Blog — Page 267 of 283

Eyehategod, Ringworm, Enabler, Shitkill

Club Europa

Brooklyn, New York

June 7, 2014

This past weekend, the mega-festival Governors Ball hit hard in NYC.  People from all over the world were ferrying up to Randall’s Island to catch acts like Outkast, The Strokes, Interpol, and Skrillex.  For many tri-state area citizens and Madonna, it was an exciting weekend to be alive.

Well what about the metal-loving civilians in the area?  Except for Deafheaven and Interpol (who are apparently as “scary” as Deafheaven), Gov. Ball’s lineup wasn’t dour enough to attract many metalheads.  Fortunately, there was an alternative: Eyehategod at Club Europa.  The monumental sludge-punk quintet ruled the Brooklyn venue on Saturday, June 7, with the help of Ringworm, Enabler, and Shitkill.

An hour before anyone took the stage, my friend Carrigan and I lounged on a decrepit couch as grimy, shady Eyehategod-fans gradually filled the venue.  There were Viking-looking men, dominatrix-attired women, and enough tattoos to make Rick Genest go, “Damn!”

Carrigan and I found the sets of thrash metallers Shitkill and crust punks Enabler to both be very entertaining.  Shitkill was loaded with vigor and Enabler’s sound was balls-deep vicious.

Metalcore ensemble Ringworm was the final opener.  Lead vocalist James Bulloch’s sobriquet, “Human Furnace,” was 100% compatible: he stomped with absolute fury across the stage, howling his guts out and sinisterly planting his foot upon the monitors.  The wrath and rage of Ringworm’s latest LP Hammer Of The Witch was present onstage.

Ringworm

12:15 a.m. saw Eyehategod initiate their mighty set full of thundering, meaty riffs and screeching amplifier feedback.  The band rocked through parent-friendly classics like “White Nigger” and “Sister Fucker.”  Tracks performed from their eponymous 2014 album - the group’s first full-length in 14 years - were definitely more uptempo and hardcore than their earlier catalogue.  “It’s ‘cause they kicked heroin,” said Carrigan.

Eyehategod

After seeing them live, I have a new, burning passion for Eyehategod.  The doom metal instrumentations of Saint Vitus and the grit of Black Flag are clearly manifest in the band’s material.  Eyehategod’s wonderful combination of these classic bands’ styles has enabled them to be one of the most prevalent sludge acts of the past 20 years.

Boston Calling Music Festival 2014

City Hall Plaza in Boston, MA

May 23-25 2014

(All concert photos courtesy of Mike Diskin)

Over Memorial Day weekend, I experienced the third annual Boston Calling Music Festival with my cool bud David.  We jammed out to bands that we love on the sweaty, crowded pavement of City Hall Plaza.

David and I decided to skip the Friday show because there were only three acts playing - Cass McCombs, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, and Jack Johnson - and their music was too intimate to enjoy live while bunched between 19,000+ spectators (McCombs’ Wit’s End is a great album, though).

Crowd

Despite the hoards of ditzy, floral headband-wearing, Brandy Melville crop-topped girls, the towering clouds of Marlboro from pompous chain smokers, and the endless sea of littered Samuel Adams cups, the festival was pretty decent.  Here’s Scene Point Blank’s encapsulation of Boston Calling 2014:

Saturday

Magic Man did a stupendous job of revving up the festival.  Their mix of vibrant synthesizers and passionate disco grooves got the whole crowd dancing and in motion.  Although their lyrics were subpar (ex. - “It's been a while, and I've been alone/And you've been the only thing I've known”), Magic Man definitely knew how to put on a stellar performance.

Warpaint was blech.  The band’s lifeless showmanship included a few awkward sways and timid conversations with the audience.  The kick-drum was too loud, the keyboards were malfunctioning, and frontwoman Emily Kokal looked liked a seapunk Ms.Fowl.  I enjoyed their rendition of “Love Is To Die,” but other than that, they were horrendous.

