High on Fire at The Middle East (11/24/12)

I’m sitting here drinking Merlot and trying to decipher what I just saw. This was a stacked line-up if there ever was one. Four bands blowing your head off with distortion, riffs and “Yes, I mean it” vocals. Holy shit. Okay.

Lo-Pan delivered the fucking riffs like Lo-Pan does. Like a current Only Living Witness, if you will. And you will. See, you can’t argue with songs like this. You wanna fuck with “El Dorado”? Go ahead, be my guest. Let me know when someone else writes a song like this again. Moving on…

Primate are the Blind Faith of the underground metal world. A supergroup if there ever was one. Why aren’t they wearing capes? Look, you’ve got Kevin Sharp from Brutal Truth and Bill Kelliher from Mastodon in this fucking band. No disrespect to the other three guys at all, but I have no idea who they are. Did they rule? Yes, they did. And this was after they broke down on the way to Boston in some Maryland hellhole and basically were lucky to escape with all of their organs intact and accounted for. Throw in some Black Flag and it’s nothing but win at that point.

Holy double kick, Batman. Goatwhore weren’t fucking around at all. They started their set with no hesitation and began pummeling the audience straight off, no build up. It was basically like getting your head chopped off while you weren’t paying attention. What followed was a barrage of guitar solos, incensed bellowing and double kick upon double kick. Here, put your head on this jackhammer, you might like it.

High On Fucking Fire. Matt Pike is the best guitar player on the planet right now. Do not question this. Dude was pulling out some Mahavishnu shit during solos. Basically it was a cross of Motorhead and early Larry Coryell (look him up). All the shit was played. “10,000 Years” destroyed everything. The whole band was in top form, including Pike, whose stint in rehab only made his playing tighter and more focused, like laser guided napalm. One of the best performances I’ve ever been witness to, no doubt.

Hounds of Hasselvander at O'Brien's

Alright. A night of DOOM the night after Valentine's Day, when you've had time to let it sink in that nobody in the entire world wants to be your Valentine and you'll probably die alone shivering in a cold, dank basement and your body won't be discovered for months because nobody missed you or even cared at all. Troo doom.

Ogre trudged up on stage to flatten the unworthy masses (and there was an excellent sized crowd at the show) with their take on doom, which features tons of top notch soloing from axe wizard Ross Markonish. Seriously, this dude woodsheds up on the highest mountains of Maine and brings it back down to Earth to share his message of electric love with the downtrodden and drunk. There was also a song about some sort of giant robot woman who can't get a date so she kills everything in the universe. You know how it goes.

Born of Thunder stepped on the gas and sped it up a little, or a lot, depending on your state of mind and what type of chemicals you had ingested before and/or during the show. More rabid soloing, this time by Mr. Craig Silverman, and between song banter by the band that rivaled that of the Carson/McMahon team at the height of their powers. Catch bassist Joey Sinn in the hit Swedish TV show "Streetboat".

And then, my friends, Hounds of Hasselvander set up their gear, including a mammoth drumset, and proceeded to teach everyone in attendance a lesson of what troo old-school doom is, the kind of doom that was handed down by Butler/Iommi/Osbourne/Ward and passed along to the likes of Pentagram. No bullshit, heads-down, let's get 'er done DOOM. When Joe Hasselvander wasn't riffing the fuck out, he was peeling off solos that would make most guitarists just put their fucking guitars down, go crawl in the corner and weep into their Sword t-shirts. Not many bands sound like this. Serious first-rate shit.

Maybe dying alone, Valentineless, isn't such a bad thing after all. Doom on, brothers.

Destruct-a-thon at The Midway/Cortez at O'Brien's

Holy fucking shit, Batman. Two shows at two clubs, eight bands preaching the heavy rock gospel, a farewell show, a CD release, and a band that hasn't played together in six months? Let's do this....

Buried In Leather, besides having the best name for anything ever, also have the white Joe Cocker on vocals, and if you don't know what i mean then you spend entirely too much time watching Judge Judy. They kicked things off in grand fashion at the Midway in Jamaica Plain, basically sounding like Motorhead and the Ramones fighting over the last beer at some kid's 21st birthday. Keith Pierce is the ringleader, fully clad in leather and exhorting the crowd to get their shit together, because this ain't no picnic.

Mob Hit are up next and they throw down some metallic hardcore, NOT metalcore, and if you don't know the difference then there's no hope for ya, bub. Doug from Gozu fills in on 2nd guitar and does an admirable job kicking asses and taking no names.

