Early

You never have to wait long when you’re on the strip to see the next plane fly overhead. That’s part of the image of the whole thing. Movers and shakers, people going places. I don’t see myself that way. I’m more the wiggly type.

The Starbucks — there might be two — wasn’t crowded and tastes a bit like burning but I don’t care. I found some THC tablet things up at the dispensary the other night and because I’m 40 years old and someone who thinks and operates in precisely this manner, I budgeted them out for the next few days and will accordingly be mildly stoned from here on out. My original plan had been to come here, get ahold of a bunch of mushrooms and blow my brains out for the weekend, writing all the while in what I’m sure would be a fit on too-damn-long sentences that I’d think were brilliant until I read them later and realized they were all about dragons and tearing down the capitalist uberstructure that allows shit like this to exist in the first place, let alone me to get away with being here to see it. The singer from Uniform yesterday, between one pissed off song and the next, started talking between songs and then shut it down. “Never mind. You don’t want to hear what I have to say.” I kind of did.

Curious at least where the commentary might start. Making thongs and heels the apparently-mandatory pool attire for waitstaff? The $15 water bottle? This is a party town. Party don’t come cheap, and in terms of vibe I’ve never experienced anything else like where I am now. Divorcing the fest from the inherently predatory aspects of any casino experience for a moment — which I don’t think you’re supposed to do, but I have neither the cash nor inclination to gamble, so there it is; and there goes another airplane — because it’s all a fucking trap and we’re dancing around the edge of it, addled with drink and chemical reactions in reckless checked out bliss. Heard Cancer Christ ripped up a Bible in the Redtail last night after I went to bed. Somebody had to sweep that up.

I think I’d like another tattoo. Any ideas?

But again, to remove the fest from its surroundings, to try and separate ‘sub-‘ from culture, is nearly impossible. And the true innovation Psycho had made isn’t so much in getting GZA to come play chess — though that’s awesome too — but in taking the aesthetics of underground culture, mostly based around metal even when it’s not metal specifically, and using them as a means to infiltrate a broader cross-section of institutions. I heard “Lady in Red” on my way to Starbucks to get coffee. In about half an hour, Sanguisugabogg are going to take stage in what I’m pretty sure is a seated ballroom. Guess I’ll find out. That achievement, as well as the procuring of the significant financial backing to make it happen, isn’t to be understated. An accomplishment of scale and scope the results for which will manifest over the next three days.

Thankfully, that will mostly happen inside.

Later

The death growls of Sanguisugabogg are blending with the mall tunes, distortion underlying safe ’80s-ish synthpop, and I almost hate to say it, but it’s kind of working for me, sound-wise. I’m pretty sure this is what my nightmares sound like.

Watched enough of them — the ones with all the esses and gees, please don’t make me type it again — to know that they’re a good time musically. And that there are no seats up there. One way or the other, 11AM death mosh is perfect for Psycho Las Vegas. It should be a tradition if it already isn’t. More coffee called and I made my way out, but no regrets for having seen the Rose Ballroom, which is kind of just up in the corner of the third floor. I’ve come to understand this might just be what casino hotel resorts are, but I promise you I have no idea in that regard. Also watched enough of them to know that every dude in that band could and just might on a given day beat my ass. I’m sure they’re sweethearts though. They had Mike Gitter out at 11AM, which is all the endorsement you’ll ever need as far as I’m concerned.

I’ve lost just about all sense of time now. If not for my phone giving me minute-by-minute updates on the matter I’m pretty sure I’d be a goner. There’s a horn being played somewhere. It’s cutting through the echoing distorted noise from Sanguisugabogg and the bassy muzak and goodness gracious maybe I’m a goner anyway. Gotta hydrate.

Sitting outside the pizza place, where I’ve been a good portion of the morning by now. It’s almost a chair and it’s definitely free, so it gets the prize. Festival types are up and about by now, either getting food, outside smoking, whatever it is. I feel like I’m from another planet. Maybe everyone does? I look at people going about their business though, just living, and that’s not how I operate. Even in this weirdo microculture, in my most honest moments I never quite feel like I belong. Anywhere. There goes another plane.

In other words, it’s not the world with the problem, it’s me.

I wish that was new information.

Later again

Dreadnought and Stinking Lizaveta present dueling and likewise accurate visions of what constitutes salvation. Hippie Death Cult back this with unexpectedly metallic progressions; a bit of march from that expansive drum kit. This allows me to rediscover the antidote to that feeling, that so-in-my-own-head isolation, which of course is the fucking music. Granted, being unworthy is kind of my running theme of Psycho so far — underscored by various security personnel who’ve all been polite enough in telling me I can or can’t bring this or that to stages, or go here or there or take pictures or whathaveyou; my ‘I’ve got an email that says I can be here’ is getting a workout — but watching Dreadnought is pretty goddamned special. Even compared to seeing them here in 2018 — well, not here, but at Psycho — they played like a band who know they’re on fire, and they are. Don’t let me get all hyped up, but after missing them in NYC, to see them here is a boon.

Same goes for Hippie Death Cult, and Stinking Lizaveta I’ll watch any day of any week and call it a good day. The music radiates joy.

That one-two-three was my must-stuff for the day, which means that everything else is gravy. I sat for a while after Hippie Death Cult finished, found a chair in back of the Dawg House, then decided I’d pop up to the Event Center and see if I could shoot Wolves in the Throne Room. Somewhere along the way someone sent an edict about backpacks I guess.

There was some back and forth — got that email out again — and yeah, turns out I could shoot Wolves in the Throne Room, and they went on about 15 minutes late but that was still plenty of time to pretend I was in a forest for the second time of the day, pit stop back in my room, and make it to Great Electric Quest’s party back at at Dawg House. In addition to rocking, they did just about everything possible to engage the crowd short of handing out ice cream. Seemed to work for them though and they absolutely brought it. They played like there were 400 people in the room, which there weren’t, and played one more song when demanded by the crowd to do so. Rock and roll show. Pretty sure it’s my first time seeing them. And they used that space on the stage. Up on amps, waving a big green flag, turning classic heavy vibes into epics. They were easy to dig, so I did.

Later even than that was

A little disorienting? Good. That’s the idea. Time has passed, that’s all you need to know. If you want to know exactly what time it is, you should probably have a different pass. Or not. I’m not really clear on it.

