desertfest returns to New York in 2022.

Taking place in the unique arts space of the Knockdown Center from May 13th – May 15th, with an exclusive pre-party at Saint Vitus Bar on May 12th. Desertfest are firmly planting their feet back into New York’s underbelly with a mammoth line-up celebrating the very best of heavy music.

Welcoming home-grown talent such as BARONESS, MONSTER MAGNET, CORROSION OF CONFORMITY & TORCHE alongside acts from across the pond like Ukraine’s STONED JESUS, Greek groovers PLANET OF ZEUS & a debut US performance for English doom maestros GREEN LUNG, Desertfest NYC are pushing their second edition to new levels.

Saint Vitus kicks off proceedings as THE ATOMIC BITCHWAX, PLANET OF ZEUS, FATSO JETSON & DRUID warm up the engine for the weekend ahead. Followed by 3 monumental days as Knockdown Center hosts the likes of Grammy-award winning trio HIGH ON FIRE, British heavy metal icons ORANGE GOBLIN, a rock’n’roll bacchanal from RED FANG, insanity from INTER ARMA and much, much more.

4-day passes (includes access to Saint Vitus pre-party on Thursday 12th May) & 3-day passes (Knockdown Center only) are on sale now via the following link – https://desertfest.eventbrite.com

With more to be announced, including day splits, Desertfest are most certainly back with a bang. We highly recommend getting your tickets ASAP, don’t say we didn’t warn you…

Full Line-Up
Knockdown Center May 13th – May 15th 2022
Baroness | High on Fire | Monster Magnet | Red Fang | Corrosion of Conformity | Torche | Orange Goblin | Dead Meadow | Inter Arma | Big Business | Green Lung | Stoned Jesus | Left Lane Cruiser | Sasquatch | Silvertomb | Telekentic Yeti | Stinking Lizaveta | High Reeper | Holy Death Trio | Yatra | Somnuri | Leather Lung

Saint Vitus Bar May 12th 2022
The Atomic Bitchwax | Planet of Zeus | Fatso Jetson | Druids

Ticket link – https://desertfest.eventbrite.com

https://facebook.com/Desertfestnyc/
https://www.instagram.com/desertfest_nyc/
http://www.desertfestnewyork.com