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.