I got up early on day four. I wanted to imagine I had some conviction about not missing early bands, but the real reason was a need to be out of the motel before 10 a.m. What a horrifying hour. I had the distinct impression that motel checkout times are not set by metal fans, or people who liked to stay out late drinking.
In fact, such rules were likely designed to profit from persons like myself, who cannot meet the morning sun without the use of sunglasses, hats, or squinting.
I filled my car with luggage, and left it roughly a block from the venue. Walking along the outer security fence, I found a parking lot full of food vendors. Apparently Sundays in this neighborhood were used for open air markets, which mainly serve to amuseme and confuse metal fans. I spent the next half hour wandering through booths full of fresh food and hot plates, trying to convince headbangers from east bublefuck that “yes, Ethiopian food is ‘real food,’ and it tastes marvelous.”
Eventually they worked up the courage to try something from the Mexican stand, and remarked that it was better than they expected. This was probably because it contained actual plant and animal matter, and was not made under a red light.
The music started roughly an hour later, scaring the crap out of any vendor still packing supplies into his or her van. Unfortunately, my response was ennui. I stumbled aimlessly around the festival for a while, largely tired, cantankerous, and unimpressed. I tried to sleep on a hillside, unsuccessfully. Mostly I tried to conserve my energy until Repugnant hit the indoor stage.
Repugnant represented a loving tribute and recreation of everything best about the late ‘80s hybrids of death and thrash metal. They took the elements of bands like Sadus, Sepultura, Messiah, and put just enough of a fresh spin on things to keep the proceedings from going rancid. A simple rehash of former glories would have been insulting, like a late and dearly beloved pet being exhumed, skinned, and turned into a “muppet.” No matter how many fond memories you have, the sight of the creature with someone else’s hand jammed up its ass is more insult than homage. Repugnant know better than that, and know how to conjure the old magic without retelling the stories verbatim.
It was almost dinner time when Repugnant finished, but I was only in the mood for beer at that point. Beer would be a fine compliment to an Orange Goblin set. Their music fell well short of the usual heaviness requirements at an extreme metal festival, but they more than made up for it with degenerate attitude and enthusiasm. Overdriven amps poured out blues riffs, caked in filth, snot, whiskey, gasoline, and marijuana. If Jeffrey “Zakk Wylde” Wielandt had an ounce of sense or good taste, this is the sort of music he’d be playing. Perhaps Orange Goblin don’t have his instrumental talents, but I consider this more proof that endless nights spent with a chord book and lotion bottle do not result in any measure of superiority.
Nothing piqued my fancy for the near hour between Orange Goblin and Nuclear Assault, so it was time to get some unhealthy convenience store dinner, talk to other metal dorks, and bide my time. Funny how an underground metal festival is the one place where you can argue about the validity of early Monster Magnet vs Kyuss, AND debate whether Edgar Allen Poe and H.P. Lovecraft were right to oppose civilization and empiricism*.
The sun was setting on my conversation, just as Nuclear Assault took the stage at the lot’s western end. John Connelly is short, pudgy, and has a buzz cut. I can’t decide if he looks more like Udo Dirkschneider or Patton Oswalt, or if his guitar is taller than he is. I’m almost convinced that Dan Lilker is twice his height, and that Lilker writes amazing riffs without understanding anything resembling a chord progression.
This is the first and only time I’ve seen a crossover thrash band live. Every song results in a high speed mosh pit. The music’s pace rarely drops below that of a pneumatic drill, but all the while my head keeps bobbing and my hand keeps moving in rhythm. It’s a remarkable schizophrenia between righteous anger and overwhelming joy, and I actually jump into the pit at one point. I don’t know what’s more surprising: that I’m having so much fun, or how kids born after the band’s ‘80s heyday have memorized all their lyrics. Thrash renaissance indeed!
After Lilker and Connelly finished, I headed immediately to the other end of the lot, hoping to get a good spot for Coroner. What I got was an earful of frustration and mixed feelings.
Coroner, Coroner… what do to about Coroner? I suppose nothing could live up to my expectations for a band that only played one show since 1993. Still, they did not help matters. The setlist was poorly chosen, and the decision to play a guitar solo spot was bad enough without the new age keyboard backing. I did not need to hear two songs from their extraneous 1995 leftovers compilation, let alone half of the Grin album. I am in the distinct minority in liking Grin, but even I know its groove metal riffs, industrial samples, and atmospheric noodling will not be appreciated at an extreme metal festival. Sticking to the first three albums would have been the smart strategy, when the crowd is primed for abrasive and a-melodic music.
I would have liked to see Ghost, but left after Coroner. That was enough in multiple ways. Despite ending on a bittersweet note, the festival was overwhelmingly satisfying. I saw several great bands that otherwise wouldn’t have come near the eastern seaboard, and met several old friends who now live hundreds of miles from me. It was tempting to stick around, but there were other commitments to take care of. I had a long drive back to Rhode Island, and a radio show to do.
* = I like Monster Magnet, but prefer Kyuss, and think Poe and Lovecraft were foolish to promote ignorance, despite my appreciation for their writings.
