Before Show

Truckfighters soundchecking outside with “Desert Cruiser.” There’s a concrete rise in back of the Knockdown Center, up to a train platform presumably leftover from when whatever what manufactured here, and last year it was open for people to go up like a balcony and watch the bands on the outside stage. It would be hot up there today with the sun beating down, but it doesn’t matter since it’s closed off. So it goes.

Today is the last day of Desertfest New York 2024, and it brings that third, outside stage, where yesterday alternated between the two in the building itself. There are picnic tables out here, corners you can put yourself in if you want, and I appreciate that kind of thing, especially on a day with a crunch of bands. The most brutal schedule conflict? High Desert Queen playing in the Texas room during Truckfighters. Hard choices will be made. I don’t know that I’ll get to take pictures of both, but I plan to watch at least part of each set since it’s not like you have to go down the block to see one or the other. We’ll see how it goes.

Got back and crashed out last night around 1AM. It’s the last day here, so of course one’s head drifts to thoughts of returning to real life after this relatively brief but certainly welcome sidestep. I started packing that glut of stuff I brought with me. I was thinking of driving home tonight, maybe splitting out during Russian Circles, throwing my bags in the car and letting out for Jersey, but I don’t actually expect to be in any shape to do such a thing by then, and Saturday night traffic in New York is like Thursday afternoon. By the time I got home, any favors I’d have done myself by leaving early would have evaporated. That’s me, talking myself out of a thing.

Doors are in four minutes, reportedly. People were waiting out in the sun when I got here. I don’t have an AAA pass or anything because I’ve never been cool, ever, but I do like getting j and sitting a bit before the show starts, writing and whatever else. Calm before the storm? Maybe. Some quiet for the subsequent volume to contrast once the day actually starts. Light tension in the air. You know how it goes.

Like this:

Kadabra

There’s a lot to look forward to today, front to back, but Kadabra must definitely aren’t to be left out of that consideration. The Spokane, Washington-based trio played Desertfest London earlier this year as well and are a better band than the general underground consensus seems to know, though they drew a decent crowd for being the first band on, so maybe I’m wrong on the hype level. Fine. They’re here supporting their 2023 album, Umbra (discussed here, review here), and I very clearly was not the only one who thought to get to Knockdown Center early. The groove and sinister vibe came quick like the haze from the fog machine, only not so quickly breezed away. “The Serpent” and “The Devil” from the latest album featured, and if you wanted to call either a highlight, I won’t fight you. The sound came through clear enough to do justice to the vocal melodies, and their swing was the start today needed.

Gozu

I don’t know how long it’s been and I don’t feel like looking, but it’s too long, in any case. Soul and hard-hitting groove, fury (of the markedly impatient) and craft underneath it all. And every now and again, Gaff might do a softshoe. Well earned. I was watching them play and trying to write, but couldn’t get out of my head, and in what might be the best decision I make today, I stopped trying to write. I put my phone in my pocket and let Gozu bowl me over with their particularly classy roll. It was the right choice, and after half a decade — I felt guilty and looked; last time I saw Gozu was before the pandemic; too long — they both played songs I’d never heard live before and, as of course they would, nailed new material and old. Never a doubt in my mind. Honestly, I was just happy to see them, let alone see them kill it. Not going to pretend to be the impartial observer. I missed Gozu.

Spaceslug

You know that feeling when you’ve dug a band for a while and you see them live for the first time and you dig it and it’s a relief? Seeing Spaceslug for the first time was like that for me. Because it was that, exactly. It was also good to finally see for myself how the live show and the sound of their albums — a consistently evolving thing, definitely on a path — intertwine in terms of presenting the material. The division of duties on vocals and the arrangements have gotten more complex with time, and while you might put on their 2016 debut, Lemanis (discussed here), and 2024’s Out of Water (review here) in succession and know it’s the same band, their breath changes what they mean, and on stage, they can lean into different sides at different times, dynamic without being hurried about it. I don’t know that I’d ever get to see Spaceslug if this wasn’t happening — though I’d certainly make it happen if I could — so thank you Desertfest, and thanks Spaceslug for making the trip and for the show.