I’m probably the wrong person to be discussing Emperor’s legacy, influence or anything like that, but hell’s bells, I own those records and I can appreciate it. My final three bands of the day were Sasquatch, Mothership and Emperor. So, you know, another night in Anytown USA. Sasquatch came through New York recently but I couldn’t go because let’s face it, my life is way more set up for leaving for a few days once every couple months than it is for going out on a given Friday night, and that’s just where it’s at right now. But to see them any night, anyplace, is a win. Band would seem to have spent the entirety of lockdown on absolute fire, since the second venues opened back up they hit it.

Their US tour is almost done, then Australia/New Zealand, then five weeks in Europe. That’s a working fucking band. They played like one. Keith Gibbs on guitar/vocals, Jason Casanova on bass and backing vocals that every time I hear them live I feel like should be used more, and Craig Goshdarn Riggs on drums and a bit more vocals, and they’re just electric. Even in the years since Riggs joined — what, five years ago now? — they’ve gotten tighter in a way that apparently two years without gigs hasn’t dulled so far as I can tell. Or maybe I’m just saying that because Riggs threw a drum stick and hit me with it and I’m worried if I don’t say nice things about the band he might do it again next show. He’s a madman, you know. They all are, those Sasquatch types.

Both they and Mothership brought people into the Dawg House, and fair enough. Neither is an unknown quantity, here or otherwise, but honestly they both killed it dead. Took Mothership about 30 seconds to warm up and they were gone after that. I’d say good luck keeping up, but their grooves make it easy enough to follow where they’re headed, and Kelley and Kyle Juett out front while Judge Smith holds it all together behind. I suppose the kicker there is there’s no real danger of it coming apart, right? These guys are pro-shop heavy rock and roll. They know their sound and their songs inside out, and for all the fucking around, there’s not much actual fucking around, even in jams and introducing the band, saying hi to the members of Rifflord in the crowd and so on. Fuck else do you want to know? They’re a great live act and they played like one. It was not a surprise, but it was a blast.

That’s it. Put Ihsahn from Emperor looking like a black metal Robert Fripp on top — not intended at all as an insult; Fripp just about anything and you’re doing it right — and that’s my evening. I don’t know when the last time Emperor played in the States was, but I’m reasonably sure it was more than a decade ago. And if you’ve ever seen them, they’re basically the reason why black metal both rips and thinks it’s smarter than you. The Event Center/main stage tent is huge. You go outside and then back inside and there’s like a hangar and a massive thankfully air conditioned space that I’m not sure is permanent and I’m not sure isn’t. But I’d been there for Wolves in the Throne Room so knew at least what to expect in that regard.

I won’t say I stayed the entire time for Emperor; it’s just not where I’m at. But I did stay longer than I intended to, and I probably could’ve stuck around for more, but dinner and sleep and that’s-enough-of-that were calling, and I am nothing if not attuned to all of those things.

Kind of terrifying to think this is just day one. Not only is there a whole other day tomorrow, there’s one after that too. Holy shit. It’s not even really the weekend yet.

Save us.

Thanks for reading.

08.18.22 – 11:03PM Pacific – Thursday – Psycho Swim

This is no place for lucidity.

I’ve been waiting weeks to say that. It is, however, a place for imposter syndrome, and I’ll admit to having already filled my quota of wondering how the hell I managed to get here. Considering I can barely get up to get myself a cup of water — I brought my pink water-drinking cup from home — let alone ice from somewhere down the hall, it feels pretty odd to not be at home right now. I am lucid, mostly. A little while ago I got back from seeing Kadabra at the Redtail and I guess that was the end of my night. I picked up a hamburger salad on the way back and that was dinner and I keep expecting it to kick in and have a surge of energy, but yeah, probably not.

Never had coffee today. There’s a Starbucks downstairs that I’ll hit in the AM. Desperate times, if I didn’t say that before.

What I learned throughout the course of today is that Resorts World is fucking huge. It’s three or four or seven plus-size hotels all interconnected. I don’t even know where one casino ends and another begins, or what’s where or whose is anything and there are a lot of flashing lights and a kind of mall attached with a big chrome watery-looking ball in it that’s like the mall art you remember but on steroids or maybe given a grim alien reboot. Finding the check-in to get my wristband this morning was a hoot, and from there I had my work even more cut out for me finding the pool. I was back and forth a few times throughout the day — there was one point during Early Moods where, righteous and doomed as they were, I just needed air conditioning. That’s poolside.

No, I didn’t go in. A lot of people did. My bathing suit is in the wash, or at least it was when I left the house yesterday to go to the airport. Clouds rolled in as the afternoon went on and Rifflord begat Early Moods begat Uniform and so forth, but it wouldn’t rain until during Elder’s set, which even though it was dark already still felt something like a godsend. I had been headed inside anyway. I’m getting ahead of myself.

The day was two days, how it worked out. I wound up splitting the schedule into two parts. Taking a break in the middle meant missing Deathchant, about whose set I’ve already heard good things, but made the rest of the day doable. Sometimes in life we have to make sacrifices. I’d rolled up early for Rifflord, got my bag searched for the first of three times today — the second time I was told to throw out my water bottle, which seems a little counterintuitive for an outdoor event in Las Vegas in August; I kind of felt like there should be refilling stations every two meters along the wall — and was asked about the camera gear but I said I was media (hence that whole imposter thing noted above) and they let it go. After I shot Rifflord and the head of Psycho’s team of 10 photographers came up to me and with a very West Coast manner, introduced himself and proceeded to tell me he didn’t know there was any outside media allowed to shoot the festival. The implication, of course, that I shouldn’t be there.

Well, there I was. One band, who rocked by the way, into a four-day festival, 100 degrees minimum with the sun trying to cleave my skull, and Photo Dude coming ’round to put me in my place. Yessir. Well sir, you see. And so on. He said his piece and even knowing I was right — which, yes, I was — it was still a kind of shitty way to start the thing. Fortunately, Rifflord had played “Tumbleweed” so I felt like I could take on anything the planet might put in my way, and it was too hot to be really bummed out. The trick is finding somewhere to be. Staking out a spot and putting yourself in it. I found a little shade toward the back and sat down. I’d been in one of the cabanas, but the people who’d staked it out came back and it was pretty clearly time to move on. I’d watch Early Moods, abscond for a few minutes to cool off by walking around the big, empty, fenced-off dirt lot that I assume is going to be eventually turned into some kind of ‘experience’, and then return for the finish of their set.

