Blog — Page 275 of 281

The World/Inferno Friendship Society recently started their US tour supporting their new album, The Anarchy and The Ecstasy, with sci-fi-psychobilly (psy-fi?) band, The Phenomenauts. You could not ask for a better show!

I haven't given The Phenomenauts a decent listen, despite the praise I've heard about them and their performance over the years. This would be my first real exposure to them, and let me say: they did not disappoint. I arrived just in time to catch the group harboring matching uniforms like they came straight out of Buck Rogers (a friend of mine described them as the kind of band you'd see playing at Tomorrowland) and a rambunctious crowd. The floor wasn't packed, but there were enough people dancing along to fill the room with enough energy for a full house. The show involved shooting toilet paper into the crowd, having the audience kneel down and all jump at the precise moment, and the dry-ice fog effect. It was an entertaining show at the very least.

Next, the wait began for World/Inferno Friendship Society. It wasn't long. The lights dimmed and the dance floor was flooded with ladies and gents dressed in their Sunday's best. The band walked out to the tumbling beats of Mora Precarious. Frontman, Jack Terricloth, greeted the crowd and lead the Infernites through the old track, “Tattoos Fade.” However, it was during the two-step number, “Paul Robeson,” that the building really began to rumble. There's a freedom that comes with World/Inferno shows that allows fans to dance as openly as they want and not feel out of place. Everyone was moving their feet and raising their hands as they shouted, “Speak up! Black out! Blacklisted! Full-blooded red!” They followed it up with, “I Am Sick of People Being Sick of My Shit”--the opening track to their newest album, The Anarchy and The Ecstasy. To counter the slow, thumping, nature of that song, they went into the fan-favorite, “Thumb Cinema,” before taking it back to, “Lust For Timing,” from their first album, The True Story of the Bridgewater Astral League.

World/Inferno went on to try some more tracks from their new album, including: “The Apple Was Eve,” “The Disarming Smile,” and “The Politics of Passing Out.” Following “The Politics...,” Jack Terricloth did an impromptu performance of the 30 second track, “Please My Favorite Don't Be So Sad,” while Frank Morin switched guitars due to a broken string. I could not have been more pleased as “Please My Favorite...” is one of my favorite tracks from Red Eyed Soul. Before the show went on, Terricloth took a moment to talk to the audience and tell us how much we “stink”--both literally and noting previous electeds. The band then jumped into, “All of California and Everyone Who Live There Stink.”

As we began to reach the end of the show, the audience was offered a chance to choose a song to hear. Terricloth picked someone from the crowd and bassist, Sandra Malak, to come to a decision. The result was the anthemic, “Only Anarchists Are Pretty.” Half the crowd swayed while the other half huddled arm-in-arm in the back in a huge circle and danced together. It's a wonderful sight to see fans come together and be so open together whether they know each other or not.

The band stepped off the stage and we called them back. They came back and played another personal favorite of mine, one they claimed to not have done on the tour yet--”Heart Attack '64.” The waltzing number begs for partnering up. I found my partner while others found their partners. Some with strangers and some with friends. We all waltzed despite the small amount of room to do so. The Inferno closed the show with Red Eyed Soul closer, "So Long to the Circus."

Up to this point, the crowd has been in incredibly high spirits and there hasn't been bullshit...but there's always one. An attendant, presumably drunk, attempts to start a fight with Terricloth, however, the frontman keeps his cool and just toys with the show-goers antics. The band finished the night and bowed out. It was a great show from one of punk's best kept secrets. If you have the opportunity to catch World/Inferno in town, I suggest you do not miss it. Just be sure not to forget your ties and dancing shoes at home. It's more than just a show, it's a gathering of people looking to be themselves, let loose, and party like it's 1927.

World/Inferno Friendship Society Dates:
10/9/2011 Tucson AZ Club Congress *
10/11/2011 Denver CO Larimer Lounge
10/13/2011 St. Louis MO The Firebird
10/14/2011 Chicago IL Reggie’s Rock Club
10/15/2011 Pittsburgh PA Smiling Moose
10/16/2011 Amherst NY The Forum
10/28/2011 New York NY Irving Plaza ^
10/29/2011 Pawtucket RI The Met ^
10/31/2011 Philadelphia PA Union Transfer ^

* = w/ The Phenomenauts
^ = Hallowmas Show

Last Thursday, The Purple Turtle in London's infamous Camden held what is likely to be the most fun headlining show I've seen this year. Cannabis Corpse, fresh off the back of the resoundingly well received Beneath Grow Lights Thou Shalt Rise, (released earlier this year and reviewed by us here), played their first London show in a long while. Eighteen months by my calculations.