Once Superpower's bass player shows up, walking in the door and plugging right in, the shit is on. Dave River Tree Conley Esq. does his thing, and Terry, yeah, Terry who used to play in anarcho-crust legends Disrupt and Ny-Quil doom heroes Grief, puts on a workshop of how to play guitar THE RIGHT WAY. This was their CD release show for their new disc "Phantom of the Alliance", which I picked up but have not had the chance to listen to yet, although I'm sure it kills in all the right places. If you haven't seen or heard Superpower yet, think of DRI and Municipal Waste and you're halfway there, as Jon Bon would say.

Then Destruct-a-thon are next, saying their goodbyes and farewells, after fighting the good fight for a good many years. Duncan's eyes pop out of his head and roll around on the floor a couple of times, and Michele Morgan plays guitar like she was born with it in her hands. Two other axe slingers, Patti and Ed, provide some sonic back-up, and Eric and Sean hold down the fort on drums and bass so Duncan can crowd surf and kiss the ceiling fans. Don't try this at home, these people are certified motherfuckers and we're gonna miss 'em. Farewell, Destruct-a-thon, we hardly knew ye.

OK, now it's time to head across town to O'Brien's in lovely Allston where Cortez and some other miscreants are gonna rape my earholes and treat me like the piece of garbage I am. I think I have some issues I need to work out. Anyway....

Completely missed Blue Aside, my apologies, I was too busy partaking in extracurricular activities at D-Thon's rehearsal space and got lost in some sort of beer/space time vortex.

This was my first time seeing Birch Hill Dam and I don't really have anything to say other than Jeezus Harold Christ, that's a goddamn rock band right there. These dudes don't just play riffs, they excavate them from riff mines deep in the heart of riff country. If you dig Unida, Pepper Keenan-fronted Corrosion of Conformity, and good rock music played really well by musicians who mean it, then you'll dig these guys. I mean, fucking B.C. Rich? Obviously they're not fucking around.

Nobody told Resurrection Sorrow that they weren't playing Madison Square Garden, but that's just as well, as they crammed an arena's worth of rock into the confines of O'Brien's. The singer brought to mind Danzig, although much taller and he kept his shirt on. Just full-on hard rock, nothin' fancy, but if you wash down your steak with Black Label then this is the band for you.

Finally, 143 beers later, Cortez takes the stage with their newest vocalist and shows everyone in attendance why they've already been to Europe and also played the Stoner Hands of Doom festival. It's because THEY FUCKING ROCK AND THEY WILL KILL YOU IF YOU TURN YOUR BACK ON THEM.

Alright then, that's it for me. Cheers to all the bands for a mammoth day of rock played with passion and heart. It's an ugly job but somebody's gotta do it.

Elder at O'Brien's

The buildings never felt so good falling on you. Every brick and girder, every piece of reinforced cement fell perfectly on your body, hitting it just so, crushing it just right. It felt so good, you couldn’t imagine it happening again like this. You gave in to it and let it wash over you. No more pain. Gone.

Once the elephants started running you had nowhere to go, so you just picked up what you could and headed for the nearest copse of trees, hoping it would shield you. The dust that was raised by the trampling was blinding. The sound was a deafening roar, just a wash of noise. You closed your eyes and hoped for the best, at one point seeing someone hanging a shirt in an open window, the walls bare and the light on.

The cheering continued unabated, the banners and streamers going full tilt, creating a vision of cascading red and white. More victory could not be attained at this juncture, the flag had been planted and photographed for prosperity, the troops stood smiling, mouthing “Hi, Mom” at the gawking cameras.

Once upon the mountain, your campsite secure and safe, you set out to go higher. The Sun is cresting the horizon, the sky is anything but blue. Light beams onto you, climbing and straining skyward. Reaching. Every single ounce of energy contained in your body rising upwards towards the Sun itself, grasping it tight and never letting go. Ever.

Born of Thunder at O'Brien's

I figured I'd drag my ass out of the apartment as I was in danger of turning into Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" if i didn't get out for a bit. Lo and behold, O'Brien's had a decent show going on, so I braved the sub-arctic temperatures (actually it wasn't that bad, but I'm sick of this shit) and had my face rocked off.

Riff Cannon (amazing name, by the way) started off the night with an excellent set of heavy-ass RIFFING. Some sweet guitar solos sealed the deal. I think they're somewhat new, but I'll check 'em out again. At one point a riff cannonball landed right near me and almost spilled my drink.

