Alcohol and Razorblades and Poison in Needles

As usual, I got so drunk that I forgot I even have a blog. Don't blame me, blame Mr. Jack Daniels. Anyway, being a pitiful combination of a boozehound, a lazyass, and a Metalhead, today's post will be about the intertwining of mind-alteration and heavy music. Let's see if I can maintain my motor skills enough to finish this in one go...

Part I: The Forerunners
The Beatles aren't Metal, even though certain tracks such as Helter Skelter were predecessors to the chaotic instruments and screaming vocals that characterize the genre today. Another contribution that the Fab Four made to the contemporary concept of music is the rockstar lifestyle. Nowadays, you have to burn a church to be considered extreme, and even that is more annoying than "brutal." But back in the 60's, it was bands like The Beatles and Rolling Stones that whipped people into a frenzy. The long-haired hooligans trashed their hotel rooms, glorified drug abuse, and were notorious womanizers. The Beatles were amongst the first bands to slip drug references into their songs, and even the rumors of evil messages hidden in the records originated with them. Sounds a lot like Metal to me. As early as  Rubber Soul, released in '65, The Beatles were getting a lot less subtle about their experimentation with psychedelics. I mean, look at that freaking album cover.

Jesus Christ, my pupils weren't that dilated since... Uh, for legal reasons, I'm not gonna finish that sentence.

Part II: Sh*t Gets Real
Zeppelin may deny themselves the title of "Heavy Metal", but they are still one of the hardest rock bands to hit the music scene since the 70's. Not only were the blues-inspired riffs tuned low and drawn out for an eerie effect, but the vocals were borderline screams. That's the musical side of it, so what about the lifestyle? Well, if you don't think that these dudes were worth their weight in Acid, just watch The Song Remains The Same. This opened the gateway for even crazier bands to do their thing. The Doors and Aerosmith come to mind, right off the bat. The hedonistic lifestyle that The Beatles and Rolling Stones had introduced the pop music, was refined and in a way, perfected by musicians such as Jim Morrison and Steve Tyler. Drug references no longer had to be clandestine. In fact, they were practically emblazoned in neon signs and glitter glue. Rock n' Roll had evolved from a quaint rockabilly mentality into a pipe-dream of infinite cocaine and leather-clad groupies. I'm pretty sure the term "rockstar" even originated in the 70's. I don't actually know. Fucking google it.

While we're talking about the 70's, let's talk about bands that actually can be called "Metal" in all good conscience. I can think of Alice Cooper and Black Sabbath right off the bat (heh.) Alice Cooper was a heavy drinker, as were all of the members in his band. Most of the photos of the band in their prime document incriminating evidence of a bottle in everyone's hand. Mix n' Match. One haunting moment from an interview in this early years show a haggard Alice Cooper, unkempt and unshaven, asking the interviewer: "Would you buy a car from this man?"

Gah. I get those pitiful cow-eyes when I'm hammered, too. But in all seriousness, I would not buy a car from a dude who was so obviously strung out on booze. I wouldn't even be in the same room without a can of mace, or at least a tazer. And as for Black Sabbath... Well, if you don't know about Ozzy Osbourne and his various infamies, you honestly don't belong on my blog. Sorry.

Part III: The 80's Were The Hangover Of The 70's
The 70's must have rocked. It was a decade of hilarious decisions, many of which were badass and even more of which were regrettable, but our parents' generation probably have some secret tattoos showing evidence of each. The 80's were like the morning after the night of youthful abandon, when you can now feel the broken bones that you drunkenly swore were mere flesh wounds just hours before. When you wake up to "how do you like your eggs?" from the gross troll laying next to you. The 80's were the gnarliest 10 years to ever follow a golden age of music, drugs, and debauchery. So they overcompensated and now we wound up with fucking Glam Rock. Ugh. Motley Crue is probably the most famous example, and they glorified excessive drug use with such shameless party jams as Dr. Feelgood, Wild Side, and pretty much every other Motley Crue song.

The 80's also revolutionized the music industry with the introduction of MTV. Now mind-alteration was made flashy not only audibly, but visibly. The invention of the music video marked a shift from radio-oriented music to television oriented. Now bands had to make themselves sound good, and be visually appealing. And if booze has taught me anything, it's that liquor makes people look hotter. As soon as MTV entered the equation, the links between sexuality, music, and drugs were reinforced even stronger than before. Think of the cliche, "Sex, Drugs, and Rock n' Roll." That has practically become a holy trinity unto itself.