Arriving halfway through Cavity Search's set, I began to wish I'd stayed home a little bit longer. Even the ten minute wait to get into the venue seemed like much more fun than this band. Not that there was anything massively wrong with them musically (apart from being distinctly average) but as a band, something didn't sit quite right with me. There was no cohesion, no interaction and their bassist looked as though he'd been plucked off the street to fill in for a missing member.

Dealing in mediocre and generic grind, they blasted through as many tracks as humanly possible in a twenty minute support slot. I spent a lot of the time they were on stage looking at my watch and wishing it was over.  Not a good start to what should have been a fantastic evening.

Necroriser were up next specialising in straight up death/thrash and riffs galore. They were a delight to watch, clearly revelling in the crowd reaction and on top form. This tight three piece ploughed through their set list with aplomb, working the crowd to their advantage and eliciting the first real headbanging of the evening. Necroriser aren't doing anything particularly mind-blowing with their music, but they do it with such style and passion that they'll certainly be a band to keep your ears on. 

Then Astrohenge arrived on the stage. I've seen this band's name bandied about a fair bit in local terms. They seem to playing a show almost every week at the moment and I was interested in finally getting to check them out. I wasn't disappointed with their live show, but I did come away thinking I wanted "more" from them. Not more time, but something seemed to be missing for me. The band certainly seemed stoked to be there, but not having a vocalist or even a guy asking "how you all doing tonight ?!" took away some all important crowd interaction. Some bands can get away with that, but not Astrohenge. Stage presence is definitely something these guys need to work on. Musically, they encompass a little psychedelia, a bit of sludge, some electronic madness. It's all a bit much to take in at times, and when you finally find a groove to get into, it all but disappears within the following thirty seconds. There's some excellent stuff to be found, but it's hard work getting there.

And so. The main event. What we've all been waiting for ! Cannabis Corpse. From the moment they hit the stage, there was mosh pitting, headbanging, and more falling down than you can shake a stick at. It was glorious. And so much fun. Cannabis Corpse proving that no matter what the detractors say, they are an insanely good live band, with the tunes to back it up, showing that this is a band to take seriously regardless of their lyrical content.

Bashing through "Mummified In Bong Water," "Fucked With Northern Lights" and a personal favourite "Blunted At Birth" frontman Andy "Weedgrinder" Horn built up an excellent rapport with his crowd, coming across as a genuinely ace guy who gave a crap. The on stage banter and song introductions worth the admission price alone.

I love seeing bands live, and it's even better when you know they're enjoying the show as much as you, it's written on their faces and it's felt through the music. The gathered mass so into the show that crowd surfing was taking place over chasms in the pit and a fellow attendee lost his specs three times. Wild.

The night ended on "I Will Smoke You" and if it wasn't for a strictly enforced curfew, I'm sure everyone involved would have carried on until the break of dawn. Alas, British show times are quite different. All that was left was to stumble forth red-eyed into the cold and wet night.

Motley Crue and Poison live, Target Center, Mpls, MN, 6/24/11

The New York Dolls opened the show but I couldn’t tell you damn thing about them. The girlfriend and I  literally watched like, one minute of a song. I like the Dolls, but they don’t belong in an arena, they belong in a club in 1972. Even though we had spent the last two and a half hours sitting in front of the Loon Café drinking light beers and people-watching, we quickly decided to head back out to the concourse to indulge in more of both.

It was as if the rural communities of Minnesota and Wisconsin took a giant crap all over downtown Minneapolis on Friday night. I’ll paint for you a simple picture of the folks in attendance: Old. Fat. Ugly. White. You might laugh at me, but I was actually a little surprised by this. I have seen the Crue a few times in the last six or seven years and the crowd is usually a little more, ah, current. At one point the GF told me it would look less-obvious that I was in awe of these creatures, if I was actually talking to her while observing them, rather than standing there— jaw on the floor, shaking my head in disbelief.

Coors Lights were eight bucks a pop, but we immediately figured out there was a way to get twofers by taking advantage of an unorganized system. There were two people working the line—one would check your ID and take your cash. The other would simply ask you how many you paid for and then proceed to kindly fill the appropriate amount of cups for you. It took all of three seconds to realize you could easily get away with more than you paid for by telling a good old fashioned lie. And we did that several times throughout the evening.

