Friday, September 3
This year�s labor day weekend saw the Stoner Hands of Doom festival land in the Mecca of the heavy music, Youngstown, Ohio. While its duration was one day light of the Emissions from the Monolith IV marathon, the doom/fuzz/sludge and any other adjective to describe the buffet of cacophony that rolled out of the Nyabinghi for three days was plenty for the hundreds that made the pilgrimage.
The festival, as promised by the �Binghi�s resident aural alchemist, Greg Barratt, was an excellent mix of the familiar pillars of the scene � Solace, The Atomic Bitchwax, Sons of Otis, and Throttlerod � and relative unknowns such as Greatdayforup, Hyatari, Cable, and The Fallopian Dudes. Having just experienced my first Emissions a few months earlier, I looked forward to uttering the staple phrases overheard constantly during that May long weekend: �did you see that� and �that was ridiculous,� liberally sprinkled, of course, with drunken expletives.
I arrived Thursday night, a nice one hour before the first band took the stage. Wandering into the Nyabinghi, replete with the scars of a thousand rock and roll battles, is like being assaulted by everything that is warm and comfortable about this scene, with the excess of spirit � both human and alcohol � providing those all too familiar glowing, shit-eating grins for the weekend.
The first face that greeted me was Megan, the whiskey-soaked voice bartender. I had never met her before, but we talked 20 minutes about Quebec and Belgian beer. With the conversation gaining hospitable momentum and rumbled strains of Milligram being heard from the famous jukebox upfront, the long sips of Chambly tasted, not too surprisingly, sweeter.
The first band up was The Human Being Lawnmower. One of the great advantages of being the first band on is the satisfaction of getting the first thrust of the dagger into the proceedings � you may not slay the beast, but you definitely have awoken it. That�s exactly what these guys did, despite being a temporary three-piece. Once they got their legs, HBL paid correct homage to their name with an unrelenting, machine-like efficiency serving of tasty sludge. The fact that I drank three beers during their set should be indicative of how industrious their use of volume and velocity was. The early birds in attendance were definitely fed their worms.
Ironically, I missed Headache because I left my good earplugs at the hotel (I used the cheap ones temporarily). Speaking to a few people, it seems they did nothing to dissuade preconceptions about their name. Like some primordial ooze, the Heavy slowly began to seep into the Nyabinghi.
With my ears safely guarded from Pete Towninitus, The Fallopian Dudes took the stage with a confidence and swagger of things to come. Imagine the force of the Ramones going up against the antagonistic friction of Kyuss. The punk speed is tempered by the muck and grime that is the desert storm. Whatever it was, The Fallopian Dudes absolutely crushed all those who witnessed this epic battle between a wink to New York and smile to Sky Valley. One of the great early surprises at SHoD!
But this, in essence, is why so many people love these festivals � those donkey kicks to the back of your musical head. Just when you think a band can�t get any heavier or offer anything fresh, there will be a group that is eager to rip you a new one.
Beaten Back to Pure came on next, took the baton, and continued the assault. Their dirty and nasty take on metal and doom was delivered in no uncertain terms � listen to this or die trying. The fact that two of the members look like survivors of the Skynyrd plane crash and one looks like Eddie Glass�s more disheveled twin brother only adds to the well-honed grit and hard-living stench of this southern rock and roll outfit. They finished their punishing set with Accept�s �Balls To The Walls.� A lesser band might have made this song simply a campy nod to an era gone by, but the way Beaten Back To Pure strangled this song, they siphoned out all the tongue-in-cheek potential, spat it back in our faces, and had the whole audience nodding in synch to this urgent call.
It was only Friday night, but I had felt like I had already gone 15 rounds with Mike Tyson. I needed to soak my feet in a bathtub. Well, if there was a musical equivalent to this yearning for comfort and massage, Delicious fit the bill perfectly. As their name implies, their sound is warm, gooey, spacey and psychedelic. I don�t know what it is, but this genre, ever since Karma To Burn, has produced some of the most addictive instrumental bands ever � and Delicious definitely need to be considered at the top of this under-appreciated genre. The infectious landscapes that these guys carved with their trippy noodling were the perfect way to end the first night. You know their set was amazing when, after already four hours of music, you are disappointed that they are finished.
Saturday, September 4
I knew that if I wanted to enjoy Sunday, I would have to maybe have a Spartan serving of rock and booze. Given the solid lineup, this truncating task was made rather difficult. Whatever decisions I made, I knew that there would be at least one band that I missed that would have taken my head off. This is the beauty of these festivals � almost everyone will have regrets. You just hope you didn�t miss the band.
The first act I saw was Greatdayforup . There was a lot of buzz about this band before SHoD, so I was eager to catch these guys from New York. Make no mistake, they are from New York! For their sound, while strong on vocals and catchy riffs, smacks of NYC hardcore like Biohazard and Sick Of It All, especially being helped along with the enthusiastic mannerisms of their lead singer. GDFU delivered the goods with no shortage of chunky beats, stage energy, and well-timed sonic punches. Whatever buzz there was about the band before was only rightfully amplified after their aggressive set.