Classic heavy rock and doomer vibes. The morose aspects of Early Moods were a good setup for Uniform in that if Early Moods was bumming out about the world, Uniform were judging and finding it wanting. It made sense in a stages-of-grief kind of way. Rifflord and Early Moods were both bands I pointedly wanted to see, and Uniform’s harsher take — some industrial elements, mostly dark, aggro noise — was a shift in atmosphere that was welcome despite the groove the first two acts had established. By the time Uniform were finished, I felt like I was ready to die. I’d been hydrating and saying hello to the people kind enough to say hello to me, and I just plunked myself down at one point and did the math on eating and sleeping and found that their increasing my likelihood to last the full day made it worth a journey back to the room.

I did find my way back, eventually, but I’m still not sure that, say, if I was going to Dawg House to watch Elder at 1AM finish their rained-out set, I’d know how to get there. I’ll be asleep before then anyhow — already writing with one eye closed, which is never a good sign for continued consciousness. I ate a protein bar and then settled myself onto the bed, still not really having decided I was going to sleep. Then I turned off the light and was out in about five seconds. I’d set an alarm to be up in time for me to get back to the pool for Elder with flex enough that I got to see some of Bridge City Sinners’ goth-bluegrass, which was a good time, even if the singer seemed let down by the audience response. It was just starting to ‘cool off,’ so I got where both she and the crowd in front of the stage were coming from. Even having slept, I would hardly call myself up to full speed. And maybe it was a bad time to go off my meds after all. I don’t know.

Elder were next, and I’ll do you the favor of sparing you the music-as-magic-because-they-made-it-rain thing. I mean, yes, obviously that’s what happened, I just feel stupid writing about it. They weren’t through “Compendium” before it started coming down. As noted, they’ll be at the Dawg House — one of the many venue-type places nestled into the mall-ish area; I stumbled on it earlier — but yeah. I was on my way to catch Salem’s Bend who were on before Kadabra at the Redtail. I’d thought about hitting Eyehategod back at the pool and Midnight are Midnight, but there was no way I was going to make it. Death would occur. I got to see two bands I’d never seen before in Salem’s Bend and Kadabra, and that felt like a win, which I also kind of feel obligated to point out because some of the comments I got yesterday or whenever that was were a little off-putting, like I’m not enjoying myself. Well, I was getting on a fucking airplane. What’s enjoyable about that? Even if you’re looking forward to where you’re going, you have to get there first.

Psycho Las Vegas is really, really, really big. Yeah, there’s your pullquote — you’re welcome. I’m media! But even compared to when I was out here in 2018 and it was at the Hard Rock, it’s mammoth. Today there were four stages that had stuff going at various points. Tomorrow is six, and it starts at noon and it ends at 2:45AM and you could never see it all — they rightly call it a ‘choose your adventure’ festival — but it’s fun to try if completely overwhelming. I think that’s the idea. I think maybe it’s supposed to be fun. Sounds weird, I know.

But you have to understand the scale of the thing. This morning, looking at the schedule for the next four days, it was like I was staring down a tidal wave or maybe more appropriately a sandstorm since we’re in the desert, and I hardly feel any different about that now that the day is over. However big you’re thinking it is, it’s bigger. It’s more on the scale of SXSW Music than a regular one- or two-stage fest. More like getting around a city.

I was ready for Kadabra when they went on, following the heavy boogie of Salem’s Bend, whose guitarist had a very proud aunt in the crowd and whose bassist opted to go without pants, presumably being fresh out of the pool. Good fun all around, and Kadabra followed it well, with a more drawn out, fuzzier take that still reminds me of the first Mars Red Sky record. Their Ultra album came out last year on Heavy Psych Sounds and was a gem that I thought didn’t get enough love. Having seen them live, now I know that’s the case. First smiling drummer I saw all day, and maybe a win on tone as well, but it was the melody, depth of tone and the swinging groove that had me locked in. All of that coming together in a languid nodder psychedelia given just enough push to keep rolling downhill? Sign me up forever. Or at least for the next album.

Between the pizza joint, the Mexican place, the vegan place and the breakfast place, the nearest I got to a caesar salad was the hamburger-with-chipotle-dressing thing I ate a bit ago. Not something I’d likely order on a normal day — I have increasing trouble trusting red meat when I don’t know where it comes from — but glorious and quickly consumed for all that. My head has already started thinking about the long day that tomorrow will be, and that’s a good thing, but today was an interesting one. The heat, the sun and fatigue, disorientation, dreadful sobriety, and so on, were a drag at various points, but the music sounds good and it’s… fun. Still feels kind of strange to say that.

Tomorrow is the first day of the festival proper. I’m lonely but holding up. I’ve got Dreadnought, Stinking Lizaveta and Hippie Death Cult as one-two-three first thing in the afternoon, and coffee to find before that. First sleep.

Thanks for reading.

08.17.22 – Weds. – 6:16PM Eastern – EWR Airport

What’s the matter, New Jersey? Too soon to put a dispensary in the airport terminal? I should think not, you bunch of squares.

I think a plane just landed at my gate. Watching the people come off, dude in the Rick and Morty shirt a must — is that still a thing? — families, the odd old lady, etc., I’m trying to properly discern if any of them have sabotaged the craft, which may or may not actually be the one I’ll fly on. Doesn’t matter. Shifty bastards in from somewhere.

Maybe you haven’t flown since the pandemic entered our lives, but it’s provided airlines a usable excuse for continuing to pay their workers shit while demanding more from them, cut services, cancel flights with less notice — they tell you to download the app, because I’m really sure United sending me “marketing updates” is going to help anything; I downloaded the app — and generally provide a product that’s inferior to the chicken-coup-in-the-sky experience of flying economy in the Before Times, while also reaping record setting profits and pleading poverty for government subsidies. The US should nationalize every airline operating in its borders. At least if someone shits all over you in government, you can vote them out — enjoy that while it lasts, by the way. Can’t even do that with middle management, let alone a CEO or the entire structure of a corporatocracy.

My flight leaves at 8:30 to Psycho Las Vegas. Newark Airport is packed. Ton of people in Terminal C. Some kid somewhere is singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” Every time I hear a child call out “daddy!,” which has happened a few times in the 20 minutes I’ve been planted in this spot, I flinch. My own son, four and a half, I left home with my wife, and I leave home knowing that my doing so was a mistake. Yeah, I’m sure Psycho will be cool, some good music, lots of good people in a big, weird and, yes, hyper-corporate setting. This festival has both a golf tournament and Church of the Cosmic Skull playing; I’ll be honest, part of why I wanted to go back to it in the first place was to see if I could make sense of what it’s become since the last time I was there in 2018. Eons ago.

