Sure, the headliner was the Aussie Vomitor fostering their late thrash/early death lager, but we, and I think I can speak for the SBH, were there for Negative Plane, and if you'll permit me to indulge, a word on labels. Black metal: are NP such a beast, are they not, who fucking cares. Spectrally, an amped Mercyful Fate, the number of measures supersized, the falsetto replaced with a diabolic echo. Whatever they be, they're the skull maniacally grinning from atop the pile of bones.
Evul grins were out in force, too, magic mouths on tobacco smokestacks bricked in denim & leather, Angles, Saxons, & Jutes, a lotta denim & leather miniskirts & pants, backpatches from Celtic frosted classics to new breeds, a Bathory Hammerheart purse for good measure. Fetching young lady, whomever ye are, horns, though 'twas straunge to be one of the least metal looking dudes in the darkness. Shelled in a plain black hoodie and shorts -- after all, was nearly 50° -- even my proudly sported Darkthrone tee couldn't keep me from chortling at looking the odd man. No matter, metal's not out, but in the blood, brain, & soul. Look around, you know it when you see it, like pornography.
Negative Plane @ Now That's Class: Angels of Veiled Bone, Staring Into the Abyss, Lamentations and Ashes, Death Mass, The Number of the Word.