Mob Hit have a little more hardcore mixed into their metal, but they're not really metalcore (thank God). Barry Spillberg from Wargasm beats the shit out of his drums for these dudes, so you know it's gonna be good. This would probably go over a little better with a younger, more energetic crowd, not a bunch of geriatric rockers who spike their Jack & Cokes with Ex-Lax (I'm speaking for myself here). A spot-on cover of "Honeybucket" by the Melvins brought a tear to this geezer's eye. Also, nice Stryper shirt.

Revocation just shredded. Three-piece death metal with a guitarist who could play rings around Trey Azagthoth or any other DM axeslinger out there. Did I mention this dude shreds? Totally. They kind of reminded me of Death a little bit, which I would say is a good thing. Even the people who didn't really dig 'em had to admit that the guitarist SHREDS. They have a small feature in the new issue of Metal Maniacs, so you can read all about what brand of goatsblood they soak their strings in.

Finally, Born of Thunder took the stage and rocked the hell out of the place. Craig Silverman (Only Living Witness) has been added on second guitar and it really beefs up the sound. It was fucking LOUD, in the best way possible. These heshers play pretty much straight-up metal, think Motorhead with a little Laaz Rockit mixed in, that kind-of-but-not-really speed metal. Mr.B broke a few laws with some too-fast-for-love drumming, but that's rock now, innit?

After the last notes had faded and the last beer had been drained, I said my farewells and headed back out to my dogsled and made my way across the frozen tundra that is Allston, my appetite for rock sated once again. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, after all.

Eyehategod at Club Lido

This show was way the hell out in Revere, which on a Sunday in February is like the middle of nowhere, but the train drops you off right in the parking lot so at least it’s got that going for it. Club Lido was so dark that at first I thought they forgot to pay their electric bill but soon my eyes adjusted and I was able to make my way to the back bar and begin to grease the wheels of metal. Pretty big place, probably holds close to a thousand people, although this show did not sell out. Good crowd though, just not a sell-out.

Fast Death went on first, an hour late, and proceeded to…I don’t really know. The sound was so atrocious that I couldn’t make out what the hell they were doing. I think it was some kind of thrash metal, maybe? I could see a guitar player up there, but I couldn’t really hear him over the insanely loud drumming. My guess was that whoever was running the soundboard had just woken up, turned on the PA and had the band start playing without checking any levels or even if the mics were plugged in, that’s really the only explanation. Truly horrendous sound. Fortunately, it improved for the rest of the bands. Sorry, Fast Death. Maybe next time.

Full Blown AIDS were next and proceeded to play some of the most downtrodden and oppressive doom there is. It’s not even doom, it goes beyond doom. Seth Putnam plays guitar like he’s trying to kill it, to physically dismantle it until there is nothing left but shards of wood and small pieces of metal. It sounds completely wrong, but it gets their point across so well, which is “fuck off, go die, we hate being here, where are the drugs”. Definitely a change of pace from A.C., the songs of Full Blown AIDS are much longer and slower, sometimes barely crawling along before being out out of their misery. Great set.

PanzerBastard kind of sound like all of the good bands and none of the bad ones. You know what I mean. Celtic Frost, Motorhead, Venom, Discharge=good, you figure out the rest. Head bastard Keith Bennett got the masses riled up and led the charge, and they didn’t let up for a minute. They have a new EP out called “Centurion” which I highly recommend checking out. Goddamn.

Livver followed and played their version of music, which in this case is like a mix of AmRep scumrock mixed with angry hardcore a la Deadguy. Good set. They definitely mean it, that’s for sure, you can tell by the way the veins on the singer’s head bulge out . Simultaneously tight and messy, Livver are a band to keep an eye on.

Misery Index were up next. I gotta admit I don’t know too much about these dudes, although I have heard them before. They’re on Relapse and basically sound like it. A little grind mixed in with death metal and some groove with duelling lead vocalists. They were energetic and definitely pro, and the crowd dug ‘em. Just not really my cuppa tea.