Back in the arena they were playing a set of songs intended to hype up the crowd—AC/DC's “Highway to Hell,” Guns N’ Roses' “Welcome to the Jungle,” and Kiss' “Rock-n-Roll All Night.”  Mission accoplished, Poison hit the stage to the a collective shriek of screaming middle-aged women throughout the Target Center.  Hair extensions aside, Bret Michaels is one spry young man. He moved around the giant stage at quite a rapid pace; jumping, twisting and turning the whole time. CC Deville’s hair was exactly as big as it should be. They played every single song you’d expect them to play. During “Talk Dirty to Me” I was having flashbacks to school dances in Jr. High, and how I would have killed to have sex in the back of the old man's Ford.

With just enough time to take our respective bathroom breaks and scam a couple more two-for-ones, we made it back into the arena right before Motley Crue took the stage. And they did so without much warning—within seconds, the lights went dim, there was a giant explosion, a curtain dropped, and suddenly the greatest rock-n-roll band in the world was steadfast into “Wildside!” Everyone went banannas for the next hour and a half.  It was probably the last time anyone would sit down for the rest of the evening.  Even throughout "Home Sweet Home" people stood, illuminated cell phones (in place of lighters,) in the air.  Tommy Lee is still very much the kid of the group and the biggest showman.  As usual, he did some inverted drumming.  His kit was attached to a giant circular structure that swung him side to side and eventually upside down—like a theme park ride.  Nikki Sixx was a considerable bit fatter than the last time I saw him but just as much a handsome peacock as ever.  Mick Mars was, well, Mick—not a lot of movement, but as solid a rock guitarist there ever was. As a lifelong Crue slut, it pains me to say this, but there is no denying what everyone has known for years: as a live singer, Vince Neil is horrendous. If you didn't have the songs memorized (and really, at a Crue conert, who doesn't?) you’d have no idea if he even knew the words. That being said, he gives you plenty of chances to sing-along, as he is fond of hitting only a partial note and then extending the mic to the audience to fill in the rest. So I guess it’s not signing along with him, so much as it is, singing for him. It matters little though; a Motley Crue concert is more about the spectacle than anything else—fire, scantily clad women, explosions, theatrics, excess, more fire, sex, drugs, and rock-n-fucking-roll!

The GF said it best: "It didn’t take a lot of brain power, but it was the best concert I have ever been to." And that is exactly the point. Bands like Poison and Motley Crue exist for that very reason—rock-n-roll aint lookin' for nothin' but a good time...and it don't get better than this.

Read Midwest Hell Fest Wrapup-Day 1 here.

Despite intermittent sleep, I wake up feeling fairly well rested.  If memory serves correctly, I’m somewhere deep within the confines of enemy territory—Wisconsin.  Sports rivalries aside, I’m happy to be here.  For one, there’s a punk festival happening a couple blocks away, and secondly, there is cold pizza and bread sticks for breakfast within arm’s reach.  Memory of how the food got here and why it's for the most part untouched is somewhat foggy.  I snack while watching two movies on Showtime—the Ice Cube and Bow Wow classic, Lottery Ticket and the second installment of the Scooby Doo franchise.  After spending an inordinate amount of time wondering whatever happened to Freddy Prince Jr. I decide to drag myself from bed.  I set about to accomplish the first mission of the day—preserving the rest of the pizza and breadsticks.  Seeing as how there is no fridge in this room, my initial thought is that this could prove to be difficult.  If there was a microwave I wouldn’t care about leaving it out because I could just cook the crap out of it when I was hungry.  Thankfully it's cold as balls in Wisconsin.  My brilliant plan is to set it all in an open window, thus keeping the likelihood of dysentery at bay.  Because, there is like, no way I am not eating all of this pizza and breadsticks by the time I leave here.  Problem solved, I head out for the second day of Midwest Hell Fest.

Hellcrusher

I arrive at Tanner’s around 3pm to find that I have already missed a couple bands.  Typical.  The crowd is sparse but the band on stage has a captive audience.  Hellcrusher is standard d-beat with gruff vocals.  It’s a perfect way to start the day.  It appears the drummer from Warton is one of the guitar players. The other one is from Pyroklast.  I’m starting to sense a theme here.  However, these guys are far better than either of those bands.  And even though the singer resembles a patch-punk version of the kid from Gummo, he has a great voice for this.  Sounds kind of like Warcollapse or Seitan.

