Here’s when you know that a band has finally “made it”: when they’ve got their own stage carpets, custom-monogrammed with the band’s logo, to stomp and spit all over as they play live every night. These are no scrims, props or hanging stage-banners, mind you: only the members themselves and those up in the balcony will ever see them, and those things have gotta cost $500-$1,000 each, easy. And THAT, my friends, is success, a definition by which Lamb of God are now in the bigtime.

“New York City’s always been good to us,” bellowed newly-dreadlocked Lamb of God vocalist Randy Blythe, frenetically pacing from one side of the stage to the other in his trademark camo shorts, in that specific Randy Blythe galloping gate. “We go way back here. We used to play The Wetlands, CBGB’s, all those places,” said Blythe, seemingly not realizing (or maybe just not caring) that the majority of those in attendance were too young or too suburban to have ever attended a show at either. “Last time through we played a little venue called Madison Square Garden, with Metallica. This is much more our style — I like to see your faces!” Indeed, it was refreshing to see Lamb of God at the relatively tiny 1,200-capacity Irving Plaza; last time I saw them headline was in 2007 at the Roseland Ballroom, three times the size of Irving, and the band has only EXPLODED in popularity since then.

The intimacy of this show was what made it so special. Big bands will do this from time to time, do a quick tour of “underplays” immediately prior to or during the release week of an album to generate hype, build buzz, and give back to the diehards. And those shows are always a blast; this one had been circled on my calendar as a highlight for the month of January the very minute it was announced. Lamb of God did not disappoint.

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(Photo Credit: Jennifer Pottheiser for iHeartRadio)

I admit, I was skeptical about Scott Weiland’s decision to release an album of Christmas songs. I fucking hate Christmas songs. But you know what? He pulls it off.

Last night I had the opportunity to see Scott Weiland perform a private show in an intimate, 100-person setting with an 8-piece jazz band backing him up. Weiland came out wearing a white tux, his hair-slicked back all Bing Crosby-like, sobriety level dubious at best. The first three songs were all Christmas classics from his new album and he delivered them with startling sincerity and flair, his smooth baritone fitting the part perfectly. Then things got weird: an obscure STP song (“Wonderful” from 2001′s Shangri-La Dee Da) and a cringe-worthy cover of Velvet Revolver’s “Do It For the Kids,” followed by a convincing version of “Vaseline” that brought things back to reality and an impromptu jam to close the set. But you know what? He really seemed most at home, most comfortable, singing those Christmas songs.

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Photos by Brian Schroeter

The guys of Anthrax soon go to south and southeast Asia for a week of shows with Hellyeah [Update: These dates have been postponed -- ADF], but their current US run with Testament finished last week. Since the return of glory-era singer Joey Belladonna, the Anthrax world is a fishbowl to which I have pressed my face. So two Saturdays ago, it was time for me to tap on the glass and take notes. The questions: How does Belladonna sing and look? What’s the band body language? Do drummer Charlie Benante’s fills sound off? Has Scott Ian grown a better or worse beard? Can fans exhale a bit here with the firm knowledge that things are groovy for good in the land of Anthrax?

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At this past weekend’s FunFunFunFest in Austin, Texas, a heavy metal behemoth slayed all comers as far as garnering the positive headlines. No, I’m not talking about thrash legends Slayer, who closed out the fest with a brilliant set (review forthcoming) that made their Big 4 NY appearance look tame by comparison. I’m definitely not talking about The Artist Formerly Known As Mr. Kitty Litter AKA The Artist Now Known For French Onion Soup and A Wendy’s Chicken Sandwich AKA Mr. Glenn Danzig (see recap of his divantics™ here). Nope, I’m talking about Mr. Hollywood Hunk his own bad self, Mr. Ryan Gosling.

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Ever since Jim Malone announced that Arsis would be touring without him — the Dave Mustaine of Megadeth, the Trent Reznor of NIN, etc — we’ve been scratching our heads. Would it be weird? Would it be good? Would it still even be Arsis? If you were to replace all the boards of a ship one at time, would it still be the same ship? If not, at what exact point does it cease to be the same ship?