Boston Calling was totally digging Frank Turner’s rockin’ poetry.  He sang about his childhood with the descriptive folk tune “Wessex Boy” and he initiated a mosh pit with the punk-energy filled “Four Simple Words.”  At one point, Turner even got the whole crowd to do jumping jacks.  Really wished I got closer to the stage.

Frank Turner with a fan

The Decemberists were a gigantic waterfall of great indie folk.  Literally.  During tracks like “Crane Wife” and “Down By The Water,” I tried to shield myself from an enormous downpour with a Decemberists shirt wrapped around my head.  David and I left their set early because the rain was too unbearable, but for the few songs we heard, the Oregon quintet was catchy and enjoyable.

Colin Meloy of The Decemberists

Sunday

The Box Tiger was a superb opener on the final day of BCMF.  Their addictive set combined indie pop’s cheeriness with post-hardcore’s incredible breakdowns and guitars - very similar to the style of Philadelphia trio Hop Along.

It would’ve been a sin to go to BCMF and not witness Tigerman Woah!.  These bearded folk punkers brought a raw, tough energy that the festival lacked: they played blast beats, did gang vocals, and even got a huge crowd chant going.  David really loved Tigerman Woah!’s set.  It’s a shame that the festival didn’t have more raucous bands like them.

Kevin Landry of Tigerman Woah!

Brand New was a cinematic sensation.  They got intense with “Sic Transit Gloria... Glory Fades” and calm with “Jesus” on a magnificently illuminated stage.  Vincent Accardi Hail Maryed his guitar into the air while Jesse Lacey belted out nightmarish lyrics like “Take apart your head/Take apart the demon, in the attic to the left.”  These guys and Tigerman Woah! were definitely the top two acts that David and I saw.

Jesse Lacey of Brand New

Modest Mouse’s classic indie rock repertoire was a great closer to Boston Calling.  Highpoints included “Dark Center Of The Universe,” “Trailer Trash,” and “Float On.”  I enjoyed frontman Isaac Brock’s soulfulness and his varying between guitar and banjo.  They weren’t one of my favorites, but Modest Mouse definitely ended the festival on a high note.

Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse

Going to Boston Calling was a fun way to spend Memorial Day weekend; I just wished that there were more bands as insane as Brand New and Tigerman Woah!.  Hopefully, the curator for BCMF 2015 will include a lot more heavy acts.

Fyi, if you’re in the Beantown area this fall, be sure to catch the year’s second installment of Boston Calling on September 5,6, and 7.  Some legendary acts will be playing, including Neutral Milk Hotel, Nas, and The Replacements.  It’ll be three days of absolutely spectacular music.

As my friend David and I were being hurled around the mosh pit at the Terminal 5 show of legendary post-rock ensemble Mogwai, I thought back to how earlier that day I had assured my mom that there wouldn’t be any moshing.  “Mom,” I said, “Mogwai’s music is too ambient to mosh to.”  Post-rock is an ambient genre, that’s true; it’s ethereal and sedate.  However, it can often get pretty heavy, and Mogwai totally proved that on Friday, May 9.

A little after 9 pm, Mogwai began the show with the mystical “Heard About You Last Night” from their newest album Rave Tapes. Their most popular track “Take Me Somwhere Nice” (it has over 9,000,000 views on YouTube) was definitely one of the most poignant, heavenly moments of the night: it was seven minutes of serene violins and dreamy riffs.  “Ithica 27ø9” followed, packed with waves of awe-inducing strobe lights and raging, yet beautiful guitar chords.  After “Ithica,” David and I pushed our way through hoards of pissy, contemptuous hipsters to the mosh pit area so we could be part of the commotion.  “Remurdered,” another Rave Tapes track, came towards the end of the night.  It was filled with epic drums, intense synths, and a bunch of sweat-drenched, energetic Mogwai fans jumping to the beat.

After immense clapping and endless cries for more Mogwai, the British post-rockers retook the stage and played an amazing three-song encore.  I loved “Mogwai Fear Satan.”  For 16 minutes, the track shifted between intimate riffs and powerful musical explosions, while David and I got caught in a hurricane of extreme mosh.