In the ensuing years, in addition to the plague, the fest has moved casinos twice. It’s at Resorts World now, which is fine I guess? I have no idea one vs. the other and I sincerely doubt it matters in anything beyond finding where I’m going — a challenge, I’m expecting — but I’ve seen the schedule and I’ll mostly be holed up in the smaller spaces, so whatever. Tomorrow is the pool party. Pool party? Uh, excuse me, sir? I like heavy music. Are you sure I’m allowed at the pool? At the hotel more generally?

Oh sure, boss. The Strip takes all kinds. Bring in the working and middle classes with the promise of the highbrow ritz, a chance at a big life, a dream of some cash, head in the shower, whatever it is. Pump pheromones into the air conditioning; they can’t hold their breath forever. Hey you, you wanna be human? You gotta spend money to make money bro. Last time I was in Las Vegas, the sun beat down hard north of 105 degrees, and no different is expected this week. It’s cloudy in Jersey. There are birds flying in the terminal. A plane to Paris, a plane to San Fransisco, and me. A plane to the playground.

But yeah, it’ll be cool. It’ll go till Sunday, I’ll fly home Monday, blah blah. Last time I traveled for something music-related was in June, and my kid was almost over it. This will be a setback there, as well as a strain on my marriage, and as these are the two most important relationships in my life — the rest of my family, up to and including my wife’s mother and sister, are a support system not to be trivialized — I am not looking forward to landing, deboarding or de-planing or getting-off-the-fucking-aircraft or whatever they call it now, and finding myself directly in the shitter. I didn’t even make it out of the airport last time I got home before being bit by my son. Hard.

It must be worth going though, right? If it wasn’t, presumably I wouldn’t, but nobody rides for free. And while the weekend will no doubt be a lengthy celebration of gonzo ideology — I prefer Gonzo the Muppet; leave it to the Baby Boomers to ‘invent a journalism’ that happens to place themselves front and center; points for consistency, and hey, how ’bout that white privilege? — a kind of Fear and Loathing at a Luxury Hotel, but I guess that was true anyhow. I never read that book. I got Hell’s Angels as a gift and read that out of curiosity. Turns out if I want self-indulgent, self-aggrandizing, druggy-alt-culture posturing, I can just read my own shit. I’m more interested in myself anyhow that some dude who did drugs when the stakes were… nil… and plus that way I get to find all the infuriating typos, sometimes years later. I am a lucky man.

But I’m going. Thank you to Psycho Las Vegas for having me back. Suppose I shouldn’t talk too much shit, lest I wear out my seemingly tenuous welcome, but I have to wonder how long a festival that books the likes of Mercyful Fate for an exclusive show and has pop-up tattoo parlors and  a mascot who’s a chimp in a Hawaiian shirt with a joint in his mouth and tinted glasses and their own beer and their own golf, really well crafted marketing language in their email updates about nothing, and their own VIP weekend passes is going to need me around to start with, especially considering they never did. But fuck yeah, I’ll go. Be a little stoner rock curio footnote on one of the US festival season’s most stacked bills — certainly the biggest fest in America for heavy; Maryland Death Fest is/was a different animal; this is more like Coachellapalooza, but righteously blitzed — and sneak my way through in nowhere-near-cool-or-relevant-enough-to-be-here-but-am-anyway style. Hell’s bells. I’m not even an influncer to my kid, let alone whichever social media is relevant this year for people who like making money.

My flight gets in late tonight. It’ll be past midnight by the time I get to the hotel. Tonight I stay on the cheap side; my bill. Tomorrow the fest puts me up in what I’m imagining is full-on swank, but we’ll have to see how it goes. I brought my favorite water cup. I brought my over-the-head pillow. I brought protein bars and a new camera lens and two laptops, neither of which I put in my checked bag because fuck you I’m never doing that again. I need to get up and get some water because the family sitting across from me has just gotten Wendy’s and I can smell the sugar in the bread and it smells fucking disgusting. I had a salmon caesar salad, cheesy as hell, before leaving the house. It will hold me at least until tomorrow. Then it will be all about coffee, iced tea (which I can be confident at finding because I’m in America and iced tea is a thing we do), and the odd bit of whatever it takes to survive. Maybe I’ll check in before, maybe not. You’ll live either way.

I’m winging it on coverage. I might not even talk about music. Whatever. I’m gonna see what I wanna see, take pictures when I want to do that, and try my best to make it worth the fuckstorm I’ll be returning to early next week. Maybe more travel writing less list-of-bands-who-were-good? I don’t know yet, but I’ll keep you posted.

Hour-plus till I take off. Should be an interesting time.

Thanks for reading.

It was probably inevitable, but if you’d asked I’m not sure I would’ve said that at some point we’d be talking about Wu-Tang around these parts not in the context of the badass PS1 fighting game they had. Also in the realm of things-I-probably-should’ve-seen-coming is the fact that it’s Psycho Las Vegas as the occasion for doing so. Don’t get me wrong, having the GZA and Raekwon & Ghostface on the bill alongside Watain and Mayhem and Boris and Monster Magnet and The Juliana Theory is fucking genius (natch), but it’s a very particular kind of genius that one doesn’t find anywhere else. You want Ulver and Suicidal Tendencies and Primitive Man together? Well, you’re probably booking your flight to Vegas as we speak. Psycho, as you, me, and everyone around us knows, is in a class of its own here.

Katatonia. Cirith Ungol. Bone Thugs-n-Harmony — who I would totally watch, by the way — and High on Fire. At the Gates. Fucking a, Psycho.