Hippie Death Cult

Hippie Death Cult and Kadabra have been out on a tour since last week and were in Rhode Island last night. Meanwhile, Boston got a dose of High Desert Queen, Gozu and Dozer. It’s a good weekend to be on the Eastern Seaboard. Last time I saw the band was at Psycho in 2022 (review here), and that was before basisst Laura Phillips took over on lead vocals. Last Fall brought the release of their first album with Harry Silvers on drums and Phillips on vocals, and with a foundation in Eddie Brnabic’s fluid riffing, they were a Hippie Death Cult able to bring more of an aggressive roll to bear with intermittent harsher vocals; something of a sludgier potential that may or may not be explored over time as they continue to grow. But they were rad when they had Ben Jackson singing and they’re rad now. Hypnotic enough that I forgot to be anxious about missing the start of Eagle Twin, which was nice for a couple minutes to get out of my own head. Twice today. I’m coming dangerously close to letting myself enjoy a thing.

Eagle Twin

Doom with antlers, but not literally, because that also exists. They’re not a band who comes to the East Coast every day, or year, and though I imagine a specific ideal is seeing Eagle Twin out in the woods someplace, they brought a more than solid main stage crowd. I was thinking it hadn’t been that long since I saw them but it turns out it was six years ago at Høstsabbat (review here), where they made a specifically bluesy impression. Go figure. Their sound feels no less born of bigger, more ancient forests than one finds here, but on a level even just of performance and the aforementioned tone, they brought it. There’s a lot to dig about them, I’m just out of metaphors. I took a peak in the Texas stage at Trace Amount, then found a spot at a table with some friends and planted there until a bit before Dozer went on. Eagle Twin were cool, but until I looked just a bit ago I thought I’d seen them in the last few years, and I don’t get a lot of nice, human conversation with people I like in my day-to-day.

Dozer

Powerhouse set, and Dozer’s first time in the States in at least two decades. The urgency of last year’s Drifting Through the Endless Void (review here) speaks for itself, and I’m not here to sell records anyway. But I’m lucky enough that this is my third Dozer show in the last three years after seeing them on what was then a one-off at Desertfest London 2013 (review here), and as classic as their early work is, they’re vital, moving forward in sound from where they left off after 2008’s Beyond Colossal (featured here), coming back after a stretch of time that in hindsight they made short. Propulsive unto themselves in the sphere of heavy rock, people clapping along to Sebastian Olsson’s drums. Their show with High Desert Queen and Gozu in Boston last night precedes them much as it did Gozu, put there were clearly people in the crowd who’ve never seen Dozer before, one can only hope they come back again. Bonus, the train platform was open, so I got to watch from there for a minute too. Enough to witness a light mosh taking shape for the last song.

Green Lung

I wouldn’t hazard to predict the future, but Green Lung look like they’re in it for the long haul. Stage presence enough that I don’t feel ridiculous imagining them playing festivals like this 20 years from now. They could probably play “Mountain Throne” then too. Their organic cultistry, nature-worship and on-stage harmonies were on point, and though I knew all of that would be the case going into the set, it was exciting to see them play songs from last Fall’s This Heathen Land (review here) and take advantage of the full breadth of their sound and a reach that only seems to be expanding. Part of the appeal is that they’re over the top, and they are, but there’s so much raw talent on stage when they play, and they’re clearly learning how to wield it. This is their first US tour. I have a hard time imagining it will be their last. “Maxine (Witch Queen),” “Old Gods,” “Hunters in the Sky,” “Graveyard Sun.” Fucking “Let the Devil In.” Everything they played sounded like it could’ve been on a greatest hits collection. Hooks and performance. They made it a show. It was a spectacle, classic metal in many ways, some of them theatrical, but brought to life with its own take on both conceptual and stylistic traditions.

Truckfighters

This was my moment to both have and eat cake. Truckfighters went on five whole minutes before High Desert Queen. The Ruins (outside) stage is about a minute’s walk from the Texas room, so I watched the start of Truckfighters and then went back and forth for the duration. Acid King was getting started soon enough as well, so it’s probably the most ‘go’ moment of the fest, at least for me, but those are three different parties you want to be at. Truckfighters aren’t the only band this weekend whose reputation precedes them, and they had the biggest crowd of the night outside — also at some point it became night; when may or may not be clear in the photos — and another mosh. Surprising amount of mish this year. It’s like New York is extra antsy since the Saint Vitus Bar closed, which is reasonable, frankly. I got to see Truckfighters do “The Chairman,” and that was justification enough for the back and forth, a mellower vibe in the buildup to the payoff, as opposed to some of their stuff, which is more pure shove and roll. A reputation well and continually earned. Weren’t they recording an album? Or is that just me hoping for a thing?