Anyway, rockstars were glamorized as drug abusing, hedonistic dillweeds. Metalheads in particular got flack for the liquor thing. And considering my current condition, I guess the stereotype is one that we earned.

And before you get bitchy with me for the offensive and judgemental picture above, just know that it came from the official website of Nuclear Blast, AKA The world`s biggest independent Heavy Metal label.

Part IV: The 90's Were All That
First of all, I'm impressed that I could remember how Roman numerals work. I'm proud of myself. Second, I was but a mere child in the 90's, and as such I knew more about cartoons than about the dark underbelly of America's crusade against substance abuse. Thankfully, shows like Beavis And Butthead bridge the gap, so I will share with you my very limited knowledge. Beavis And Butthead was MTV for the new decade, as the channel had broadened it's horizons from music videos 24/7 to general entertainment aimed at teens and young adults. The titular characters were not explicitly portrayed as stoners, but come on. You don't get that dumb without smoking something. In fact, one of the earliest episodes showed the duo taking turns sniffing paint thinner, and the resulting chaos included painting Mr. Anderson's house with Metal logos, stealing a lawnmower, and some other third thing. Beavis and Butthead were caricatures of negative stereotypes of Metalheads. And yet, even the "negative" assumptions were pretty damn awesome.

The feature film, Beavis And Butthead Do America, made drugs seem even cooler with the infamous Peyote scene, during which Beavis hallucinates animations of Rob Zombie's psychedelic illustrations.

Let's face it, no still image can do that scene justice. Here's a link to the video clip.

Honorable Mention: Straight Edge

Well, this whole post has been about the shameless glorification of drugs, but there's another side to the story. Just like there is an obsessive idolization of that lifestyle, there is also an obsessive repulsion to it. Wierdly enough, both attitudes seem to have their most devout followers in fans of extreme music. Straight Edge owes it's existence to the hardcore Punks of the 80's. If that decade was the hangover of the 70's, then the Straight Edge Punks were the recovered alcoholics who immediately enlisted themselves in AA after the first pang of a headache. The term "Straight Edge" was first coined by the band Minor Threat, but the idea of a sober Rock n' Roll lifestyle is far older than that. 70's Rock icon Ted Nugent, for instance, is one crazy bastard, but he never even tried a little alcohol. Some bands who were infamous for their alcoholism regained a following as they swore off the drug forever. Alice Cooper, for instance, gained massive support when the media discovered he was in treatment for his alcohol abuse.

In this day and age, we have heavy-as-hell bands who advocate a smoke-free scene, such as Impurity Of Mriya. The rising popularity of Christian Metal (and Punk) has also contributed to the lifestyle of awesome music without the mood-modifying chemicals. The Eden Betrayal is a freaking amazing band, and they don't even have to be stoned to hit the stage. More power to them.

Part V: Epilogue

Damn it, I have to throw up now.

Happy 4/20

Long story short, I'm dressed in drag trying to look like Toki Wartooth. Don't ask how things got to this level. Even as I type, innocent passerby are gawking at me in my altered state. I am little more to these people than an amusing anecdote that they will describe to their sober friends in the near future.






By the way, the teddy bear isn't in any way unusual. I always have Antar with me, as evidenced by the creepy/lame facebook profile I made for him.

Actually, there is a reason I'm doing this nonsense. Tonight is the Drag Ball at my stupid school (St. John's College), so I put minimal effort and dressed normally but with an eyeliner 'stache. But for those of us who have better things to do, there's this:

I'm all about the local scene, but sometimes that just becomes tunnel vision and I forget that every town has a local scene of it's own. So for once, I'm gonna shut up about Santa Fe and Albuqurque and talk about other New Mexico shows. This one is in Gallup. The fact that there's a band called "Orale!" makes me so happy that I can not possibly articulate my ecstasy. And when I saw the price of admission, I started laughing like Beavis and Butthead.

So that was my token flyer for a show that takes more than an hour driving time. Enough of that nonsense. Albuqurque's own Malarky's bar will be hosting a Metal show with... Uh, those guys in the picture, I guess. And it's not just on 4/20, but on the recovery day as well. NO COVER?! Being a cheap ass, I love this concert already. Too bad I'm 20 years young.

 Launchpad fucking rules. This is the only venue that I've ever seen host an all-ages battle of the bands. There's also a bar adjacent to the concert room. There's grime and glitter all over the damn place. And they've proved their worth for all-ages shows yet again with this magnificent freaking line up. Laughing Dog is old school Death Metal, who have become notorious in the local music scene thanks to their amazing performance at Bloody Ear Fest '09. Echoes Of Fallen are genuine, unrefined metal who blew me away at The Gathering Of The Sick a few years back. Torture Victim has hit the stage with the likes of Toxic Holocaust, Eulogies Of The Forgotten, and even punk bands such as Domestic Violence. I don't recognize any of those other bands, but I would sell my soul just to see the bands that I know. They rock that hard.