I run into Aaron Gallows again and we decide now is as good a time as any to get a beer.  Somehow the price has gone up fifty cents since last night but is still priced reasonably enough that it warrants purchasing a whole pitcher rather than singles.

Krang

It’s unclear to me if Chicago,IL's Krang have a new singer or are down to just one since the last time I’ve seen them.  Either way, they are missing the female voice they used to have.  At the start of the set the current guy spews something incomprehensible about “ancient religions,” then pulls a lighter out of his pocket and proceeds to put the flame to a bible.  Aaron and I look at each other with equal parts disbelief and enthusiasm—we can’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity.  Not that we are at all offended by the burning of a bible (no doubt stolen from the hotel) but duh, we are indoors. Have we not learned anything from the Great White-Rhode Island disaster?  We immediately map out routes to the nearest exits…just in case.  Seriously though, burning ANY book is a sign of ignorance.  Instead of making an actual statement about the expiration dates of old-world religions, this guy’s act of burning The Bible exposes him as a juvenile idiot, thus making it hard to take anything he says seriously.  I have to admit; aside from the multitude of annoying things guy is doing (wearing poorly applied eye makeup, dancing around in his underwear, putting our lives in danger, etc.), Krang plays a highly enslaving style of black metal-infected crust—similar to that of Martyrdod.  They call their old singer Hannah (now of Securicor, I believe) to the stage to sing one.  When she’s done, the bass player says “Please come back Hannah.  We reeeally miss you.”  I have a feeling he reeeally means it.

Cognitive Dissonance

Cog Dis, as they are affectionately referred to back home in Minneapolis, are raging as usual.  The song intros are laughable but not in an off-putting way.  For example, “This one is about how we are all going to die for our actions.”  Or, “I hate all Christians.  Fuck them!” And my personal favorite, “This one is dedicated to all those people that drop out of this shit (punk).  That shit is fucked!”  Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves amidst the metal-thrash-punk chaos provided by this trio of crusty gents.  Ditch the corny song intros, and Cog Dis has the potential to be one of the more popular acts of this scene.  

Streetwalker

Finally, there is a female presence at this fest.  When Streetwalker hit the stage, I see two girls look at each other and say, in unison, “Fuck yeah!”  Then plow, arm in arm, into the pit.  This is blackout grind with a dual female-male vocal attack—reminiscent of fellow Seattalites, Skarp.  I’m quite impressed.

Oil Tanker

These guys are from Hartford, CT.  It’s more Discharge/Amebix-style hardcore punk.  Great stuff and I’d love to stick around but there are still six more bands to play before this thing is over.  Unfortunately, you have to take a break at some point.  I feel bad doing it now, but cold pizza-n-breadsticks and warm beer await my arrival back at the room.

Also, Harold and Kumar are on Comedy Central trying to escape Guantanamo Bay.

In the hallway of the hotel, I meet an extremely intoxicated gentleman from Iowa who is having a hard time finding the ice machine.  He must be having a hard time finding his clothes as well because he’s only wearing a pair of tighty-whiteys.

S.F.N.

I walk back into Tanner’s as one of the three clean-cut gentlemen onstage announce, “Here’s another hardcore song about stuff that pisses us off.”  SFN play a tumultuous hybrid that is equal parts powerviolence, tech metal and tortured-guy doom-n-gloom hardcore.  Think Spazz vs. Dillinger Escape Plan vs. His Hero Is Gone in a three-way dance for the title.  I’m envisioning the crowd wanting to hate these guys because of their short hair and normie clothes and that in-turn makes me like them even more.  “Here’s another fast one.”  Perfect.  We’ve gone five bands now that didn’t include a member of Wartorn.  That’s got to be some sort of record for this fest.

The Parish

And the streak comes to an end.  Ryan, the guitar player from Wartorn also wields his axe for The Parish.  This is stoner doom/death metal with songs up around the seven minute mark and hair down around the just-above-the-ass mark.  I’ll gladly put my Devil horns in the air.  Unfortunately there are some prog-like elements, which will prompt me to lower said Devil horns, returning them to their natural position—under armpits, arms folded across chest.  Who’s got the pot, dude?

War//Plague

Post-ambient black metal crust-core form Minneapolis.  Those of us that are not pressed up against the stage are showing the first signs of unraveling.  It’s unfortunate because these guys are stellar.  It’s only 9pm but two days of piercing assaults on the eardrums combined with heavy drinking and poor eating (and for many of us, travel) has culminated in a tidal wave of fatigue.  I’m not sure but the atmospheric landscape of “Malevolent Winds” may have actually put some people to sleep on their feet.