I stayed for Wooly Mammoth because their name sounded so damn brontosauric and hippy. I love all the doom and sludge at these shows, but anytime there is a band that even has a sniff of a huggable psychedelic groove, I make sure that they get my attention. Even before they played one note, the lead singer/guitarist carried an aura/vibe of �70�s washout that set my mood right. While many bands who forest through the rummage of the �70�s sound try to uncover all that is doom, Wooly Mammoth excavate a refreshing lighter influence. In fact they even introduced one of their songs has a mix of Beatles and Kyuss, although almost all their songs had an accessible pop sensibility to them. A very solid performance from this Washington, D.C trio.
If I had been palling around with The Great Kazoo that weekend, he definitely would have called me �dumb-dumb� for missing the next band, Cable. Yes. That is right. I did not see what has now come to be Cable�s legendary slaying at the Nyabinghi. Back in the day, Ned�s Atomic Dustbin used to have a concert shirt that had on the front, �If You Missed Ned�s Atomic Dustin� and on the back, � Then You Fucked Up�. The Neddies were great live and deserved to print those shirts, but missing Cable�s pummeling still has me in that disheveled condition - even today! Supposedly their last song just went medieval on all the witnesses to their sonic carnage. Never mind heads being lopped off, there were claims of organ liquefaction and knee buckling. Please keep this in mind: There are NO exaggerations at these shows, just repeated failures at correctly describing earth-shattering events. The only complaint was their set was too short. And, anytime there is whining about a band not playing long enough at a festival like this only underscores how complete the devastation was.
I only caught the beginning of Secret Order of Tusk, but they brought a nice sinister aura to their bludgeoning � they reeked of evil. However, I had already decided before the day began that a much needed break would occur around 8 pm to eat, mingle, and drink at the front of the bar. And, unlike Emissions, which is usually packed like a Tokyo subway on Saturday night, I enjoyed not having to walk sideways through the Nyabinghi. After downing some pizza and PBRs with some peeps, I was ready to resume the battle.
I had missed Rebreather�s set at Emissions, so their set was bookmarked by me in August. Someone should have alerted me to how unbelievable their performance was going to be. My jaw never closed, my eyes never yielded their deer-caught-in-headlights look, and my breath went MIA. I am going to try to describe their set, but it is tragically ineffable. These guys throw down some of the fattest, chunkiest, and heaviest slabs of whoop-ass. With a nice dash of stop-start pounding, Ohio�s finest absolutely crushed the appreciative audience into some unrecognizable pulp. When they were finished, the drummer, Frank Booth, looked like he just crawled out of a Cambodian jungle. Unfortunately, nobody could be there to help him as the crowd was physically taxed by Rebreather�s hypnotic wall of slab. Let me give it away now � my favorite band at SHoD!
If Throttlerod and Son of Otis weren�t up next, I might have called it a night. Physically I didn�t, but emotionally I might have. Throttlerod are seasoned pros, and play their brand of Confederate Motorhead with passion and conviction, which gives them a thumbs up already. And, while the first part of their set was bogged down in my own Rebreather residue, their stompin�, southern boogie quickly infected me, and by the end, Throttlerod owned the audience. A great set indeed.
They say the 20 mile mark in the marathon is the wall, when runners who don�t have the will and energy to continue fall by the wayside. Well, SHoD�s wall may have been right after Throttlerod�s set on Saturday night, as there may have 15 people to witness the beginning of the Sons of Otis set. If you didn�t know anything about Sons of Otis, you may have been misled by the t-shirts the three band members were wearing � Hank Williams Jr., ZZ Top, and Band of Gypsies. Ostensibly, it may have appeared that these guys play straight-ahead rock. Yeah, they move straight-ahead alright, but I think erosion moves faster than Sons of Otis.
Imagine listening to Spine of God on Jupiter with your walkman batteries wearing out. Well, for Sons that pace might be still on the rushed side. Ken and his crew like to play about eight notes per minute, with each delivered with intensity of a thousand suns. This stuff is not for the faint of heart. And for the few that had the stomach for this cosmic drone, they were not disappointed. Amid an ever-thickening cloud of dry ice and spinning lights, Sons of Otis became even more brutal as their galaxy-moving dissonance reached a nadir of doom. Sadly, not enough people witnessed this magnificence. Too bad. This is exactly the type of envelope-pushing heaviness that needs to be heard� and seen, folks!
Greatdayforup
Live at SHoD VI
(Click photo for larger version)
Sunday, September 5
In spite of functioning on a shark sleep cycle and a Jim Morrison drinking attitude, I arrived early on the last day to catch as many bands as possible. First up was Boston�s We�re All Gonna Die. An excellent choice to kick off the day, as these guys pound and stomp with the best of them, but have enough melody and hooks to keep everything upbeat and up-tempo. This was the first time I had even heard them, and I was very impressed with their sound and solid delivery. Definitely catch this band if you have the opportunity.
