Sodom-Mortal Way of Live certainly lives up to and exceeds the standards of Waylor. This album captures the janky, loose, yet evil feel of their early stuff (compliments of the furious but sloppy skin work of Chris Witchhunter), but improved upon by the exacting axe work of Frank Blackfire. His more precise axework interprets the old riffery in new ways with out sacrificing the weirdness essential to the enjoyment of early Sodom. Tom Angelripper's bass has a quite prominent place in the mix, making him sound like the Lemmy of German thrash. This power trio bashes them out in brutal succession and this is quite the worthy live album and was the winner of the night. Except Demon Scourge doesn't think so cuz he's teh ghey.Dark Angel-Live Scars is another worthy live thrash album. This is a brutal affair that showcases this band's mix of German thrash evilness and Bay Area mosh readiness. I should say brutal but brief, as fatigue.this album comes in just under 30 minutes. But it also features some of this band's longest songs, which comprises their greatest weakness. Every thrash band wanted to make the next ....And
Death Angel-Fall From Grace suffers from a flat production. Comprised of songs from its first 2 albums, the mix is a trebly mush that inadequately captures the band at full force. But fortunately, the songs, furious thrashing, and the relative eclectics of the set still makes this an enjoyable album. The
Lastly, we heard Bulldozer-Alive...In Poland. These crazy bastards are ready made for Waylor. They give Sodom a run for their evil money. I'm pretty sure that the hordes of Waylor would not pull them down from the stage and cut them to bloody pieces. This is a good sampling of the band that gives ferocious neck wrenching to the listener. Demon Scourge decided he liked this album better than Sodom cuz he's gay for Bulldozer right now. But it not hard to fag out for this band. Check out the crazed lyrics. Come taste the band! Check out some fucking Bulldozer.
MDF Report - Day Two
I was up early on Saturday and began to
prepare for the second brutal day of my journey into the darkside.
Sitting in the dreary hotel lobby and munching on dry biscuits and
rubbery sausage, I reflected on the chaos of the previous night. It
was interesting to see the multitude of representatives from each of
the galaxy of subcultures that make up heavy metal fandom today. From
the sludge metal rednecks and skinny metal nerds who looked to still
be in high school to the crustiest, pack traveling peace punks, we
were all trapped together in that fenced playground. Spanish speaking
headbangers with exquisitely designed battle jackets rubbed shoulders
with serious looking black metal totalitarians who wore neatly
buttoned black shirts, their favorite band's illegible logo sewn on
to the pocket or sleeve. The guy with his kids, the individual in the
chicken suit, who would continuously crowd surf for the next two
days. My own presence in this time and place was wraithlike and
fleeting, a lone traveler with a blasphemous baby doll in a sea of
black t shirts and unkempt hair. I passed unnoticed through the
crowd, an outsider in this festival of outsiders, gathering
observations for the Jenkabala court in my pocket notebook.
I arrived early to snag a spot in the
cheap lot that adjoins the festival grounds. The sun was shining
brightly in the brisk Maryland morning as I made my way through the
remote and half abandoned highway commerce zone where my unwholesome
looking motel perched upon its hill to the belly of the beast,
Baltimore. Having a couple hours to spare, I set out on an expedition
into the surrounding area. Wandering through the twisting alleys and
steep hills of this venerable city made me wish I had more time to
familiarize myself with this mysterious titan, but duty called. When
I arrived at the entrance I got the disappointing news that spikes on
jackets were verboten, so in addition to not being able to get Necro
Baby in, I was now short a battle jacket. At least I still had my
notebook and pen, that was all I would really need to get me through
the day.
The first band of the day were a local
doom metal outfit, Asthma Castle. Their hardcore tinged doom/sludge
had a definite D.C. flavor, complete with tough guy shout vocals. The
guitar players were excellent, spicing up the proceedings with some
classic twin guitar harmonies. I walked out from the tent after their
set into the bright sun and meandered through the vendor area where
merchants from around the world were trading in obscure band t shirts
and patches. CD's, tapes and records from the most exotic underground
bands were there along with bands and labels, hawking their latest
offerings. After drooling over some crazy expensive NWOBHM singles, I
hit the tent again to catch Kommandant , who after an unbelievably
long intro, filled the stage in their leather and gas mask gear and
proceeded to pump out some raw black metal in the Swedish mode. The
first of many blackened bands I was to witness over the weekend, they
were one of the most grim and hateful in the bunch. The wait for
Anhedonist to play was mercifully much shorter. The riffs lurched
across the barricaded street, the band sorrowfully churning out their
hybrid death/doom metal to a captivated crowd. They reminded me of a
doom metal Celtic Frost with singer, "V.B." belting out
some great death grunts to accompany the morbid music.