I saw Arsis Without Arsis open for Firewind in NYC a couple weeks ago, and although the band was ridiculously tight and sounded fantastic it was definitely really fucking weird to watch. I’m sure a few kids there had no idea anything was amiss — perhaps those kids will go on to become huge Arsis fans — but to me it was a strange sight. On a night where Arsis played without Arsis, Firewind were great but played in a venue way too big for them, and the crowd seemed disinterested in Nightrage, White Wizzard — whoever the fuck is in the band this week — were actually the most normal / best thing about the entire night. How crazy is that?

Anyway, here’s Arsis Without Arsis performing a new song called “Sense the Shadows” in St. Paul, Minnesota, earlier this month. Like I said before, really tight, sounds great… just weird to look at.

-VN

Thanks: Fuzzy Dunlop

pic via

I love Michael Monroe. I think I’ve made that pretty clear. If you want to see Psychotic Frenzy: The Band, you really need to catch his show. I did… twice.

First up was the Bowery Ballroom in NYC. I’d never been there before, and my first thoughts upon entering were, “Oh God, he’s gonna die.” It’s not a huge venue, but Mr. Monroe is a fucking monkey. I’d seen him with Hanoi Rocks, and he jumps, climbs, leaps, kicks, flies, swings, hangs upside down, and basically bounces off everything, and in this space, I really was kind of nervous.

Bu nothing too terrible happened. I mean, he fell off the stage and head-butted a guy… It was kind of priceless seeing his face go from total panic to acceptance to thud. It was even more priceless seeing his wife look like she was about to have a heart attack from off-stage. But Michael Monroe is nothing if not the consummate showman, and he kept on going, head bleeding and all.

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As Axl mentioned during last night’s Big 4 Live Snark, Rob and I headed down into the bowels of Yankee Stadium after Megadeth’s set to attend the Anthrax press conference. It was in the very same room we see on TV after every game, where Joe Girardi has to explain why he’s still sticking with A.J. Burnett, why Mo melted down in the 9th or why A-Rod failed in the clutch again, Yankees backdrop behind the band and everything. In the bubble that is MetalSucks World, “press conference” usually just consists of interviewing a band member one-on-one in some smokey, puke-infested backstage area, or on rare occasions on a tour bus, so this was a pretty unique experience for us.

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It’s a Saturday night in Greenpoint, a still-Polish neighborhood smothered by hipsters and transplants orphaned by and priced-out of neighboring Williamsburg. My favorite part of Brooklyn is not actually living there, and this neighborhood is blessed with the city’s worst train line: the G. Somehow, I make my way to Europa, a nightclub that not-infrequently hosts rock concerts that end early, via three different subway transfers just in time to catch the last two songs of Bison B.C.‘s set. This frustrates me since they’re one of the few metal bands that consistently impresses me. Their last two melodious albums have both made my year-end lists, and in the live setting you can tell that they’re simply a bunch of unpretentious guys who just wanna rock.

But Bison aren’t really why I came. Oxbow is why I came.

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If you’re not a musician, last night’s Metal Masters Clinic 2 — held prior to Anthrax’s so-secret-everyone-knew-about-it show at the Best Buy Theater in NYC — was probably a massive bore. But to everyone else (like me!) it was a wet dream come true; Mike Portnoy having a drum-off with Charlie Benante, Ellefson talking about famous Megadeth bass riffs, Frankie Bello talking about watching porn and playing bass at the same time, all of them jamming on some classic tunes together, and, most notably, this:

Ian, Bello, Benante, Ellefson, Portnoy, Kerry King and Phil Anselmo performing two Pantera cuts. It’s the kind of staged event that might otherwise be cringe-worthy in its attempt at spontaneity, but who gives a shit? As a fan it was really cool to see all those guys jamming up there at once. It was also my first time seeing Anselmo perform Pantera songs live.

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Photos by Brian Schroeter

Though hard rock has arrived at retirement age, its senior classmen are flourishing on tour. Really, these years are the first in which old metal musicians exist, and 2011′s foundation will be built on someday by geriatric Gojira, decrepit Devin Townsend, crotchety Cave In, et al. Right around 2025, those bands might look to Ronnie James Dio, who played all aces til his final days; to Metallica, who in middle age flagged fast; to Judass Priest’s withdrawal from major touring (or whatever) and to the renaissance of Whitesnake, whose recent face-blasting gig with L.A. Guns and Skid Row was like a survival guide for bands seeking to enjoy fruitful third and fourth decades! I was there and learned a lot! Check it out:  Click to read more…

To truly get a sense of what hardcore looks, sounds, and smells like today, one could hardly do better than to have attended this past weekend’s aptly-named This Is Hardcore festival, a four day extravaganza and endurance test of one’s devotion to the subgenre. Scores of fans, dozens of bands, and a representative sample of scene vendors descended upon Philadelphia to represent and revel in a robust lineup with acts as disparate as Bitter End, H2O, and Touché Amore. At no point did the diversity of acts seem more apparent than on Friday, when metallic misanthropes Ringworm essentially opened for the melodic likes of Mouthpiece and Title Fight.