The lineup as so far announced for Psycho Las Vegas 2022 follows here, as per the PR wire. Fest is Aug. 19-21:

Psycho Las Vegas Announces Second Wave of Artists for 2022 Lineup; Reveals Festival Destination: Resorts World Las Vegas – the Strip’s newest integrated resort

As previously announced, the 2022 installment of Psycho Las Vegas will see Mercyful Fate (USA-exclusive performance), Emperor (USA-exclusive performance), Mayhem, Satyricon, Watain, Wolves In The Throne Room, Samael, Boris, MGLA, Cirith Ungol, King Woman, Marissa Nadler, Bömbers and Year Of No Light perform at the annual bacchanal, set to take place at Resorts World Las Vegas Aug. 19 – Aug. 21. Already an other-worldly line-up, today, Psycho Las Vegas has revealed the second wave of artists for America’s premier Rock ‘N Roll festival (with tickets available for purchase at: https://vivapsycho.com/):

PSYCHO LAS VEGAS
Mercyful Fate
Suicidal Tendencies
Emperor
Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
Warpaint
Mayhem
Carpenter Brut
GZA
Satyricon
Watain
She Past Away
Raekwon & Ghostface Killah
Carcass
At The Gates
High On Fire
Ulver
Beats Antique
Paradise Lost
Cirith Ungol
Vio-lence
Katatonia
The Accüsed AD
Samael
Boris
Nothing
Dance With The Dead
Anika
The KVB
The Juliana Theory
Monster Magnet
Wolves In The Throne Room
…And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead
Amenra
MGLA
Liturgy
Primitive Man
Tribulation
Monolord
Gatecreeper
King Woman
WAND
Crobot
Wiegedood
Marissa Nadler
N8NOFACE
Bömbers
Drain
Year Of No Light
Mizmor
The Goddamn Gallows
Sanguisugabogg
200 Stab Wounds
Last Podcast On The Left
Chessboxing with GZA

PSYCHO SWIM
Midnight
Eyehategod
Elder
Bridge City Sinners
Starcrawler
Uniform
Deathchant
Early Moods
Rifflord

Psycho Las Vegas 2022 is set to be the wildest ride yet as the festival will move to a new destination, Resorts World Las Vegas. The Strip’s newest ground-up resort to be built in over a decade, Resorts World Las Vegas ventures into a new frontier of entertainment, offering an immersive trip for festivalgoers with six stages, with every genre under the sun performing from the pool’s tropics to the Resorts World Event Center. Additionally, Resorts World Las Vegas contains the most options for leisure, cuisine, and gambling in Psycho Las Vegas history, while providing a more intimate musical experience in the epitome of Las Vegas elegance and extravagance. Fans can also spend the day at AWANA Spa & Wellness, enjoy a meal or drink at one of over 40 food and beverage venues or hit the poker tables because Texas Hold ‘Em is back with a vengeance at Psycho Las Vegas. Without curfews, the party doesn’t stop as sets and Psycho dance parties go on through all hours of the night.

Psycho Las Vegas is the ultimate rock ‘n roll all night and party everyday experience. Go all in – buy the ticket and take the ride: https://vivapsycho.com/

Viva Psycho

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There’s a lot of information below. Here’s a few takeaways. Blake Edward Conley, aka Droneroom, is going to release a new full-length through Desert Records called Whatever Truthful Understanding on April 15. Right now, you can stream the premiere of the opening track “God Does Not Help Those Who Are Invisible” below — note the crickets are in the song, not in your house — and if you want to go ahead and do that, that’s fine. You’ve gotten the essentials that you most need from this post and I thank you for your time.

If you’re still here — hi! — there’s so much deeper that you can dig. Whether it’s the fact that this isn’t even Conley‘s first album of 2022 or that he’s opening up the project to outside collaborators for the first time or approaching the construction of the album like the telling of a cinematic narrative through impressionist soundscapes, sometimes minimal, sometimes encompassing. It’s a breadth-born desert blues that feels like the beginning explorations of a new kind of folk as much as an established modus of experimentalist Americana. One way or the other, we go adventuring someplace where scorpions live.

Not a one of the five inclusions on the record are under 10 minutes long, so understand as you immerse in “God Does Not Help Those Who Are Invisible” that while each piece has its own persona — the warped speech of “Mojave Pastoral,” the voluminous wash of “Beyond the Horse Gate,” etc. — they are all tied together by a willingness to deep-dive into ambience in a way that may at times seem opaque, but is nonetheless right there, waiting to be understood. Headphones? Nighttime? Maybe, if it wouldn’t scare the crap out of you.

Enjoy:

Droneroom ‘Whatever Truthful Understanding’ – 4/15/2022 – Desert Records

Droneroom is the nom de strum of Blake Edward Conley, a certified Kentucky Colonel and the self-professed ‘Cowboy of Drone’. Conley has demonstrated his ability to drift, twang, and sear over the course of numerous releases (including …The Other Doesn’t, Neon Depression, and Negative Libra), but on his new album, he does something he has never done before. While prior drone releases have predominantly featured the stinging bite of his telecaster and the occasional wash of lapsteel, Conley finally succumbs to the lure of having the acoustic be at the forefront.

Recorded by Conley at Here There Are No Answers in Las Vegas and mastered by Jason Lamoreaux in Shepherdsville KY, this is hardly droneroom ‘Unplugged’. Conley allows the naturalistic chime of the instrument to be warped by beds of drones, his walls of effect pedals, and unexpected field recordings to create an atmosphere that feels both out of and deeply embedded in the world.

The title “Whatever Truthful Understanding” is derived from the dedication in a century old book about the history of Kentucky. The music was written in the wake of an emotionally taxing relocation from Louisville to the cosmopolitan blight of Las Vegas. Conley has often made music that reflects the wider expanses of the desert, but living in a city surrounded by it has opened up his sound even further. Here he displays finger picking that drones, that leads, that bounces, that grinds. Tempos flutter like ripples on ponds, notes cascading like rain on rooftops. Here Conley truly embraces guitar techniques he hasn’t before.

“God Doesn’t Help Those Who Are Invisible” begins with the sound of crickets before drifting into a twangy nocturne, a pensive walk through a desert landscape of trying to find one’s self. This is embellished by the ending which features the sounds of a car starting resulting in a static wave of radio sounds which drops us into ‘Just One More Thing’. This track’s Junior Kimbrough-esque blues drone momentum definitely lends itself to a bad drive to something unseemly. This trip ends in a road hazard fever dream named “Mojave Pastoral”. This track is another first from Conley with the accompaniment of the Texolina Electric Lawyers.

The TEL include Adrian Voorhies of Cortege on shirtless jazz swing and Keith RN Chandler of odd.circles on dual basses and their improvised performances to Conley’s guitar, along with a disembodied field recording of an unsettling trip, provide a hallucinogenic chamber performance. The comedown from this is “We Are The Creatures This Desert Makes Us”. The quietest and gentlest piece, it is the perfect lull before the storm that is “Beyond The Horse Gate”. This searing finale creeps in gently before building itself up into the loudest part of the whole record, the inevitable storm, the final decisive moment of clarity, what truly lies at the end of the journey.