Mogwai’s Terminal 5 gig was visually intriguing and musically virtuosic.  Although I wouldn’t mosh again, it was a fun and exciting experience.  You gotta check out Mogwai when they come to a venue near you.

Chuck Ragan, White Buffalo, Jonny Two Bags
Triple Rock Social Club
Minneapolis, MN
April 15, 2014

It had been many a year since I’d seen Chuck Ragan perform, and that was with his former (and sometimes current) group Hot Water Music. I’d never seen the man play solo live, but I know his history well. Not as a super fan, of which HWM alumni have plenty, but as a casual fan. It took two things for me to really appreciate Chuck Ragan. The first was seeing The Draft and not being impressed. For those uninitiated, the Draft is essentially Hot Water Music minus Ragan. The second was his 2011 record, Covering Ground. Till Midnight (2014) is solid too (and a review is forthcoming), but it was that record that won me over again.

Pulling up to Triple Rock the crowd was already bleeding into the street and there was a SOLD OUT sign on the door. Pushing my way inside, I realized that the crowd was very different from previous Ragan endeavors. Had he grown a new following outside of punkrockdom, or was it a case of a split bill with White Buffalo?

Let’s just say that while White Buffalo weren’t bad at what they do, it didn’t appeal to me and I mostly sat their round out, away from the sweaty crowd. As they finished their middle of the line-up set, the place didn’t exactly clear out, but it became easier to move about the venue and it would be a safe statement to estimate that perhaps a quarter of the crowd left before Ragan’s set even started. He took it in stride, acknowledging his past affiliations with the venue and its staff, and jumping straight into his singer-songwriter/folk blend.

Ragan plays with a full backing band, The Comraderie, and while they fill out the sound and offer some harmonies, it’s still clearly his music onstage. He is rightly in the spotlight, but he also didn’t interact much with his cohorts, instead playing one song after another with a few asides directed to the crowd. Those comments were mostly about the music and the club, but he wasn’t much of a talker.

What sets Ragan apart has always been his unbridled enthusiasm. His heart comes across clearly, as my companion at the show and I recalled seeing him play with Hot Water Music in 1999 (?) with a broken foot and still stealing the show, regardless of playing his guitar from a folding chair for that whole set. His songwriting is strong and his voice and performance skills are effective, but it’s his stage presence that defines his music. When Ragan sings, he means it. There’s no arguing the conviction as his neck veins coarse and his eyes close while he belts out the words and that ragged voice—which sounds like it should be ruined from all these years in basements and clubs—has actually become more fluid and nuanced than ever. He’s honed his voice and for all the “gravel,” it’s clear that he’s a professional singer capable of hitting his notes without damaging this throat for the rest of the tour.

The set was a mix of his catalog, from the early Blueprint Sessions up to the new Till Midnight, with Till Midnight probably carrying around 50% of the set. The crowd was into it all and there was a smooth transition back and forth through his catalog.

Then, after a full night that pushed an hour onstage, he took a breather, came back out, and announced that the next few songs would be from his other band. (Contrary to one audience members demands, those were from Hot Water Music, not Rumbleseat.) Here, the night took a turn toward shouted vocals that were mostly overshadowed by the crowd anyway. These songs were singalongs for the diehards, and they got their money’s worth out of it.

Speaking as the “casual fan,” it was a good show and an even better performance. I’d expected a bit more of the punk vibe that often translates to more-talk-less-rock, but Ragan was to the point and “professional” all night. Meanwhile, his songs never waved, clearly tightly rehearsed but still personal in meaning to him, it hit on both elements. I was a bit surprised there wasn’t more interaction with The Camraderie, but it didn’t lessen the show—it just maintained who the crowd was really there to see and whose name is on that album cover. Compared with his previous band, the atmosphere was definitely different, with a more “positive vibe” tone than the high octane, louder Hot Water Music shows.

Ragan himself looked a bit more thin than I remembered, dawning a flannel shirt and long, somewhat curled hair—something of an Eddie Vedder look from a distance or through a blurry photograph. The crowd was a mix of punks and craft beer drinkers.

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All photos by Loren Green