High Desert Queen

Just a blast of a band. For a good time, call. Up from Austin, they’re on the already noted tour with Dozer and Gozu, playing in support of this Spring’s Palm Reader (review here), their second album and first for Magnetic Eye. Those songs rightly featured heavily in the set, which started 30 seconds after I walked into the Texas room like it was on cue. Tight, heavy groove, nothing too fancy stylistically — I always hear some C.O.C. in their sound, one way or the other, and that was true tonight, but not the end of the story as regards their sound either. You can hear the influence of pre- and turn of the century heavy — if I held up Dozer and Acid King as examples, I’m not discounting the relevance of either’s present work in doing that; I’m just thinking of when they got going — and you can tell watching them that they’re into it. Not everybody on stage is dancing around like vocalist Ryan Garney might be to a given riff from guitarist Rusty Miller, but he, bassist Morgan Miller and drummer Phil Hook were right there too in the moment on stage. It was great to see, and even against Truckfighters on the bill, the room filled up.

Acid King

Fair to say Acid King remain at a crucial moment about a year and a half out from Beyond Vision (review here), which was my pick for album of the year last December — not just me, they topped the year-end poll as well. I’m not worried they’re about to immediately do another record right away — you never know, but Beyond Vision was eight years after 2015’s Middle of Nowhere Center of Everywhere (discussed here, review here), and that was down from 10. But the reason I’m saying see Acid King now isn’t just that Lori S. is a hero and bassist/synthesist Bryce Shelton and drummer Jason Willer are so dead on in the nod, but it’s the songs they’re playing from Beyond Vision. The material itself. “Mind’s Eye” and “Destination Psych.” Closing with that insane build from “Color Trails?” Come on. Any chance you’re afforded, see this band.

Russian Circles

Chicago instrumentalist forerunners Russian Circles came out with a burst, hitting hard in the spirit of 2022’s Gnosis (review here) and building outward from there in multiple directions. Post-hardcore is part of it, but so is psychedelic rock and the occasional time-to-crush bit of riffery, and they’ve found a way to keep structured songs from falling into a verse/chorus trap. They genuinely sound like a band who listen to more kinds of music than the kind they make, amd benefit from it in being able not just to pay loud or quiet, but evoke a different feel from song to song. A lot of anything would have been a comedown after Acid King, but Russian Circles in the headlining spot had a level of volume that was their own as much as their sound, and as it had been a while, I was glad to watch them, or at least listen in a spot where the strobe wasn’t quite so fast. Even as Desertfest draws down, it delivers. There were even more bubbles.

—

It was good to see old friends, new friends, and Desertfest friends, since as the years have gone on I’ve found there are people I see here and that’s it. I take that as a good sign — though I suspect I’d see more people if I went out more — since it means people are coming back, which is the ideal. Desertfest delivered a show to New York a show and a lineup worthy of the Desertfest brand, and I hope it continues to bring European acts over each year as it did in 2024 with Dozer, Spaceslug, Green Lung, Domkraft, Truckfighters, Belzebong, even Amenra. They’ve been working to build a sense of community since the inception, and between killer shows and returning patrons, I’d say they’re on their way.

A note about the Texas stage today before I leave off. I only got (some) photos of High Desert Queen, but I did get to pop in for some of Beinn and Trace Amount as well. I’d never seen either, so at least a few songs. Beinn were a pleasant surprise, kind of a heavy-ended post-hardcore thing, I heard some noise rock and some Cave In, and they went for it on stage, as did Brooklyn industrialist Trace Amount, whose studio work I’ve dug in a kind of machine-misanthropic vibe. On stage, it’s just Brandon Gallagher, and he was all-in, pacing back and forth and throwing himself around, screaming and in the crowd headbanging. It was by no means packed, but I respect the one-man show for sure. Not easy to keep up energy when you’re by yourself. Ask a standup comedian. Tower headlined the room and they continue to make a party out of trad metal in a way that is only endearing.

Thank you to Reece, Sarika, and the Desertfest crew. Thank you to Tim Bugbee, Dante Torrieri, the Great Tomoko, and Sean in the photo pit, and I’m sorry for taking up space. Thanks to everybody who said hi or something nice about the site — or both — and I can’t tell you how warm and welcoming it felt to be in a place where I felt like what I do matters to someone, even just a little bit. Thank you. Thank you for reading. And thanks, as always and most of all, to The Patient Mrs., though whom all things are possible.

