Catharsis

Mike, I feel the same way.

Before I begin, I'd like to point out the obvious and make mention that no, neither my wife nor myself were shot last evening. Unfortunately, neither was anyone connected with the Bush White House. Oh, lighten up trolls, if I had any. I'm evidently joking. Manifestly.












"Let's keep an eye on that Randal Graves fellow."

I will, however, publicly admit my support for the guillotine.

Now, on to the concert review.

Thanks to various policy problems both foreign, domestic and internally -- wait, that's three; damn Murkan edumacation with your fancy mathery -- I've recently been feeling angry and stabby and so this three hour power chord ceremony came at just the right time. See, you Catholics aren't the only ones with long religious rituals. Psychedelic Illinois black metallers Nachtmystium dropped off the bill for 'reasons out of their control' or some other crap -- gents, that's not very metal -- so the show commenced with the Motörhead-meets-Slayer-meets-Satan stylings of riff gods High on Fire.

Standing upon a thoroughly crushing bottom end -- if drummer Des Kensel isn't the most underrated dude around, then all the other underrated dudes must be Einsteinian in their percussive genius -- vocalist/guitarist Matt Pike directed the band through such hell-stirring hymns as Waste of Tiamat, the grinding Turk, a face-shredding Eyes and Teeth, the reverberating, eight-minute thunderstorm of Death Is This Communion and sinister set closer Devilution. But the absolute highlight was the fearsome march of Face of Oblivion, which always gets bonus points for mentioning 'Arkham.' If Yog-Sothoth had a band, this is what they'd sound like. Though, not having opposable thumbs, I'm not sure how he'd play his instrument. If there's one group that encapsulates what metal is in all its loud, destructive, oppressive, hummable riff-centric glory, it's these lunatics.

After being thoroughly pummeled for a gloriously evil hour, those wistful death metal troubadours from Sweden, Opeth, came out to the lyrical and doomy strains of Heir Apparent, followed up by a punishing Ghost of Perdition The Grand Conjuration (apparently, I can't read my own handwriting) and an old Still Life nugget, Serenity Painted Death, each multi-part masterpiece of light and dark in full bloom, sentez-vous les fleurs du mal. An even greater curveball came off of 2003's slab of mellow melancholy, Damnation, the tragically beautiful Hope Leaves. Hard to believe that the same pipes that produce such an unholy wailing can turn out such bittersweet tones.

Returning to the heavy -- in between ham-fisted and comic banter completely at odds with the images portrayed in the band's music; see, told you fuckers us metalheads are a happy lot -- with the spiraling journey of The Lotus Eater, the band further upped the despondent ante with the epic shadings of Bleak. Speaking of things bleak, songs, houses, the economy, I was anything but when they pulled out of mothballs an absolute gem of a track off Morningrise, their second album. The sullen, meandering dynamics of The Night and the Silent Water positively dripped with the sadness inherent within the memories we hold of those who have left us. Stockholm's finest closed out on a venomous note with the jagged, hammering Deliverance and a thoroughly toxic version of Demon of the Fall, both tracks steeped in violence and hatred. Of course, like every band since the dawn of time, there was an encore, a stirring, emotional The Drapery Falls. Over two hours of such brilliance is about five hours too short.

You can keep your hippity-hopping, bippity-bopping, don't-know-what-the-jazz-is-all-about, power-popping, shock-jocking, eminently boring outfits. I've got Opeth, which means I've got the best band on the planet. Oh, go on and disagree with your old pal Randal. That's fine. I must warn you though, I'm still in a bad mood, so don't be surprised if I go all Cheney and shoot you in the face for daring to have an opinion of your own.

My already shitty hearing has been made worse but, as is always the case, it was completely worth it. The angry and stabby sentiment, as indicated, remains, but now I'll be stabbing while mischievously grinning, dancing in your pooling blood. Oh don't worry, the detergent I use will get those stains out.