Dresden

Dresden is Wartron’s rhythm section and singer.  It’s literally the same band as Wartorn, just with different guys playing guitar—they are virtually indistinguishable from one another.  Yawn. 

They should have called this thing Wartorn’s Incest Fest.

Also, what’s the deal with fingerless gloves?  Seriously.

From Ashes Rise

I have been looking forward to these doom-thrash-punk heavyweights ever since they were announced for this fest, as it has been several years since I last saw them.  And despite getting off to a slow start, I am not the least bit disappointed in them.  From Ashes Rise have played a number of Scion-sponsored shows in the last year or so, resulting in a fair amount of backlash from the holier-than-thou crowd that once staunchly supported them.  Judging by a few of the snarky rumblings amongst the audience, I’d say some of those folks are in attendance this evening.  But by the time they tear into “Uniforms” everyone seems to be rollicking regardless.  Perhaps all the corporate beer they have ingested has allowed them to let down their anti-fun guard.  When From Ashes Rise finishes their set, everyone is screaming for more.       

Question

Saira Huff and co. has the honor of closing this thing down.  If I’m not mistaken, this is a one-off reunion—they haven’t played together since their last show at another first-time Midwest fest, Distortion Days in their hometown of Minneapolis.  A little rusty, but pretty much exactly how I remember them—fast and energetic.  For people that haven’t seen them before, Saira’s between-song banter may come off a tad bit abrasive at this point in the weekend.  Personally, I love it.  I can’t imagine a better way to cap off a couple days of excess than being forced to question my life choices.  Once I get home it’s going to be nothing but egg whites, almonds, broccoli and water for this guy.  I’ve seen a lot of bands in the last 48 hours and Question just might be the best one.  A perfect ending to a great festival.

Perhaps they shut the ventilation system off, because it’s at this point that I smell the faintest bit of that all too familiar odor—“crust stench.”  Finally! 

It smells like someone emptied a porta-potty inside of a high school wrestling room.  Good night.      

After losing a year of my life behind the wheel, I finally arrive at my destination: Kimberly, Wisconsin. Upon walking into the hotel—and I use this term loosely—lobby, I am happy to find a lovely old lady behind the counter chatting it up with a handful of punks.  Punks I can only assume are in town for the same reason I am—the first annual Midwest Hell Fest.  She tells me several groups of people “dressed in all black” have checked into the hotel today and asks me if I know what’s going on.  I don’t have the heart to tell her its true name, so after pointing out that I’m not wearing any black; I tell her it’s just a silly little concert.  After tearing up the sheets, flipping the mattress and performing other necessary beg bug checks, I run to the nearest grocery store to stock up on weekends rations—Doritos and beer, naturally.  Back at the hotel, I bump into a group of dudes dressed in all black and ask if they know what time the fest starts.  They tell me they are playing and even they don't know what time it starts.  “Typical,” someone says, and we all laugh. 

The venue is a giant adjoining room of, oddly enough, a sports bar—Tanner's Bar & Grill.  By the time I arrive, I have already missed three or four bands.   Looking at the lineup posted at the door, it appears the band list is quite a bit different than had been advertised.  “Typical.”

Choose Your Poison

My immediate reaction is to ask out loud to no one in particular, “Remind me why I drove all this way again?”  Nobody answers me.  Then I remember, “Oh yeah, it's 'cause I love this shit.”  These guys are from Appleton or Madison or somewhere in Wisconsin and share membership with Wartorn.  Cross-over thrash with a stoner edge, like DRI, Municipal Waste, Cross Examination, etc.  If I heard the singer correctly, I think he called one song “Smoke Weed, Worship Nothing.”  That totally rules, man.

I get a chance to share an economically priced pitcher of domestic light beer with Aaron Gallows—guitarist for ska-crust ragers, Diskast, and drummer with street punkers, Born For The Gallows.  In between frequent interruptions from folks coming up to say hello to him (seriously, this guy knows everyone) he shows me the leather jacket that Ben Crew (In Defence, Bring That Shit!) just gave him for his birthday.  He's just turned 21, and it shows—dude is pretty wasted and it's not even 8pm yet.