And that is what this album ultimately is – a journey. Whether one across the country, or from destruction to health, or even vice versa, “Whatever Truthful Understanding” is the compelling feeling to seek out and process. A map for you, the listener. Keep your eyes on the road. -Ira Kinder, Zippo Museum Bradford, PA 1/21/22

1 God Does Not Help Those Who Are Invisible
2 Just One More Thing
3 Mojave Pastoral
4 We Are The Creatures This Desert Makes Us
5 Beyond The Horse Gate

CREDITS:

droneroom is Blake Edward Conley- acoustic guitar, fender amp, drones, field recordings

Recorded at Here There Are No Answers in Las Vegas NV 2021
Edits, EQs, & Mixing by Keith RN Chandler at Childhood Memories in Swansboro NC
Post-Production & Mastering by Jason T Lamoreaux at Somewherecold Studios in Shepherdsville KY

Mojave Pastoral features the Texolina Electric Lawyers, composed of Adrian Voorhies on drums and Keith RN Chandler on stand up bass.

AV drums recorded by Chris Meyers at the Crystal Palace in Austin TX
KRC stand up bass recorded by KRC at Childhood Memories in Swansboro NC

AV also performs with Cortége and the Tennessee Stiffs
KRC performs with odd.circles and Lucy Stoner

Field and voice recordings courtesy of Lexi Kite, Amber Biggs, Trevor Evans-Young, Nick Kizirnis, and various other unidentified sources.

Photography by BEC
Photo enhancement by Carlie Rhoads

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https://droneroomswc.bandcamp.com/
https://www.facebook.com/desertrecordslabel/
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https://desertrecords.bigcartel.com/

Droneroom, Sage Metallic (2022)

The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.

Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.

Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.

The Obelisk Questionnaire: Adam Sage of Sonolith

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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?

First and foremost I’m a bass player. It’s what I love and will continue to be that until I die or my hands fall off, whichever comes first. I’ve never stopped learning and growing on my instrument and I’m truly in love with the feeling I get when I know I’ve done my job properly, both live and in the studio. Admittedly though, I first picked up a bass due to that now age old cliché. When my friends and I started our first band at the age of 12 I played drums… beating on an old Olympic kit from the 50s with a pair of vacuum extensions.

Until another friend joined who was immediately better (and also had real sticks). The other guys: “Sage, all that’s left for you is bass.” Me: “Fine, I’ll do it, ugh.” But something about it felt right immediately and I never looked back. I also have an intense interest in mixing/mastering and have had the privilege of working in that capacity as well as providing basslines for various projects over the last several years.

Describe your first musical memory.

My first musical memory is seeing B.B. King at 5. I don’t remember him actually up on stage playing but I do remember the feeling I got being there… wonder and excitement. I’ve been chasing that dragon ever since.

Describe your best musical memory to date.

This question is tougher than it should be. I have so many “best” memories. The B.B. King experience, playing Psycho fest with Demon Lung (what an amazing feeling of camaraderie that show was), getting a genuine chuckle out of one of my musical heroes when I randomly ran into Geezer Butler and cheesily told him “thanks for the music” and that “I’ve been badly trying to rip your basslines off since I was 10.”

And of course proposing to my wife, whom I called onstage during a show, under the guise of thanking her for all her efforts in helping organize the holiday canned food drive that the concert was highlighting. The show also happened to be at a strip club. Fun times.

When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?

I find that my personal beliefs are simply just best educated guesses based on all of life’s experiences to date. An invaluable tool when looking at any new subject/challenge. But what do we really know? We know nothing. Right? Mental malleability is the best baseline to operate from and for me accumulated knowledge, coupled with openness, equal personal growth. My beliefs are challenged all the time, and I love it.

Where do you feel artistic progression leads?

This question ties into the last one in that without that openness no artist can ever grow. And hopefully from that something will be created that’s never been heard, seen, or experienced before.

How do you define success?

I usually don’t define success through money… although hey, when that happens, I’ll take it. As long as I know I did the best job I could and everyone is happy then I consider that a success. I’m speaking musically, but that could really be applied to anything.

What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?

Years ago I attended an autopsy for a class while I was on mushrooms…jk, that was awesome. Being involved in pet rescue I’ve seen many beautiful stories and equally horrific ones. I’ll spare the gory details but the depths people will go to neglect and abuse their ‘pets’ is just abhorrent.

Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.

I’m going to take the easy way out of this one and jokingly not jokingly say… a mix that I’m 100 percent happy with every time I listen back.

What do you believe is the most essential function of art?

To intrigue, to challenge, to give perspective, to evoke an emotional response, to give a window to someone else’s human experience.

Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?

My wife was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and we have a tough road ahead of us. But after we finish kicking this disease in its ass I look forward to being out there again traveling and living life together. And of course (sorry to bring music into this question) back to raising hell at shows.

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https://sonolith.bandcamp.com/

Sonolith, Voidscapes (2021)

Welcome to Friday. I’m glad to have come this far in the Quarterly Review, and even knowing that there are two days left to go — next Monday and Tuesday, bringing us to a total of 70 for the entire thing — I feel some measure of accomplishment at doing this full week, 10 reviews a day, for the total of 50 we’ll hit after this batch. It has mostly been smooth sailing as regards the writing. It’s the rest of existence that seems intent to derail.

But these are stories for another time. For now, there’s 10 more records to dive into, so you’ll pardon me if I do precisely that.

Quarterly Review #41-50:

Carcass, Torn Arteries

The original progenitors of goregrind return in gleeful fashion with their first full-length since 2013’s Surgical Steel. They’ve toured steadily over the intervening years, and Torn Arteries would seem to arrive timed to a return to the road, though it also follows the 2020 EP, Despicable, so make of that what you will. One way or the other, the 10-track/50-minute offering is at very least everything one could reasonably ask a Carcass record to be in 2021. That’s the least you can say of it. Point of fact, it’s probably much more. Driven by Bill Steer‘s riffs and solos — which would be worth the price of admission alone — as well as the inimitable rasp of bassist Jeff Walker, Carcass sound likewise vital and brutal, delighting in the force of “Kelly’s Meat Emporium” and the unmitigated thrash of “The Scythe’s Remorseless Swing,” while scalpel-slicing their way through “Eleanor Rigor Mortis” and the 10-minute “Flesh Ripping Sonic Torment Limited,” which, yes, starts out with acoustic guitar. Because of course it does. After serving as pioneers of extreme metal, Carcass need to prove nothing, but they do anyway. And bonus! Per Wiberg shows up for a guest spot.