More pics after the jump. And I’m mostly taking tomorrow (Monday) off to catch up on writing. Back Tuesday. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take a 90-minute shower.

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Before Show

Doors aren’t for a while yet, and I’m sitting out the back of the Knockdown Center as far out of the way as I can put myself and still be here. It’s good to be here. I crashed hard after the pre-show last night, and it wasn’t painful when the alarm went off at 8AM, unless of course you count the various old-rocker ailments that hit me alongside consciousness. There’s a reason I bring ibuprofen to these things.

I’m staying with Tim Bugbee — a photographer and one of those people who proves you can be both insanely talented and kind — in an AirBNB down the way, and it was about five minutes by car from a to b. Coming into town, I did not travel light. Big suitcase, laptop bag, camera bag; I felt as though all my belongings were compressed to a maximum extent coming back from Budapest last month. This is hardly the same kind of trip, but I wanted to spread out a little. I brought a pack of seltzer, some leftover chicken. I can be comfortable while doing a thing. It’s allowed. I stopped short of bringing a coffee pot, but should have. I’m not usually much for Keurigs, but it was functional. My grinds can come home with me.

This was basically the mellow morning before two days of go. Fine. I sat in my car for an hour and a half from 11:30AM-1:00PM so it didn’t get ticketed or towed because alternate side parking — it didn’t — and hung around in air conditioning because it’s hot in the sun. The whole weekend is supposed to be gorgeous weather, warm and sunny, but the light is Fall. Can’t climate change the Earth’s orbit, I guess. Angles of the light and all that.

Seemingly random, but sitting off to the side in the main venue space, I just saw Amy Tung Barrysmith from Year of the Cobra checking bass and vocals with Amenra. It was a surprise; wouldn’t have been if I kept up with the band’s social media. No drama. Their bassist couldn’t make the trip, so she’s filling in. They announced it a few days ago. I wonder what the connection is there, but I’ll take it either way. I’ve never been huge on Amenra on a personal-listening level, but I’ve yet to hear Amy Tung Barrysmith play on a thing and not like it more for her involvement. Should be an interesting set. Cool. It will be the eighth one of the total 10 sets played today. I hope to see at least part of everybody. Will keep you posted how it goes.

To that end:

Guhts

My first time seeing Guhts, which is a thing worth remembering. Their first album, Regeneration (review here), is my one to beat for best debut of 2024, if that matters. More to the point, they were fucking great. Obviously I dig the record too, but at full volume and assault, it was just the right combination of expansive and oppressive. They had the laptop going the whole time with keyboard parts and various electronic atmospherics, and with the four of them up there, it was pretty clear ever were giving 100 percent of everything to the performance. The passion came through raw, and actually, having the backdrop and transitional drones happening apart from the band, emphasizing the ferocity of the delivery when they let loose. As they did. Righteously. If that had been the end of the night, the day would be a win.

Blackwater Holylight

It had been a couple years and, admittedly, there was the contextual weirdness of it being Psycho Las Vegas — that’s not a dig; their whole thing was absurdity — last time I saw Blackwater Holylight, but the sinister sound of 2021’s Silence/Motion (review here) came to life as part of an ambient pastiche. It was more immersive than a lot of heavy bands are willing to be, and I guess you could call that ‘gaze of some variety or other, but that almost implied a kind of laziness and Blackwater Holylight were as much fuzzy progressive grunge metal as they were languid nod, with keyboards adding to the texture of the melodies, some toward psychedelic but clearly mindful of place and time. And maybe they riff out for a while too. How is that anything but awesome?

Abrams

Among the bands I haven’t seen before, I was most curious and what Abrams would bring. The Denver heavy rockers are ultra-reliable somgwriters, and they’ve always had a clarity of purpose in their arrangements and structures that is underrated by exponents, but in the Texas room it was more about hitting hard and representing the scope of their craft. Some emo in there, or at least the punk of the aughts. In any case, they were dynamic and leaned into the impact of their heavier stretches. At the same time, they weren’t void of mood at all, and guitarist/vocalist Zach Amster is the charismatic frontman he has always seemed to be. Dude can sing. I stood in the back for most of the set, and I could feel my earplugs shaking in my ears. People had their fists up. I’m not shitting you. And seeing them live, maybe part of why they’re undervalued is they’re a bit between styles. They’re a heavy rock band, but that’s not it. They’re metal, prog, punk and a few besides. Practiced but not at all dry in their delivery, I have to wonder if Abrams ever plays a show without making a new fan.