With new video in hand, Devil to Pay moved at the highest speed permitted in the sludge universe. A very gritty and abrasive band, these boys laid out some fine tunes that incorporated the best of blues, metal, and doom. They even had the ingenuity to do a slightly slower version of �Green Machine.� Some might think it is not cool to cover a Kyuss song. Bollocks. The song is over ten years old and every band in this genre has Kyuss fingerprints on their instruments. Good call, gents.
Hyatari. Who? Yes, I wondered the same thing as something inside of me made sure that I didn�t leave the stage area and miss this band. The three-piece set-up looked Depeche Mode-esque as some kind of synthesizer/noise machine was front and center. My curiosity was peaking. Let�s get something straight � Hytari are not a group to catch a few songs. To fully immerse yourself in their haunting vision of nothingness, you must watch, listen and feel the entire set from these guys.
Just envision if Hal 9000 took all the music that Sons of Otis left on the studio floor and started to write songs about the implosion of stars and distant flickering quasars, you would have all that is wonderfully cacophonous and "droney" about Hyatari.
If I ever decide to send my body into space after I die, you can bet I will strap a walkman with some cheap speakers blaring the music that has all the beauty of distance blackness that none of us will ever see or could imagine.
Towards the end of their set, where the investment of watching these guys was paying off in unimaginable ways, the black hole density of their doom was bordering genius. Easily one of highlights of SHoD for many people.
I quickly retreated to the front of the bar to casually inform folks that missed Hyatari�s set as to a void that will now be permanently in their musical lives. While Test-Site were up next, I chose to skip them and the next few bands to leave the Nyabinghi and explore the fine dining of Youngstown. I was determined to find the antithesis of Denny`s. Sadly, I failed in my quest and ended up ordering subs from a local pizza joint. None of this would have happened if the barbecue pork sandwich vendor had set up shop in the patio area like at Emissions. Oh well, the money I saved allowed me to purchase ten CDs.
I got back in time for Black Nasa, but from all accounts, Test-Site and Penance were monster. Too bad for me, but my tank was close to E, and I wanted to make sure I made it to Solace and Atomic Bitchwax. Chris Kosnik probably has the same rock and roll sensibility as Eddie Glass �the natural yearning for a more groovier period in rock music. This was evident as Black Nasa served up some tasty rock and roll fare, with strong emphasis on grooves, hooks and overall accessibility. It wasn�t earth shattering stuff, but their set was solid and you had to respect the passion of the band.
I was eagerly anticipating A Thousand Knives of Fire, who were up next. For starters, their name instantly evokes something nefarious brewing in their cauldron of molten rock. And, as in the case of almost every band that plays inside the magical walls of 1229 Salt Springs Road, they did not disappoint. Their plan of attack was simple: kill. Ferocious and feral from the first note, the band played with an envious conviction and musicianship. As a result, no prisoners were taken.
Orodruin, who followed, took the best of classic metal � music, signature moves and all � and filtered it through the au courant sounds of today�s stoner rock. What I admired most about these guys is that they seemed to having a lot of fun on stage - maybe the most of all the bands on the bill. And, sometimes, a positive attitude translates into a more appreciative set. In Orodruin�s case, this definitely was the case. Towards the end, members of A Thousand Knives Of Fire came on stage with witch hats and fiery brooms (This might have been Penance, actually � Arz). It may have been a little too campy for some folks, but again, it seemed that all who were on stage were enjoying the moment.
Solace. After their legendary Emissions set, a Solace live performance is the new benchmark for maximum rock and roll damage. I have been going to shows for 25 years and their show back in May will unlikely be eclipsed by anything I ever will see again. Equaled perhaps, but never surpassed.
Adding to the anticipation of Solace was the knowledge that this was going to be their last show before their drummer Kenny was going to have cancer surgery. The musical and emotional tsunami�s were going to, in all likelihood, devastate the audience.
And, like having pocket aces in Hold `Em, the Solace set was a guaranteed winner. The boys thrashed and wailed out their ethanol infused doom �n` roll like only they can. No lulls. No breaks. No quarter. Solace were the apotheosis of how beautiful sonic chaos can be. That was it for me. I was done like Roberto Duran against Sugar Ray. No mas. No mas.
While I felt guilty for missing The Atomic Bitchwax, all my endorphins for the weekend had been spilled out. Mother always said, �If you are going to play in a band, just make sure you never follow Solace.�
Test-Site
Live at SHoD VI
(Click photos for larger versions)
Penance
Live at SHoD VI
(Click photo for larger version)
A Thousand Knives of Fire
Live at SHoD VI
(Click photo for larger version)
Orodruin
Live at SHoD VI
(Click photo for larger version)
Solace
Live at SHoD VI
(Click photo for larger version)
The Atomic Bitchwax
Live at SHoD VI
(Click photo for larger version)
SHoD 6 exceeded my expectations in every which way and affirmed why these festivals are anticipated and cherished by so many � the strong, vibrant, and cohesive rock and roll community that celebrates how lucky they are to have this music. Ironically, the music, while arguably being some of the heaviest and most brutal stuff out there, has fans that are extremely warm, giving and incongruously mellow. The juxtaposition of ear-bleeding dissonance with super sweet people is why people talk about these shows for months and then anticipate them for the same period of time.
See you at Emissions,
Superjudge70