Carcass on Facebook

Nuclear Blast Records website

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LLNN, Unmaker

Some concerned citizen needs to file assault charges against Copenhagen crushers LLNN for the sheer violence wrought on their third full-length, Unmaker. Comprised of 10 songs all with single-word titles, the Pelagic Records release uses synth and tonal ultra-heft of guitar and bass to retell Blade Runner but starring Godzilla across 39 minutes. Okay so maybe that’s not what the lyrics are about, but you’d never know it from the harsh screams that pervade most of the outing — guitarist Christian Bonnesen has a rare ability to make extreme vocals sound emotional; his performance here puts the record on another level — which renders words largely indecipherable. Still, it is their combination of whiplash-headbang-inducing, bludgeoning-like-machines-hitting-each-other, air-moving weight and keyboard-driven explorations evocative enough that LLNN are releasing them on their own as a companion-piece that makes Unmaker the complete, enveloping work it is.

LLNN on Facebook

Pelagic Records on Bandcamp

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Smiling, Devour

I’m not sure it’s fair to call something that was apparently recorded five years ago forward thinking, but Smiling‘s melding of post-punk urgency, violin flourish, the odd bit of riot-style aggression, psychedelia and poppy melodic quirk in varying degrees and at various points throughout the debut album, Devour, is that anyway. Fronted by guitarist/songwriter Annie Shaw, Smiling makes a cut like even the two-minute “Other Lives” feel dynamic in its build toward a swelling-rumble finish, immediately shifting into the dreamier psych-buzz of “Forgetful Sam” and the melancholy-in-the-sunshine “Do What You Want.” Yeah, it goes like that. It also goes like the rager title-track though, so watch out. The earlier “Lighthouse” swings like Dandy Warhols, but the closing trilogy of “FPS,” “Take Your Time” and “Duvall Gardens” — also the three longest songs included — showcase a more experimentalist side, adding context and depth to the proceedings. So yeah, forward thinking. Time is all made up anyway.

Smiling website

Rebel Waves Records webstore

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Sail, Flood

The track itself, “Flood,” runs all of three minutes and 18 seconds, and I do mean it runs. The Taunton, UK, four-piece of guitarist/vocalists Charlie Dowzell and Tim Kazer, bassist/harsh-vocalist Kynan Scott and drummer Tom Coles offer it as a standalone piece and the track earns that level of respect with its controlled careening, the shouted verses giving way to a memorable clean-sung chorus with zero sense of trickery or pretense in its intention. That is to say, “Flood” wants to get stuck in your head and it will probably do precisely that. Also included in the two-songer digital outing — that’s Flood, the release, as opposed to “Flood,” the song — is “Flood (Young Bros Remix),” which extends the piece to 4:43 and reimagines it as more sinister, semi-industrial fare, but even in doing so and doing it well, it can’t quite get away from the rhythm of that hook. Some things are just inescapable.

Sail on Facebook

Sail on Bandcamp

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Holy Death Trio, Introducing…

Austin’s Holy Death Trio have the distinction of being the first band signed as part of the collaboration between Ripple Music and Rob “Blasko” Nicholson (bassist for Ozzy Osbourne, etc.), and Introducing…, the three-piece’s debut, is enough of a party to answer any questions why. Gritty, Motörheadular riffs permeate from post-intro leadoff “White Betty” — also some Ram Jam there, I guess — underscored by Sabbathian semi-doomers like “Black Wave” and the near-grim psychedelia of closer “Witch Doctor” while totaling an ultra-manageable 33 minutes primed toward audience engagement in a “wow I bet this is a lot of fun live” kind of way. It would not seem to be a coincidence that the centerpiece of the tracklist is called “Get Down,” as the bulk of what surrounds seems to be a call to do precisely that, and if the bluesy shuffle of that track doesn’t get the job done, something else is almost bound to.

Holy Death Trio on Facebook

Ripple Music website

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Fuzz Sagrado, Fuzz Sagrado

Having put Samsara Blues Experiment to rest following the release earlier this year of the swansong End of Forever (review here), relocated-to-Brazil guitarist/vocalist Christian Peters (interview here) debuts the instrumental solo-project Fuzz Sagrado with a three-song self-titled EP, handling all instruments himself including drum programming. “Duck Dharma,” “Two Face” and “Pato’s Blues” take on a style not entirely separate from his former outfit, but feel stripped down in more than just the lack of singing, bringing together a more concise vision of heavy psychedelic rock, further distinguished by the use of Mellotron, Minimoog and Hammond alongside the guitar, bass and drum sounds, complementing the boogie in “Pato’s Blues” even as it surges into its final minute. Where Peters will ultimately take the project remains to be seen, but he’s got his own label to put it out and reportedly a glut of material to work with, so right on.

Fuzz Sagrado on Facebook

Electric Magic Records on Bandcamp

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Wolves in Haze, Chaos Reigns

It’s 10PM, do you know where your head is? Wolves in Haze might. The Gothenburg-based three-piece of vocalist/guitarist Manne Olander, guitarist Olle Hansson and drummer/bassist/co-producer Kalle Lilja set about removing that very thing with their second record, Chaos Reigns, working at Welfare Sounds with Lilja and Per Stålberg at the helm in a seeming homage to Sunlight Studios as reinvented in a heavy rock context. Still, “In Fire” and “The Night Stalker” are plainly sinister in their riffs — the latter turning to a chorus and back into a gallop in a way that reminds pointedly of At the Gates, never mind the vocals that follow — and “Into the Grave” is as much bite as bark. They’re not without letup, as “Mr. Destroyer” explores moodier atmospherics, but even the lumbering finish of the title-track that ends the album is violent in intent. They call it Chaos Reigns, but they know exactly what the fuck they’re doing.