I already told you mongrels about this show. Eve Of An End were the worthy winners of a recent Battle Of The Bands, so you might want to check them out. Futilitarian is atmospheric, heavy fucking metal. They used to have vocals, but they rule so much that their transition to Instru-Metal was virtually seamless. Savage Wizdom is like NWOBHM: Traditional metal saturated with power chords and Halford vocals. Bodies Of Evidence are pretty damn killer too.

You may notice that I started this post around 4:20, and it is now 6:14. On a normal day, this would have taken me like 45 minutes. Happy 4/20 everyone.  :)

Band Review: Distances

Last post grazed upon the surface of the Albuqurque band Distances and their extaordinary stage presence. However, I feel as though their talent warrants a little more attention than what I gave them. Since I'm already conscious at the ungodly hour of 10 in the morning, I'll do a quickie post before I go to the first annual Blu Phoenix Rising fest. (W21, $10, 5 PM). Anyway, this band is phenomenal, so check this shit out.

Lucid melodies sublimate, abrupt and yet seamless, into intense cadences. However, these heavy sections are still tempered by elements of ambience. The guitar riffs are pristine, distorted in their consonance, leaving the audiences ears ringing with this haunting silvery sound. The vocals are consistently caustic, never straying from the ruthless snarls that characterize the music. Meanwhile, the drums are usually in the background, but the shining moments of percussion are fucking immaculate, like seeing the moon shine through a veil of clouds.

Distances embodies audiovisual overdrive bordering on synesthesia. The sensory assault is lurid and brooding, and somehow remains harmonious. The sight of the musicians on stage, headbanging together amongst the scizophrenic lights, was a testament to the unison in entropy that defines the band. Distances was an exquisite experience, not only for their beautiful music but also for their visual spectacle. Five stars outta five.

(P.S.  Thanks for the acid flashback. )

Last Minute Review

Last time, I made a last-ditch effort to promote some shows that didn't have a lot of publicity. However, I was under the mistaken impression that only 3 bands were playing last night's gig, whereas I was pleasantly surprised by a full set of five. Anyway, this is what mischief transpired:

 If you're familiar with my blog, you should be familiar with Obelisk. Otherwise, I don't know how to describe them without turning vague or preachy. I guess they sound like catchy, gloomy, party-sludge. I would give you a link to their music if I could, but unfortunately there are about infinity Metal bands named Obelisk. You will be content to have their Facebook page.

Next up was Distances from Albuqurque. Their virtuosity is so trippy that it gave me a fucking flashback. Imagine the sun and moon in the same sky, and the sky itself is a beautiful shade of peachy orange. Now picture an endless flock of doves flying through this setting. Distances is like the soundtrack to this vision, surreal and atmospheric although it is somewhat sinister. Seeing these guys in concert was intense, vivid, and all around amazing. I can't wait to see them again, hopefully in the near future.

After that, I think East Of The Wall played. Sorry guys, but the members of EOTW and North look the same to me, so if I mixed your bands up, feel free to set me straight. Anyway, whoever it was, they were fucking shredders. The style was ambient and heavy, so I'm tempted to call it Post-Metal. If Distances was like a crazy trip, then EOTW was like the mellow, groovy aftermath. Fucking sublime.

Leading into the headliner was (I think) North. Like I said, if I got you guys in the wrong order, it is your duty- nay, your privilege- to correct my sorry ass. At any rate, these guys were another taste of effervescent, melodic music tempered by elements of hard rock. I am perplexed how they combined Heavy Metal with chill vibes so seamlessly. So, as usual, the concert coordinater was right. North was just as badass as I had suspected.

Last on the bill was Cassovita. Unfortunately, due to extenuated circumstances, I was unable to stick around for their set. However, I know from prior experience that these dudes put on a wicked fucking show. The drumming is loud and heavy without being a distraction, and the guitarist is phenomenal. Instrumental, progressive, and occasionally psychedelic, Cassovita is an extaordinary duo.

So... That's what happened last night. If you're sorry you missed it, you can check out Obelisk and Cassovita tonight at Santa Fe Sol. $7 to see 7 bands. Anyway, last night ruled, so I'm gonna say it was four stars outta five.