Ah yes. Eyehategod. The granddaddies of Southern sludge. After repeated attempts to have one of the spotlights turned off, with Mike Williams proclaiming that they would not play until the light was indeed turned off, Mr. Bower took matters into his own hands by takng a mic stand and simply pointing the light up to the ceiling. Take that, incompetent light guy! And then the feedback, the feedback that only sounds like Eyehategod feedback. And then, my friends, the sludge. A giant wave of it broke over the crowd and we all bathed in it for the next hour plus, wallowing in the filth and the groove which only Eyehategod can provide. Yes, it’s true. No band sounds like them. Many try to, but none do. As I was watching this glorious spectacle, I realized just how many truly great riffs these dudes have. As in, you could put their riffs up against the best riffs of Sabbath, Zeppelin, Kyuss, anyone you can think of, and Eyehategod would hold their own, sometimes even besting the masters. Lots of old stuff was played, as well as brand new material (which sounded great) and there was tons of stagediving and the pit got pretty big a few times, everyone celebrating the ugliness of the world with Eyehategod providing the soundtrack. Truly epic. They sounded great, maybe better than any other time I’ve seen ‘em, and they showed why they are held in such high regard by people who like their riffs caked in dirt.

Black Thai at Great Scott

Well, there we were, another Saturday night in Beantown, congregating at another loud rock show, discussing the demise of the mighty Stonerrock.com and looking to the future with our shades on. Does the rock ever stop? Of course not, don't be foolish. You can't stop the rock. Even after the apocalypse comes and wipes us off the face of the Earth like so much unwanted detritus, the rock will still be here, making ears ring and heads bang. So, on with the show....

Livver hit the stage and proceeded to pummel us about the head, neck, face and chest area with loud, abrasive, mean rock. The guy with the mic kept yelling at us that we weren't good enough while the band churned out an angular mix of metal, hardcore and noise. I have no idea what any of the songs are about, but it probably has something to do with lousy jobs, shitty landlords and chicks who break your stupid heart. This is the second time I've seen these dudes and the second time I dug 'em, so they're two for two so far.

Do you like riffs? You know, the kind that Ted Nugent, Grand Funk Railroad, Fu Manchu and others of that ilk play? Huh? Do ya? Well then, Riff Cannon is the band for you. Nothing at all original going on here, but they nail what they're doing 100%. Double axe attack classic Stoner Rock is what these guys deliver. Like I told Arzgarth, who then STOLE MY LINE (the bastard), Riff Cannon is about as original as putting ice in a glass of water. But that don't mean it's not refreshing, because hey, who doesn't like a nice cold glass of water? Jerks, that's who.

And then Black Thai closed out the night, celebrating the release of their new EP "Blood From On High" and kicking off their short tour. These guys have progressed a long way in a short time, playing some heavy, muscular rock that mixes doom with Soundgardenish tendencies. The melodic vocals of Jim Healey are able to soar over the unholy din and Jeremy Hemond beats the living crap out of his drums, showing why he's in three of the hardest hitting bands in Boston right now (well, besides the money he pays to each of them). Seriously though, great show. The highlight for me was undoubtedly "Sinking Ships", which is like getting hit again and again by a large bus with cement tires. I'm into that shit.

Supersuckers at The Middle East

I just worked twelve days in a row but that was not gonna stop me from going to see the Supersuckers and Nashville Pussy on a Friday fucking night. No effing way. Sure, I was burnt out and tired, but what I needed was a dose of pure of rock ‘n roll. And anyone who tells you that rock is dead is just a stupid person, plain and simple. Rock is alive and well, I saw the evidence with my own two eyes tonight.

Local band Sasquatch and the Sick-A-Billys kicked it off with a set of rockabilly. Think of an evil version of The Stray Cats, like if Brian Setzer and company drank too much and smoked way too much weed. If it’s possible for a rockabilly guitarist to shred, then this dude does. The songs were all about pussy, or eating pussy, or just being a bad person in general. They closed out their set with a straight cover of “Am I Evil” just to drive the point home that they aren’t very nice people and they will hurt you if given the chance.

I saw Nashville Pussy back when Corey Parks was in the band. Remember her? She was the eight foot tall chick with the big boobs who breathed fire. I thought I’d seen God when I first experienced the Pussy live. Alas, Corey hasn’t been in the band for a while now, but the Minister of Bad-Assedness himself, Eddie Spaghetti, was filling in on bass tonight. The rest of the band is still intact, including every teenage boy’s rock ‘n roll wet dream, Ruyter Suys. She’s all hair and boobs and guitar solos, like if Angus Young was the hot chick in town who was more interested in pentatonic minor scales than make-up. And yeah, Blaine is still fronting the band, like Lemmy’s evil and demented cousin. Basically, according to Nashville Pussy, the evolution of rock music stopped sometime around 1977 with Ted Nugent, Aerosmith and AC/DC. If the J. Geils Band sounded anything at all like Nashville Pussy’s cover of “First I Look at the Purse”, then I might give a fuck about the J. Geils Band. But they don’t, so I don’t. Anyhoo, they totally ripped it up, plus it was Blaine’s birthday, so that just added to the festivites.