Wolves in Haze on Facebook

Majestic Mountain Records store

Tvåtakt Records store

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Shi, Basement Wizard

They work a bit of NWOBHM guitar harmony into the solos on “Rehash” and “At Wit’s End,” and the centerpiece “Interlude” is a willful play toward strum-and-whistle Morricone-ism, but for the most part, Louisville’s Shi are hell-bent on destructive sludge, with the rasp of guitarist Bael — joined in the effort by guitarist Jayce, bassist Zach and drummer Tyler — setting a Weedeater-style impression early on “Best Laid Plans” and letting the rest unfold as it will, with “Lawn Care for Adults” and “We’ll Bang, OK?” and the chugging fuckery of the title-track sticking largely to the course the riffs lay out. They make it mean, which is exactly the way it should be made, and even the sub-two-minute “Trough Guzzler” finds its way into a nasty-as-hell mire. Sludge heads will want to take note. Anyone else will probably wonder what smells like rotting.

Shi on Facebook

Shi on Bandcamp

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Churchburn, Genocidal Rite

Oh, that’s just disgusting. Come on now. Be reasonable, Churchburn. This third LP from the Providence, Rhode Island, extremists brings them into alignment with Translation Loss Records and though it’s just five songs — plus the intro “Toll of Annihilation” — and 33 minutes long, that’s plenty of time for guitarist/vocalist Dave Suzuki and company to pull you down a hole of blistering, vitriolic terrors. Where does the death end and the doom begin? Who gives a shit? Suzuki, bassist/vocalist Derek Muniz, guitarist Timmy St. Amour and drummer Ray McCaffrey take a duly mournful respite with “Unmendable Absence,” but after that, the onslaught of “Scarred” and the finale “Sin of Angels” — with Incantation‘s John McEntee sitting in on vocals — is monstrous and stupefyingly heavy. You’ll be too busy picking up teeth to worry about where the lines of one microgenre ends and another begins.

Churchburn on Facebook

Translation Loss Records webstore

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Sonolith, Voidscapes

Have riffs, will plod. Voidscapes, the three-song second EP from Las Vegas’ Sonolith lets the listener know quickly where it’s coming from, speaking a language (without actually speaking, mind you) that tells tales of amplifier and tonal worship, the act of rolling a massive groove like that central to nine-minute opener “Deep Space Leviathan” as much about the trance induced in the band as the nod resultant for the listener. Close your eyes, follow it out. They complement with the shorter “Pyrrhic Victory,” which moves from a subdued and spacey opening line into post-High on Fire chug and gallop, effectively layering solos over the midsection and final payoff, and “Star Worshipers,” which slows down again and howls out its lead to touch on Electric Wizard without being so overt about it. At about three minutes in, Sonolith kick the tempo a bit, but it’s the more languid groove that wins the day, and the concluding sample about traveling the universe could hardly be more appropriate. Asks nothing, delivers 21 minutes of riffs. If I ever complain about that, I’m done.

Sonolith on Facebook

Sonolith on Bandcamp

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If you’re looking for insight into the Psycho Las Vegas 2021 lineup, I have precious little to offer. What started out being accused of being an American answer to Roadburn has become a spectacle unto itself, operating at a scale that’s more in competition with the likes of a heavy metal Riot Fest or Coachella, and has likewise developed a community of its own. As for what catches my eye here, Cephalic Carnage for sure, as well as a few carryovers from what would’ve been 2020, and the likes of The Sword, who I guess are back together now? Fair enough. Oh, and the GZA, for good measure. Katatonia and Mercyful Fate and Elder and a couple others aren’t making the trip, but there’s certainly plenty here to occupy your weekend. If the Vegas-in-August heat don’t melt your brains, the riffs surely will.

What’s a guy gotta do to get invited to do a DJ set at Psycho Las Vegas? I’m gonna send Nate Carson an email and see if he’s got any tips.

Ty Segall next to Satyricon. Fatso Jetson and Profanatica. Immolation and Dengue Fever. The Flaming Lips and Cannibal Corpse. If you’re asking for it to make sense, you’re doing Psycho wrong. This is an event that defines its own parameters.

Approach thusly:

PSYCHO LAS VEGAS 2021 Lineup

America’s rock n’ roll bacchanal returns to Mandalay Bay Resort & Casino August 20th through August 22nd, with another resort-wide casino takeover unlike any of its kind.

Now approaching its fifth year in the swirling neon decadence of Las Vegas, PSYCHO will feature over seventy artists across four stages including the world-class Events Center, the iconic House Of Blues, Mandalay Bay Beach, and the vintage Vegas-style Rhythm & Riffs Lounge in the center of the casino floor.

PSYCHO LAS VEGAS 2021 will continue to redefine America’s conception of what a festival can be.

Psycho Swim “The Official Psycho Las Vegas Pre-Party”
Old Man Gloom, Bongzilla, Death Valley Girls, Polyrhythmics, The Skull, Blackwater Holylight, Here Lies Man, DJ Scott Seltzer

PSYCHO LAS VEGAS 2021 Lineup:
Emperor, GZA, Mayhem, Obituary, Ty Segall, Satyricon, Watain, Paul Cauthen, The Sword, Cephalic Carnage, Health, The Bridge City Sinners, MGLA, Intronaut, Exhorder, Pinback, King Dude, Khemmis, Mothership, Toke, Lord Buffalo, Psychlona, Claude Fontaine, Hippie Death Cult, Foie Gras, ALMS, Mother Mercury, DJ Ethan MCCarthy, DJ Scott Seltzer, DJ Nate Carson, DJ Painkiller, Danzig, The Flaming Lips, Thievery Corporation, Cannibal Corpse, Dying Fetus, Red Fang, Cursive, Pig Destroyer, Poison the Well, Eyehategod, Primitive Man, Death by Stereo, Curl Up & Die, Boysetsfire, Fatso Jetson, Profanatica, Adamantium, Silvertomb, Frankie and the Witch Fingers, Withered, Flavor Crystal, Highlands, Vaelmyst, Black Sabbitch, The Tim Dillon Comedy Hour, Down, Exodus, High on Fire, Osees, Amigo the Devil, Drab Majesty, Crippled Black Phoenix, Weedeater, Full of Hell, Midnight, Repulsion, Cult of Fire, Zola Jesus, Tsol, Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears, Guantanamo Baywatch, Immolation, Dengue Fever, Creeping Death, Kanga, Warish, Glacial Tomb, Relaxer, Vitriol, DJ Scott Seltzer, “Ask Doc” Q&A with Doc Mcghee

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http://www.vivapsycho.com
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http://www.instagram.com/psycholasvegas

Psycho Las Vegas 2019 aftermovie