Pyroklast

More from the Wartorn family, as Bitty, the chief organizer of this event and singer for Wartorn, plays bass in Pyroklast.  Musically, it sounds like Zeke, REO Speedealer, or Bad Wizard with d-beat undertones.  Strange, I know.  Pair that with some bro-ish vocal styling, reminiscent of any number of NYHC bands and things get even weirder.  This is all just my opinion of course.  When the front man introduces a song by screaming, “Today I woke up on the wrong side of the law!” it comes off more comical than it does political.

Wartorn

It might be the multitude of beers clouding my already road-weary judgment but, for a band that I have seen enough to last a lifetime and never been too impressed with, I find Wartorn surprisingly good tonight.  Lots of energy coming off the stage and this partisan Wisconsin crowd is eager to return the favor.

There is a young man walking around with a stack of what I can only assume is his self-produced fanzine.  (I was able to catch a glimpse of the cover and it did indeed say “fanzine.”)  It looks as though he'd like people to buy these but I have yet to see him make a sale.  As a supporter of the arts and fellow 'zine-maker (HotDogDayz), I would gladly buy or trade for one of these, yet whenever I approach him, he recoils in fear.  Maybe it’s my Doritos-n-beer breath that's off-putting?

In Defence

Minneapolis hardcore pranksters, Ben Crew and co. start things off as usual with the latest version of “Call More Dudes,” a song in which several mics are passed out to people in the crowd for a giant sing-along.  “Call more dudes/call more dudes/C A L L/M O R E/D U D E S!”  It never gets old.  You’d think it would but it never does; unless, of course, you don't have a sense of humor.  There are some people here without a sense of humor.  Boo to them.  There are lots of pizza-sucks-tacos-rule shenanigans as usual.  It's refreshing to hear throw-back hardcore amidst all the the-apocalypse-is-coming crust that usually rules fests like this.  Unfortunately the mics cut out for several songs.  The bass player, Tony Talker makes a joke about playing Where's Waldo with the crowd, “If Waldo wore a black vest with patches and studs on it.”  It was worth the drive just for that joke.  Which, I will undoubtedly steal from him sometime in the near future.

Speaking of jokes; this place has an extremely good ventilation system, which, while easy on the nostrils, has in-turn ruined my opportunity to use all the “smells-like” material I was working on during the drive.

I start to sober up, which is good because there was a moment there where I was having an, ah, moment.  I take the opportunity to run back to my room (which, thankfully is within' walking distance) to catch a little bit of the Oklahoma City/Memphis playoff basketball game and eat more flavored corn chips.

Hellshock

I arrive back at Tanner's just before Portland, Oregon's reigning kings of stench-core take the stage.  Turns out it was guys from Hellshock that I shared a laugh with in the hallways of the hotel earlier.  Not that I care about fan boy moments or anything, but it does further enforce one of the aspects I love about punk rock at the DIY level—the accessibility between band and audience.  I’ve heard Hellshock on record but never seen them before this.  I figured these guys must be something special, considering the plethora of Hellshock insignias you see patched across the backs of the jean-vested folks that travel in these circles.  But seriously, I had no idea how good they would be live.  I am reminded of Sweden's Wolfbrigade, in that it's a dervish of energy, both on stage and in the pit. Hellshock absolutely destroys the place.  

Protestant

More Wisconsinites that always play these fests.  One of the guitar players, Cory, who runs Halo Of Flies Records, usually has a small but decent distro table that I sometimes buy cassettes from.  Because cassettes, like, totally rule, man.  Protestant are solid and I have no complaints.  But Hellshock is a tough act to follow.  Unfortunately I'm not the only one that feels this way.  Many people have taken this opportunity to get refills.

Question:  If it's warm enough for cargo shorts, can it also be cold enough for a leather jacket?  I ask because this particular combo seems to be the sartorial preference of many in attendance this evening.  Also, what purpose, exactly, does the sleeveless jean jacket serve?

By the way, the between-bands DJ is horrendous.

Humachine

These guys have made the journey all the way from South Central, Los Angeles, California.  “This one is in Spanish.  It's anti-war.”  Cool.  Melodic grind…I think.  Eh. Good night.

Back at my room I order way too much pizza and way too many breadsticks. And when it finally arrives, I tip way too much.  I barley touch it because I eat way too many Doritos in the interim.  Instead I pass out watching a John Wayne movie on AMC.  Throughout the night, I wake up periodically to the overwhelming smell of said pizza and breadsticks, which lay virtually untouched on the floor next to the bed.  Such is the illustrious life of a rock-n-roll journalist blogger.