I’ve been going to see the Supersuckers for years. YEARS. Their first four albums, “The Songs All Sound the Same”, “The Smoke of Hell”, “La Mano Cornuda”, and “The Sacrilicious Sounds of the Supersuckers”, got constant rotation from me back in the day. Those albums are rock ‘n roll gospel as far as I’m fucking concerned. Somehow the Supersuckers never quite crossed over to the mainstream and commercial success eluded them, through no fault of their own. I mean, they were on fucking Sub Pop, the songs were more catchy than STDs, and their whole image was rock solid. Eddie Spaghetti, I’m convinced, is one of the Great American Poets of our time. His lyrics are just unfuckwithable. So yeah, they busted out all the classics tonight: Luck, Coattail Rider, Mudhead, On the Couch, How to Maximize Your Kill Count, Doublewide, etc. Ron Heathman is no longer playing guitar, but the new dude fit in just fine. He looked as if he was just interrupted from fixing someone’s car to play the show, peeling off solo after face melting solo like it ain’t no big thing. And of course Dan Bolton was right there with him, looking exactly like this dude who coached my little league baseball team back in the 80’s. And I mean that as a compliment, that dude was cool as shit. Also, when did Eddie start lookng exactly like Rob Haldford with a cowboy hat? I don’t know, but he does. So yeah, this show ruled, and anyone who tells you that rock is dead is just a straight up fool who has no idea what the fuck they speak of.

Cortez at Radio

A hot, muggy Friday night in August. Perfect for a metal show. It felt like Hell, might as well go see a bunch of bands who play Beezelebub’s favorite type of music, right? The correct answer is “yes”. Vaporizer from Burlington, VT got the blood flowing with a loud, abrasive set of neo-thrash/death/kill metal. Their eight-foot tall singer looked like he might jump off the stage at any moment and rip apart some spectators, while Eli the drummer spun his head around, hair flying everywhere as he beat the shit out of his drums. The twin guitar attack, along with the pummeling bass, provided a wall of metal for the vocalist to scream his displeasure over. I don’t know what the hell is going on up in Vermont but these dudes definitely mean it.

Up-and-comers Rozamov kicked off their set with a blast of feedback and a Happy Birthday to Mr. James Hetfield, and that, along with the singer’s Gibson Flying V, set the tone for the set. Unrelenting straight-up metal, with a little stoner/doom thrown in, is what they’re about. The tempos weren’t too fast, mainly mid-tempo, with some slower, crawling passages here and there. More double guitar action here, with an axe slinger who not only can rip and has a great sound but is one of the cutest Goddamn guitar players around (No, not the shirtless dude with the V. Sorry, bro.). Is that sexist? What’s wrong with being sexy? Dual vocals from time to time, with the bass player throwing in his two cents every now and then, helped keep it interesting. Good stuff.

Stoner rock. There, I said it. Don’t like? Tough. It exists. Some bands play it right, and some bands play it very, very wrong. Like, make-you-hate-music-and-whoever-invented-it wrong. Summoner (formerly called Riff Cannon) play it very right. These dudes sound like they just stepped out of 1995, bong in hand, ready to play these riffs that just make heshers bang their heads until their necks are sore. For some reason I kept thinking of the band Core while watching them. Their songs are pretty long, some mellower, psychedelic parts strewn about, but then they’ll flatten you with some huge mountain-sized riff to remind you that the end is nigh. Again, twin guitars bobbed and weaved, playing some excellent harmonized lines when they weren’t laying down the sludge. They have an album out on Magnetic Eye Records, so if you dig classic stoner rock (there it is again) without any death metal, post metal, or any other kind of metal mixed in, then seek it out, you won’t be disappoined. I promise.

Cortez have been playing for a few years now, they’ve had various line-up changes, but they kept at it and they’ve been rewarded with a brand new double vinyl album and a set of strong, pretty much perfect heavy rock. Vocalist Matt can sing, let me tell you. Only vocalist I can really think of who he reminds me off in power and tone is John Garcia. If Kyuss Lives! or Unida ever needs another singer for whatever reason, Matt is the man for the job. Dude belts it out like nobody’s business. And he HAS to, what with all the racket being generated by Scott, Jeremy and Jay. Thick as shit riffs, hooks for days, actual SONGS with choruses that stick in your stupid head, yeah, they got all of it. Not to mention a smokin’ cover of “Evil” by Cactus that makes Monster Magnet’s version sound kind of feeble, to be quite honest. Plus two of the dudes were wearing Boston Red Sox caps in public, so you know they got balls of steel. Go check out their beautiful album on Bilocation Records. Again, you will not be disappointed. Awesome set. Beezlebub would be proud.