The day was really getting underway at
this point. It was three pm and a steady trickle of concertgoers
continued to fill the yard. The chicken suit guy was back along with
a youngster in a banana costume. I was starting to see the first
drunks of the day, bumbling about helplessly, looking for a place to
sit down. From the tent there was a slow guitar riff and Loss began
playing their set. Drawing heavily from their sole full length,
Despond, they reminded me a bit of Shining or Forgotten Tomb with
blackened vocals married to agonizingly slow riffs, grinding like
tectonic plates that inch inevitably to disaster. In some strange way
I would consider what I heard a heavy metal analogue to Joy
Division's Closer. After this set, the show finally moved out of the
tent and to the far outside stage, where the Danish DM band, Iniquity
was about ready to start. It was pretty exciting to finally see some
real Death Metal at Deathfest. Despite them getting shafted with a
loud, distracting buzz (a big problem on this stage) they were pretty
exciting to watch. I was starting to get fatigued from standing, but
the brutal blasting coming from the stage would not let me sit. The
hyper fast rhythms were a welcome change from the mournful artistry
of the first part of the day. By the time they played their last
tune, Son of Cosmos, I was ready to take in the first of tonight's
round of sludge and doom, Weedeater. Mr. Collins and company were
already pouring molten lava from the stage when I made it around to
the main stage area. The heavy ass sludge that surrounded the
audience was indeed impressive, if not fully my cup of tea, but I was
intrigued by their straight ahead blues approach, as much Jon Spencer
as Black Sabbath. Fittingly enough, they covered Lynyrd Skynyrd's
Gimmie Back My Bullets (featuring Pepper Kennan on vocals.) The sun
was sinking lower in the sky as The Obsessed took the stage. I have
always been a big fan of Wino's Ozzy like drawl and his band pushed
the night into doom metal overload. I found them to be more palatable
than Weedeater (perhaps because I'm more familiar with this band's
catalog) but they also struck me as a highly blues based band. Wino
and his band treated the audience to a show that was heavy with songs
from the first album but Streamlined from The Church Within was the
highlight of the show for me. As the applause for The Obsessed's last
song was fading away, I heard the sound of another band from around
the corner and rushed over to try and get a good view.
Broken Hope are famous for their outre
sex and gore lyrics and their late singer, Joe Ptacek, who was said
to have one of the lowest voices in all of death metal. The band was
tight and former Gorgasam singer,
Damian "Tom" Leski did a good job of replicating the former
singer's hellish growls on material from their early-entry classics
like Hobo Stew, Into the Necrosphere and Pitbull Grin, witch they
dedicated to their fallen comrade. I enjoyed seeing more death metal,
even though Broken Hope, as I would notice later, is a love it or
hate it proposition among true fans. Dusk was setting in as the
Melvins took the stage. I have seen this band perform a number of
times and they are always good. I thought their inclusion on this
particular bill was a little weird. I would have preferred to see
more death or black metal, but I can see why they wanted to include
them, as the festival's mission seems to be a presentation of all
heavy music, without regard for genre. Their slot was filled with
tunes from the early days. I loved hearing them play this material
and was pretty surprised to see a bunch of people you would never
expect to be Melvins fans singing along with the twisted jams
emanating from the stage. My wait for something more extreme ended
when Canada's Revenge started shredding faces behind us in the tent.
Luckly for me i was in the back of the crowd for the Melvins, so I
got to see this band from a better vantage point that I had all day
and I was ready for some war metal. There were no slow parts in this
portion of the evening, no dynamics to speak of and no mercy from the
canucks before us. They started out at full bore and devastated the
canvas enclosure for an hour then walked off the stage with no
fanfare. I thought it was perfect.
Seeing
Down was one of the things I was least excited about at Deathfest. I
have tried a few times to really sit down and get into this band, but
they just don't do it for me. The other five thousand people there
definitely did not agree. From what I heard, they played a kind of
shortened version of the Diray Of A Mad Band setlist. I was relived
when I heard Vinterland, whose position was moved from five to ten,
blasting the fuck out of the tent behind me. They played almost all
of their legendary Welcome To My Last Chapter album and it was not
just off the chain, but down the street gnawing on a jogger's leg. I
was picking my jaw up off the ground after they finished off with a
glorious Wings of Sorrow and I picked up my aching feet and headed
back to the car to weave my way out of the confusing streets, now
filled with drunken bumblers, spilling from the festival gates to
downtown hotels.
Until next week, brain thrashers,
Horns