Unholy Trinity: The Last Of Lucy

This is the final installation of Unholy Trinity, or the three most badass Technical Metal artsits. Hailing from Orange County, CA, the only appropriate choice to conclude this series, is the intricate psychosis known as The Last Of Lucy.

The Last Of Lucy is painstaking chaos. The mathematical insanity sounds something like a short-curcuiting robot overlord, or the soundtrack of dividing by zero. The vocals are screams and growls, a very raw and organic contrast to the otherwise technical style. The result is something like Rings Of Saturn clashing with Dillinger Escape Plan, then adding a modern Sludgecore twist. The audiovisual overdrive that characterizes TLOL is a catalyst for synesthesia, or the phenomenon of sensory overlap. If you're having a hard time imagining such a sensation, think of the last time you had a bad trip. Now imagine you could replay that awful moment backwards to hear satanic messages. That's TLOL.

In addition to their vivid, intense musical style, the band also boasts some of the coolest Metal artwork I've seen. Euphoric Obsession, their only full length CD, has a kick-ass design featuring sinister 'shrooms and the kind of freaky monster that appears when you eat one too many. Their merchandise is lurid and colorful, but not as cartoonish as, say, The Devil Wears Prada. The subtle hints of reality in their stylistic design make everything that much more surreal, and that much more disturbing. It's like blending MC Escher, non-Euclidean geometry, and an acid flash-back. Instead of method to their madness, there is a madness in their method. Love it to death, four stars outta five.

New Years Metal

Sorry for the half-assed nature of my most recent post. I went on a Fear and Loathing-esque binge on everything and I've been in the recovery process ever since. That being said, don't get your hopes to high (heh) for this latest edition of my ramblings. In fact, on Friday December 30, I had the brilliant idea of treating a hangover with an energy drink infused with nitrous oxide. All these chemicals decided to turn against me at the least opportune time, as I had discovered too late that there was a Metal show scheduled that night. However, I was too enamored with the beauty of traffic lights to give a shit, and ran like hell to the venue. The wicked line-up featured Torn Between Worlds, Cassovita, and This Days Light. Each of these bands have been around forever, yet had undergone several line-up changes throughout the years. They're kind of like the local Deep Purples. At any rate, the show was truer than truth itself, and it went a little something like this:

Torn Between Worlds is a dirty, thrashy death Metal experience. Their music is accompanied by audio clips for intros, and they have amazing technical abilities. The vocals have brutality to rival the likes of Randy Blythe, and the guitars, while heavily distorted, are tempered by subtle hints of melody. Music of this caliber constantly inspires near-fatal mosh pits. Not for the faint of heart.

Cassovita,  Formerly comprised of five members, has streamlined down to a duo. Among the lost members were the vocalist. As a Metal fan and promoter, I am weary of instrumental arrangements, and even more weary of duos. However, their musical talent will always be exquisite, with or without vocal accompaniment. Still, having heard the band prior to their conversion to instrumental, I longed for the screams I knew and loved.

This Days Light are the very definition of heavy metal troopers. Instead of disbanding when their phenomenal vocalist had to move out of town, they stuck to their guns and borrowed lead singers when necessary. Although I doubt anyone can truly replace Roboit, the ingenuity and resourcefulness of the band is admirable. No matter who sings for them, they always put on one hell of a show.

It was a great night. I don't even regret the beast of headache I subsequently suffered. (Note of advice: Hangovers + Headbanging = Pain, but it's always worth it). Five stars outta five!

High Octane Hell Ride: The spiritual side of moshing

     A mosh pit is a spiritual experience, the name itself implies descent, as if into hell or to Plato's cave. It's almost a Karmic endeavor, purging yourself of emotional pain by inflicting physical pain on another, and they do the same to you. Although everyone is pitted against each other, punching, kicking, and slamming indiscriminately, it is mutually consenting. Genuine hostility has no place among fellow metalheads. The reaction in a pit is alchemy, melding and mixing metal to create immortality. When a band member has suffered a loss, whether of his family or a friend, he may request a mosh pit to alleviate the death. This practice is a modernization of ancient Greek funeral games, which simultaneously celebrate the individual while mourning his departure. It is competetive, yet benevolent. In death, the blood congeals, so you want to see it spilled from the audience. Too many people die in their sleep, so wake the fuck up. Your pain is psychological, so it will be dispersed among the brave in its far more bearable physical manifestation. We voluntarily thrash for those who can no longer move. Our hair spins and falls, oscillates between gravity and the rebellion against such, pulses violently as if to fling the negativity out of our skulls. Over the heavy kickbeat and wicked guitar, we raise our heads upright for a nanosecond, lock eyes with a stranger, anyone from a cute punk girl with a lisp, to a muscular gangster whose face is obscured by scars. You make eye contact, smirk mischievously, and nod with grim acknowlegdement of your fate. You both sprint forward, teeth bared and arms crossed, bounce back on impact and crash into a bystander. He pushes you with his fists, out of pure instinct. He will pick you up when you fall just to shove you back in, then you'll feel the unmistakable strike of an elbow in your sternum, you trip over the stage, sight obscured by hair and blood, the lights are blinking and flashing to further disorient you. The sounds are distorted and echoing, you're dizzy and confused. This is the kind of high energy disoriented adrenaline rush that most people have to pop pills in order to achieve. You savor the sadomasochistic bliss on the filthy floor, when suddenly you are unceremoniously siezed by the armpits, yanked upright, and crammed back into the cesspool.