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I am old, married to a kindergarten teacher, and play Mr. Mom nine months out of the year. As a result, I can only go to concerts on weekends or during the sweltering months of summer.

This is my summer vacation (Part III).

WHO: RUSH
WHERE: Frank Erwin Center — Austin, Texas
WHEN: June 12, 2011

It’s been 28 years since I last saw Rush live in concert. I became a convert right around the time Moving Pictures came out, loved Signals, but moved on to heavier music (ie. Metallica/Slayer/Megadeth/Exodus/English Dogs) by my first year of college. Over the years I became less enthralled with Rush, but always respected their commitment to excellence in rock music. When I heard they were coming back through Texas this summer on their seemingly never-ending “Time Machine Tour” and would be playing Moving Pictures, front to back, in its entirety, I decided a nostalgia trip was in order.

My Old Fart bones were already exhausted from catching Mötley Crüe on Thursday and KEN mode on Friday, but the Saturday respite seemed to re-energize me. Besides, the guys in Rush are a collective 172-years old and choose to travel tens of thousands of miles to entertain poor sods like me. How hard could it be to drive one hour to Austin and stand on my feet for a few hours to catch one of the greatest bands on the planet? Not hard at all.

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I am old and married to a kindergarten teacher, therefore, I can only go to concerts during the sweltering months of summer.

This is my summer vacation (Part II).

WHO: ECOCIDE, KEN mode, DEAFHEAVEN
WHERE: The Ten Eleven – San Antonio, Texas
WHEN: June 10, 2011

After the previous night’s cockrocktravaganza (AKA Mötley Crüe), I needed something to get me grounded again. Nothing like a solo trip to a seedy bar in the seedier side of San Antonio to check out two seedy-ass noisy bands which have graced my Bleeders’ Digest lists this year. I dug both KEN mode’s Venerable and Deafheaven’s Roads to Judah, but the definitive nod must be given to the former for sheer testicle obliteration. As a result, I was stoked to catch Deafheaven first, followed by KEN mode. Weird line-up as the former tends to fall into the USBM category while the latter can best be pitted in the Quicksand and Poison The Well’s sandboxes.

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By the time Hate Eternal took the stage on a hot Saturday night early this month, I was gonna barf and pass out. My day had been spent at sea, teetering and bobbing aboard an overloaded and hot-rodded pontoon boat. The captain: a winner brah of mine; the craft: a two-tiered party tub with bar, arena-sized bank of speakers, and water slide (!), like something out of Caddyshack if Al Czervik were a Volcom rep. Fun!

And though dude is my super-brah, I dispute his shipboard music policy, which can be described as inescapable dance music at levels meant to blast the clothes off sluts. Add a merciless sun, the actual sluts, and drugs? Bam, you’re woozy as fuck.

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I am old and married to a kindergarten teacher, therefore, I can only go to concerts during the sweltering months of summer.

This is my summer vacation (Part I).

WHO:MÖTLEY CRÜE, POISON & NEW YORK DOLLS
WHERE: AT&T Center — San Antonio, Texas
WHEN: June 9, 2011

I can’t say I was too excited to check out this bill. I did give Mötley Crüe a solid review for their 2008 Crüefest that scooted into the now-defunct Verizon Wireless Amphitheater under the scornful eye of a vicious summer storm, despite the fact Buckcherry, Sixx A.M., and Trapt opened up for them. This time around, I can’t say their choice for major support would cause me to sport a woody. I mean, c’mon… Poison? 4srslz?