Primitive Man

Brutal turn of vibe. You know on paper what you’re getting with also-Danver’s Primitive Man — punishment; sounds no less likely to consume you having just bludgeoned you into oblivion — but the reality of the thing is even more destructive. Caustic doom as a genre? Crushing doom? Those sound like words that could be things. Doesn’t matter. Also from Denver, the trio were a vision of aural misanthropy, extremist in purpose and volume. There have only been like three bands today, so it doesn’t mean a ton to call them the heaviest as even their quiet parts had a rumble beneath that you could feel in your chest, but they were the heaviest of the fest so far and it would take a lot of noise to beat. Frequencies as weapons. Malevolence and probably a truckload of dry ice. I wouldn’t call myself well adjusted by any measure — if I was, I’d have stopped doing this years ago — but even on a level of catharsis, Primitive Man are a lot to take. Which, wait for it, is the point of the thing. If dystopia’s coming, they’re ready. And brutally sad. I didn’t know any of the songs. Mostly they were terrifying. And it was astonishing that it could still be daylight while they played. If Khanate are hacking you to pieces, Primitive Man are pulling concrete blocks on your chest until you can’t breathe anymore.

Spirit Mother

About as fresh in my mind as they possibly could be since the album they put out today was streamed here yesterday. They played a good deal of Trails, and brought a heap of noise to the prior single “Locust,” and were thick in vibe while still keeping the songs moving. A fill-in violinist/vocalist held down that role without question, and Armand Lance pushed his vocals into screams and was still able to carry the melody alongside said violinist when the guitar and bass dropped out and it was vocals and ride cymbal only for a few measures in “Wolves.” Some aspects of Young Hunter, All Them Witches, but Spirit Mother are very much their own thing on the balance, and their songs are getting darker, more expansive, and better. My second time seeing them, and I’m extra glad to have seen them play the Trails material. I’ll look forward to the next one.

Belzebong

Riff-forward instrumental stoner sludge metallers Belzebong came all the way from Poland to elicit crusty vibes in fog that I couldn’t tell if it was theirs or leftover from Primitive Man. Surely they’re used to haze, one way or the other. Big nod, ‘Bong Fire Death’ — because Bathory, god damnit! — in the backs of the bass and guitars, amd an absolute lock on tone, there was precious little to not like. You would not call them subtle and neither are they trying to be. Doom. Fucking. Riffs. Black. Fucking. Sabbath. You get the idea. Like their countrymen worshipers in Dopelord, they wear their love of weed on their collective sleeve, and I get it. And “it” in this circumstance means stoned. But the reason it works is because the music and their performance of it is as much a celebration as anything else, and they’re not trying to convince anyone they invented Sleep riffs. They’re the kind of band that, if you’re in this thing, make complete sense, and would confuse the shit out of normal people. It’s a very specific idea of fun. Always a pleasure to see them.

Deathchant

I crossed paths with Deathchant in June at Freak Valley (review here), so not quite topping Spirit Mother for being in my head, but not terribly far off either. They were going to be a ripper on stage and they were. Thin Lizzy and Motörhead and Sabbath and DRI or whoever; they own records. But volume and energy and shove were the order of things, however much the two guitars might veer into NWOBHM-type harmony on the way. I was late getting in to take pictures, but that’s okay. I don’t really like taking pictures most of the time, and I do like talking to friends, so if I’m not in front of the stage for everything, fine. I was on the side. Still enough perspective to know Deathchant were the start of the party for a lot of the heads in the room, which was later-in-evening crowded, and fair enough. The West Coast skate thing doesn’t always translate in New York, but some things hit just right. I’d never seen them before last August at SonicBlast (review here) — to which they returned this year — now it’s three times in 13 months. Maybe I’m a fan.