Corrosion of Conformity at The Middle East

I was looking forward to this show and it did not disappoint. Four heavy hitters playing all manner of sludge, hardcore, noise and pop. Gaza started off the night with a set of unrelenting angular noise metal. Nothing about these guys is subtle. Nothing. If they tell you otherwise then they are straight up lying. Loud as hell and violent sounding, it was exactly like getting hit in the face over and over with a hammer. They’re like a more pissed off Converge, if that’s possible. At times it literally sounded like explosions were emanating from their amps, it didn’t even sound like instruments playing music. (This is a compliment of the highest order, by the way.) Their singer got down off the stage after the first song and performed the rest of the set amongst the audience, getting right up close to the crowd and screaming in our faces, letting us know that we were scum and didn’t deserve to live. Or something. We loved it.

I’d like to thank Black Cobra for my sore neck. At one point I was headbanging on autopilot, the riffs and drums just took over and I was lost in a haze of distortion. They were spot on tonight, nothing was amiss. I’ve seen these guys five or six times and this may have been the best sounding set yet. There is no fat to Black Cobra’s songs, it’s just riff after riff after riff with explosive drums threatening to overtake everything at any given moment. Some parts sound, to me, like prime Ministry, when Al Jourgensen was leading his troops into speed metal battle. Other parts are just total fucking doom bliss. No complaints whatsoever here.

You’ve heard of the Eagles of Death Metal, right? Well, Torche are the Wings of Sludge. They have no right to be as heavy as they are and play catchy, poppy songs. No right at all, dammit. Husker Du + Foo Fighters + melodic Helmet = Torche (do the math). If they were playing what they’re playing right now back in 1992 then Nirvana would’ve been opening for them. It’s just disgusting how catchy some of these songs are. And yes, the Bomb String was deployed and in full effect, leveling the audience and leaving huge smiles on people’s faces. As one dude said to me right after they finished, Torche live is religion, pure and simple. Jaw dropping.

Corrosion of Conformity. Legends of hardcore. What is there to be said about them? They got up there and did what they do, which is play their own brand of Black Sabbath infused punk rock. They looked too be big to be on that stage. And yes, there was a pit, but it wasn’t a “I’m going to break your neck and kill you” pit, it was more of a  “Oh my God, I fucking love this song, let’s run into each other at full speed” pit.  My only complaint is that they would start a song and then abandon it, such as playing a verse of “Vote With a Bullet” with Reed singing lead or two verses of Sabbath’s “Hand of Doom” and then go into something else. They did, however, play a full version of the song “Deliverance”, which got many a head banging. I kind of wish they would delve more into the Pepper-era material, even if he’s not in the band at this point, but that’s a minor complaint. COC is an institution and for good reason. Few bands manage to blend authentic doom ala Sabbath with frenetic hardcore and make it work. COC does it and they do it well. Excellent show from top to bottom. A sore neck don’t lie.

                       

                       

(the) Melvins at The Paradise

At this point, there is really no need at all to write a Melvins live review, so basically this is going to be a little reminder of how this band stands head and shoulders above pretty much any band out there right now. And Buzz, if you’re reading this for some unknown reason, I don’t care if you approve of my liking your band or not, I don’t care if you hate me for being a fan of your music, I don’t care if you think it’s stupid that I banged my fucking head like I was sixteen years old and heard “Angel of Death” by Slayer for the first time. Go ahead and hate me and all your other fans if you want, we will still show up to see you and Dale and the rest of the guys lay waste to every living thing out there, because I don’t know if there’s another band that sounds like this. The sheer heaviness of the guitar and bass combining to create a wall of fuzzed out sludge that you could almost see hanging in the air is unlike anything any other “metal” band is doing. The Melvins are one of thee best doom bands around, when they decide to play doom. “At the Stake” proved that fact once and for all, just a mammoth, grinding.lurching beast of a song that renders 99.9% of doom bands irrelevant. “Boris” just banged the final nail in the coffin. Are you fucking kidding me? Can you even quantify the heaviness of this shit? Every once in a while Buzz would let loose some retardedly amazing Gonzoid guitar solo that sounded like Alvin Lee had just made a guest appearance on stage, only to be followed by more waves of sludge and feedback. Was there a pit? Yes, there fucking was. Because when the Melvins launch into riff hymns such as “Revolve” and “Sweet Willy Rollbar”, your body can’t help but react, there’s just no way a living, breathing person can stand still and not headbang or just lose it completely and go batshit crazy.