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You know what your summer has been lacking? Some hair metal! I’m a little bummed I’m missing the shit show that is sure to be the Motley Crue/Poison/New York Dolls tour, but, luckily, I’ve got another gem of concert. Continuing with my summer of nostalgic shame, I recently saw Bon Jovi in Istanbul. Yep, Bon Jovi. First Slipknot, and now Jersey’s finest. God, throw in some KMFDM or the Mortal Kombat soundtrack and we’ll complete the trifecta of my youthful metal faux pas: nu-industrial-hair. Doesn’t that sound like a terrible, terrible fashion subculture? I’m sure it already exists in Japan.

Anyways, I’ve been in and out of love with Bon Jovi for as long as I can remember. The past few years I’ve unfortunately let my love turn into hate (whooaa-hooo [I didn’t] keep the faith), but I think this show has pushed me back into neutral territory, bordering on affection. Apparently, I just can’t quit the on-going story of Tommy and Gina.

Now, a lot of you might consider attending a Bon Jovi concert lame. I’m not here to dissuade you. But I do think that I ventured so totally into lameness at this show that at one point it became ironic and, thus, really cool. Maybe. I don’t know how these things work.

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Every year in the summer I do the obligatory trek back home to Turkey. For most people, this is kind of a nuisance, but not that big a deal. However, I need to take at least two planes and cross the Atlantic to visit my family. This is why I usually go home onlyonce a year. Or whine at them to just come to me if they have to see me.

I grew up somewhere were we didn’t get many bands. I’m pretty sure that’s partly why I moved to a large city in the States. But when I found out that the Sonisphere Festival was hitting home sweet home, right when I was visiting, I took it upon myself to take my two youngest cousins and little sister. I figured it’s my duty to take them to their first metal show. We decided not to half-ass it. We’d stick it out from start to finish and see all five bands. One day of metal culminating in Iron Maiden. None of them had ever seen them. It was the most awful and awesome day.

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Photos by Brian Schroeter

Has anybody else been to a show that was extra awesome cuz the turnout sucked? Low sales suck for the bands, and that sucks suckbags. However, under-attendance creates gigs that feel more like parties: The room is easily navigated and the few faces are soon familiar to you; at first, there’s a chill — in the case of the Forbidden, Revocation, White Wizzard, and Havok mega-jam this weekend, I overheard two pre-show conversations about how the show wouldn’t be worth it for the bands — but that chill passes, and is replaced with the “hey there you are let’s headbang” vibe; by end of show, there’s a bit of fondness for the others in the room, except for the one guy who barfed on something important and the tipsy chick blabbing to/about her scenebro bf. Totally like a party. I love parties.

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Ghost are a band with a gimmick, and it’s a very,  very effective gimmick: they write incredibly catchy hard rock songs, the kind of Second Coming of Sabbath-type shit that lots and lots of bands are trying, and failing miserably, to produce even as I type this. Listen to “Elizabeth” and try not to move your body; crank “Con Clavi Con Dio” and do everything you can not to get it stuck in your head for days after. These tasks are near-impossible.

And I’m only too happy to report that, in a live setting, the aforementioned side-effects of those songs (complete inability to stop rocking, singing to oneself at all hours of the day and night, whatever the opposite of erectile dysfunction is, etc.) are only amplified; music this infectious is meant to be experienced in a communal setting, and the band’s perfect recreation of pretty much the entirety of their eponymous opus, Opus Eponymous, ensures that only one with the most rigid of sticks up his ass won’t be singing along from start to finish. Boiled down to its simplest element, Ghost’s success is based upon a really, really simple fact: they are excellent songwriters.

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May 18, 2011 – The amount of emotional damage in the Gramercy Theatre last night could fill an orphanage, with large bespectacled women and bleached blonde cardboard cutouts hardly co-mingling with stumbling drug casualties, rock n roll wannabees with overzealous intoxicated girlfriends, and Brads-from-Accounting, along with a morose minority of pitiable sad sacks. Evidently, Scott Weiland’s fanbase is a lot less glamorous and enviable than rock and fashion magazines let on.

In town for a Howard Stern Show inteview and a Barnes & Noble book signing on the release date of his “as told to” memoir “Not Dead And Not For Sale,” the Stone Temple Pilots frontman had also scheduled a solo gig at this small-ish venue. Only the truly naive or ignorant came expecting a show packed with STP and Velvet Revolver jams, though given the aforementioned motley assortment of attendees that might have been a sizable demographic. What even the most sensible of us didn’t expect was the meandering shitshow that we were to wait more than two hours for.

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