Amenra

Sure enough, Amy Tung Barrysmith on bass. They’re not a casual band, Amenra. They’re not the kind of thing one might put on in the background of an otherwise quiet afternoon. And it’s all so very important-feeling, very solemn, whether a given part is loud and screamy or subdued and melodic. It’s a genre trope — partly in Amenra’s wake, I think — for pprt-metal to take itself seriously. So they do the thing where Colin H. Van Eeckhout bangs the sticks together while kneeling at the start, and there’s the strobe matching the heft of tone and emotional immediacy with its own kind of sensory overload. They have a lurch and an undulating waves of distortion that’s their own, and it’s not a hot take they’re incredible at what they do, but I’ve never managed to get fully on board. My loss. It was a blast to watch Amy from Year of the Cobra playing with them, though, and just because they may not be a band I put on all the time doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate what they do and the influence they’ve had. It just means I’m probably going to be early for Domkraft.

Domkraft

And so I was. A band worth being early for. I spent most of the set right in the front, obnoxiously so, I’m sure, and kind of let go and nodded out for a bit. I didn’t fall asleep while Domkraft were playing or anything close to it. But it’s not a conscious thing when that riff hits you just right anyhow. I have to think the moshers know what I’m talking about. Starting out on a nine-day US run, the Swedish three-piece indeed were a culminating force from the Texas Stage, riffs bouncing off concrete walls and back again, creating that much more presence in the sound. There was a technical issue with the guitar, but it wasn’t actually that long in fixing, and they were right to restart “Whispers.” They’re are a lesson in the difference a great drummer can make, but they’re also a lesson in the difference a great everything can make. The lesson I learned was that I don’t appreciate their guitar solos enough, and the way I learned it was by being fortunate enough to be on the planet at the same time as the band.

High on Fire

The band who taught the world to shred riffs. Last met at the beginning of July in Croatia for Bear Stone (review here), though certainly they’ve been elsewhere since then, and they continue to hold their own standard. There was some not-fun-kind feedback intermittent early on, but it was a High on Fire set, like they wouldn’t deliver? They’re returning headliners at Desertfest New York, having played in 2022 (review here), and I don’t have a ton to say about them that didn’t apply two months ago, but to sum up they’re one of the best heavy-anything bands of their generation. I continue to dig the way they’re able to vary tempo in the live show while keeping the balance toward intensity on an LP. Of course they’re headlining. Hopefully it won’t be the last time they do. This forever will be the time that somebody was blowing bubbles during “Rumors of War,” however.

Unless they want to make it tradition or something. Which would be okay too, for sure. Hashtag Bubbles of War.

—

On that happy note, good night. I’ve been writing all day at the fest, and I’m ready to call it an evening. Tomorrow brings Dozer, Spaceslug and sundry other delights. There are more pics after the jump, and as always, thank you for reading.

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Before Show

Desertfest New York 2024 gets underway in less than an hour. The annual pre-party has been held at Saint Vitus Bar for every edition of the caricature festival to-date, but of course the Vitus’ being shut down precludes that, so it’s up to The Meadows to fill those shoes for the evening. That’s no small task. Show me somebody who doesn’t think venue matters and I’ll show you someone who has never felt like a rock show was home. In any case, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Desertfest hasn’t let its attendees down yet.

Four bands tonight. It’s Thursday, and though I find my eyes wandering over the next two days of the schedule above, tonight is a more than solid kickoff, with Legions of Doom celebrating their debut album, The Skull 3, picking up where The Skull left off following the death of The Skull frontman Eric Wagner, as well as Satan’s Satyrs and Mirror Queen, who both have new records out, and Mustafina opening, from whom I could find no audio streaming. Clearly worth putting sneakers on for, despite the sandal-ready weather.

A two-hour dove to get here reaffirmed my decision to stay in the city this year. That’s a choice not without some level of investment, but I tried to do commuterfest last year and it was hard and I sucked at it, so The Patient Mrs. was well on board with getting my ass out of the house during fest time rather than have me try to cover a thing with one foot in domestic life. I am loved and cared for. I will do my best to do justice to that love and care by not getting towed this weekend. Fingers crossed.

Doors at 6 was applied casually, but the line wasn’t bad by any means. I had a few minutes to stand around awkwardly and not know where to put myself. Shit that I should’ve learned before middle-age. Alas.