Loaded: A Blessing in Tragedy

[REWIND]
Remember a few years ago, when there were those school-shootings in Virginia? The ink was still drying on the newsprint when my chemistry teacher brought up the story, which he had heard the night before on the local news. He called me out in front of the class, looked me in the eye, and said I was no better than the kids who shot everyone. A year or two later, I graduated from Capital High School. The principal had her eyes fixed on mine; her facial expression was something like a wife would give to her husband's mistress before a cat-fight. I don’t think she approved of the tutu and lingerie I wore beneath my unfastened graduation gown. Or of the accurate and unflattering description of herself I had provided a few months prior, inches from her face, my shouting voice echoing in the hall. I myself approved of very little during those years.

I’ve learned to become more tolerant of many things recently, including monogamy, drug free lifestyles, and community college. But just because I am accepting toward these things, doesn’t mean that they’re for me. Quite to the contrary, I am now at St. John’s College, where I have yet to be afflicted with any of the aforementioned symptoms. I only needed a G.E.D to get in here. Why the hell did I graduate instead? Honestly, I didn’t really want to at first. I just wanted to drop out and go straight to St. John’s. The only, or maybe just the main, reason I didn’t was for my family. Both of my sisters got pregnant at an early age, and both my brothers got criminal records before they were even old enough to buy their own porn. None of my siblings graduated high school. I, being the youngest, bore this burden. Admittedly, it was voluntary, but it’s always nice to have family as a scapegoat since it didn’t exactly go as planned. My parents went year after year to registration, where they smiled as I posed for a school I.D that felt more like a mugshot, where they good-naturedly murmured about the lab fees and activity expenses, where we all signed paperwork and bitched about the system. There was no way for them to know that it would lead to their kid falling into drugs, gang activity, attempted suicide, and all that other bullshit that after-school specials want to twist your panties over. It’s ok. I didn’t know that stuff would happen either.

Despite my shortcomings, my family constantly encouraged me, gave praise for things they call “talents” that I still don’t believe in, let alone understand. Somehow it got into my head, and I was under the mistaken impression that I’m smart, a notion that I disprove on a daily basis. In retrospect, I realize that being literate sets my I.Q above a large percentage of New Mexico’s population. But during high-school, I mistook the ability to read and write for unrecognized genius, and became a martyr. The fact that I’m a Metalhead didn’t really help matters. Being a headbanger and the proud owner of a cerebellum just might qualify me as an anatomical anomaly.  There are very few edumacated Metalheads in this proximity. Sometimes we meet in arroyos to get smashed, all three of us. And I’m not even as articulate as I pretend to be.  I don’t think I’d ever get an essay done without the built-in thesaurus thing on Microsoft word. I used it the other day to find a synonym for shenanigans. By far the most hilarious was monkeyshines. But in spite of all my stoopid monkeyshines, I have yet to bring a gun to school.  Take that, chemistry bitch. I’m in college, and that’s my priority. Not  money, not family, not relationships. The only thing rivaling my studies is Metal, which in all fairness, laid claim to my fate way before St. John’s did. There’s certain people who bitch about my music, say it’s noise pollution, immature, unintelligible. There’s other people who bitch about school, that mine in particular is too expensive and I should prioritize money over education. I’ve noticed that both groups of people tend to be overweight and have probably spent more money on nicotine than on their own education, so I could care less what they think or say. Or rather, I wish I didn’t care. I obviously gave it enough thought as to write it down. But don’t worry, folks. The ability to write is just a blessing in disguise.

[PAUSE]

Hammers are great. You can philosophize with them, like Nietzsche. You can make them march, like Pink Floyd. You can pull them back as you bite the barrel between your teeth, like I do. It’s no mistake that metal tastes like blood.