Look, this review is pointless, I know that. But I felt that I just had to write something about this show due to the sheer epicness of it. These guys aren’t going anywhere for a long, long time, so get used to the fact that the Melvins will be releasing new albums and touring for years to come; at least that’s what they showed last night. They are as vital and relelvant as any new band that just started playing. Pioneering. Groundbreaking. Genius. These are words that get tossed around way too much to describe bands that do not deserve the accolades, but the Melvins deserve any and all praise thrown their way. And Buzz, if you don’t like it, that’s just too fucking bad.

The Jesus Lizard at The Paradise

It was like 1992 all over again at the Paradise, with David Yow and his merry band of deviants plotting to overthrow the city of Boston and its surrounding areas with their totally unique and unrivaled take on rock music. Seriously, I don't think there has ever been or ever will be a band who sound anything like the Jesus Lizard, except maybe, MAYBE, the Birthday Party, and they were a bunch of no-good junkies from AUSTRALIA, of all places, so it's not the same at all, really.

The Lizard sounded and looked exactly as they did the last time I saw them, sometime in the early 90's. I swear, Yow was wearing the exact same pair of ripped jeans and dirty boots that he wore back in the heady days of Bill Clinton. You know the guy who sells you insurance, drives a mini-van and drops off his dry cleaning every Friday? The Jesus Lizard basically look like that guy, except they go home and carefully polish boxes of bullets and keep lists of everyone who has ever cut them off in traffic for future reference. In other words, they look like nice guys but they will definitely fuck you right the fuck up, and for good reason, you fuck. Duane Dennison looked like he was late for bowling night, which just made everything that much cooler and more sinister. David Wm. Sims still has the best bass sound in the business - it sounds like the bass itself is dragging its knuckles on the stage, looking for the guy who spilled its drink. And Mac, well, Mac ended the set proper with a goddamn DRUM SOLO, which by the way totally ruled and had everyone in attendance mesmerized.

The songs? Look, you got "Mouthbreather", "Boilermaker", "Then Comes Dudley", "Monkey Trick", all the hits you know and love, played with malice, joy and precision. As soon as the music started, Yow launched himself into the crowd, bargling and gorpling into the mic while the masses felt his nutsack and passed him around like the cheap hooker he was in a previous life.

Of course, what would a Jesus Lizard show be without a little nudity? Again, Yow delivered, not with his balls, but with his ass, pulling his jeans down below the waist and his shirt up above his head for the final number, and singing the final song like that, working the crowd into a frenzy so that the show ended with someone throwing one of their fucking SNEAKERS onstage, along with a few beers. Such is life in the scum-rock trenches.

Yeah, the Jesus Lizard have no peers. They stand alone atop their own mountain, waving their own freak flag. Thank Jeebus they decided to do one more victory lap for us lowlifes. It was like they never left. Fucking astonishing.

Nick Oliveri at The Middle East

First off, more shows should start at 7:00 p.m. This way I can head out early and get home at a decent hour (of course, it didn't happen like that. I still got home around 2 in the morning). I mean, why the hell do I need to stand around in a dark room until midnight just to see some dude get up onstage and lay it on the line? Get the fuck up there and do it and let's get outta here.

Dave Tree opened up with some spoken word, which really wasn't all that different from when you run into him on the street or at the Model, except that now he had a microphone in his hand and lights shining on him and everyone buying him drinks. He told an amusing story about the time he almost drowned and then launched into his own attack ad on Republican wang model Scott Brown, as well as throwing out some lyrics from some of his bands, which include Tree, Drug War and Superpower. A lifer through and through.