The night went like this:

Mustafina

They loosened up as the set went on, and the crowd warmed accordingly. Some connection to AmRep, maybe? Obviously it was my first time at the dance with Mustafina, from New York. They bill themselves as psychedelic punk, and that might not be wrong, but there was more to it than that, with quirk and bounce in the bass and a crunch of guitar tone that indeed felt NY-punker in its root — at least mostly; they hit into a couple bluesier nods as well, and that was welcome; “Metasin” might have been one, if I have it right on the setlist, which I assume I don’t — but a healthy dose of grunge mixed in with that and the dude standing next to me (his name is Eric, he’s from Tennessee, works from home, has a badass backyard and it was nice to chat) cited Mr. Bungle, so I guess it’s fair to say the sound was open for interpretation. That’s not a weakness as a new band gets going — and Mustafina are that, whatever else the members have or haven’t done on whichever legendary noise rock label — but there was a definite moment where it all gelled and from there the groove came easy. For knowing nothing about them going into the set, I felt like by the finish they gave a decent sense of their persona and scope, and I’ll keep an eye for the record when the time comes.

Mirror Queen

Their new album is called Dying Days, and its title-track and “Strider” — which guitarist/vocalist Kenny Sehgal said, “only has like 85 parts” — featured in the set along with the more familiar “Riders” and “Scaffold in the Sky” and a closing cover they said was obscure and sure enough, I didn’t know the provenance from which “Lizzy” came. They’re a reliable good time in my mind. I stood by the bass side of the stage, and dug into the bouncing classic progressive heavy that is such a staple of the NYC underground in my mind. Sehgal, who doubles as the head of Tee Pee Records, mentioned it was kind of a label night — which bodes well for Mustafina, I suppose — and the various releases out. It would be very easy to spend a lot of money at Tee Pee’s table this weekend. If I had any, I might be concerned about that. It was by no means the longest set I’ve ever seen Mirror Queen play, but they know how to make a song that has 85 parts (allegedly) still be a good time to a room that doesn’t already know it, and that’s not an easy thing to do or something to take for granted, even though, yes, I very much take Mirror Queen for granted. There has to be some tradeoff for that two-hour drive to get here. New York has to have an upside.

Satan’s Satyrs

Tore it up. That’s the long and short of it. Sean Saley on drums was a treat; 10 years ago I watched him bash and bash his kit in Pentagram on two successive tours, and tonight was the same story, only faster. I said hi. Plus Morgan McDaniel, who had just played in Mirror Queen, doing double duty. Neither is original to Satan’s Satyrs, but hell, the energy, the drive. Killer set. Big change in vibe from Mirror Queen, whose style is downright soothing in comparison to the brashness on display from the Virginian outfit, who were reborn around bassist/vocalist Clayton Burgess and guitarist Jarrett Nettnin last year after however long it was since they last did a thing. It wasn’t a huge stage at The Meadows, but they used every inch of it, Burgess back and forth like a ’79s thrash icon if such a thing ever existed or could possibly exist, and the swagger was backed up by the charge of the material itself; yeah, new album. I haven’t really dug into it yet — only so many hours in the day — but if it’s got a quarter of what they brought to the stage they’d still be readily kicking ass. I wondered how Legions of Doom could possibly keep up.

Legions of Doom

Then they came out with Karl Agell fronting the band and opened with “Dance of the Dead” from C.O.C.’s Blind record, which I’ve had in my head since I was about 10 years old, and I don’t know what anyone else did in the room, but I certainly lost my shit. In addition to songs from their aforementioned new album, The Skull 3 — a title that does better with context, yes — and bringing out Scott Reagers (original Saint Vitus singer; he shouted out Saint Vitus Bar) to do “War is Our Destiny” and to trade off fronting the band with Agell, they did a few Trouble cuts in “The Wolf” and set-capper “Psychotic Reaction,” and it was a celebration of all of it, including the new stuff and The Skull’s “For Those Which Are Asleep,” which was a highlight even among the highlights. Agell coming back out, “What are you still doing here? Don’t you have a pressing engagement with your cat or your couch?” They thanked Desertfest and Tee Pee and were a doomed pleasure to behold front to back. The place started to clear out as it edged toward 11PM, so maybe there were a couple couchly appointments to keep, but I knew I didn’t need to drive home after, so sticking around was no problem. I’m glad I did. Reagers and Agell sharing “Psychotic Reaction” was priceless.

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More tomorrow, of course, but it was a rousing start, to be sure. My back? Killing me. Gonna think really hard about whether I need the big lens tomorrow, but I’ve got time to dwell on it. Until then, there’s more pics after the jump, and thanks for reading. If you’re here, lucky you.

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