See that guy up there, the one with the Black Flag shirt, the crazy beard, and the maniacal look in his eye? Yeah, that guy played bass on "Blues For the Red Sun", so listen to what he has to say, even if it does sound like a thinly veiled threat and your first instinct is to run screaming from the room trying to save your own life. Nick Oliveri got up onstage with his sticker-encrusted acoustic guitar and TOLD IT LIKE IT IS. None of that "oh woe is me" bullshit some earnest types try to foist upon the masses. This is more like "oh woe is you, motherfucker". What did he play? Oh, how about some Kyuss (Love Has Passed Me By, Green Machine), Queens of the Stone Age (Autopilot), and Dwarves (Dairy Queen), as well as the Ramones and GG Allin, all delivered as though he was fronting a full band playing at full volume. No fingerpicking here, folks. Save that for the jerks with the shiny Ovation guitars. This is the real shit, no quirky/hipster/ironic bullshit here. Just blood, sweat and no fear, and some pretty killer tunes. Great show.

Motherboar at Cambridge Elk's Lodge

Look, if you're gonna have a metal/punk/grind show, you might as well have it in the basement of an Elks lodge that has cement floors, wood-paneled walls and a goddamn elk's head on the wall. Also, most of the beer was served in cans and the selection ran the gamut from Budweiser to Miller to Pabst.

Burn the Witch kicked off the night with a solid set of metal/stoner/cowbell rock. Some of these dudes have played in bands like Overcast and Seemless and they pretty much know what the fuck they're doing at all times, so you're in good hands with them.

Psycho was next. These guys have been churning out their own brand of punk/grind since the 1940's it seems, and they don't fuck around at all. They have a million releases and even served time as GG Allin's backing band. Guitarist Johnny X channeled his inner Greg Ginn and pulled off some atonal noise solos that would curl your toenails. Songs clock in around the minute mark for the most part, anything longer is fucking epic.

Rawradarwar assaulted the audience next. Imagine shoving your head inside a running airplane engine while some maniac yells at you to shove it in farther and you get an idea of what these guys are all about. Boston's reigning kings of D-beat/doom played a blistering set and took no prisoners, choosing instead to cut their heads off and dropkick them across the room. Vicious.

And then Motherboar closed out the night, vocalist Kenny barking his exhortations through a custom microphone which was actually part of a Pabst tall-boy can. These dudes take elements of Mastodon, Scissorfight and hunting and make them their own. A new album called "Croctosquatch" is in the can just waiting to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world, so stock up on water and call your relatives for the last time.

T. Rashed at O'Brien's

O'Brien's did some major redecorating, as there were brightly colored balloons and bunting hanging all over the place and bowls of lollipops for the alcoholics and drug addicts to enjoy while Electric Wizard blasted over the PA. Actually, the decorations were for someone's birthday, but I can dream a little, can't I? This is stoner rock, after all, the fucking Land of Dreams and Fantasy.

New Small Stone employees Sun Gods in Exile kicked off the festivities with a set that sounded as if the Nuge had stormed the stage during an Allman Brothers show and proceeded to solo over everything. In other words, it rocked. Nothin' too fancy going on here, just solid blues-based hard rock that will go down well with those of us who have a hard time figuring out how to open a can of Schlitz.

Cocked 'n Loaded, Boston's very own version of AC/DC (if AC/DC lived in Allston and ate burritos), rolled up on stage next and delivered the goods. Frontman Kyle strutted and stumbled around the stage, exhorting the crowd to drink and get drunk and shit like that while the band laid down a bed of rock solid basic meat and tomatoes rawk.

But what's this? After Cocked 'n Loaded finished and they all retired to the men's room (for reals), their alter ego, Night Prowler, emerged, bewigged and reborn, and threw down a set of Bon Scott-era AC/DC chestnuts. Calls for "Sink the Pink" or "Flick of the Switch" were either greeted with contempt by the band or outright ignored. Lead guitarist Matt ripped it the fuck up on guitar, nailing each and every Angus solo and basically putting on a workshop of How It's Done.

And then, my friends, T. Rashed, Allston's very own T. Rex cover band, clamored up on the stage and proceeded to play a set of T. Rex covers which wasn't really that bad for a bunch of dudes who sounded like they haven't actually listened to T. Rex in oh, about ten years. It was a little "loose", shall we say, but we all got the point, and the songs are great no matter how much you butcher 'em. Craig and Tim from Roadsaw, on drums and bass respectively, along with Dave and Stan from Cropduster, plowed through a set of prime Marc Bolan without a care in the world, and that's really what it's all about with this stuff. It doesn't matter if you know the chord changes or how the verse goes, just fucking turn your amp up louder and play the damn song. Kudos, gentlemen. Kudos.

Then it was cake time, and oh, how we ate cake. We ate the shit out of cake. Because really, isn't that what rock is all about? Cake? And balloons? And beer? The answer is "fuck yes".