Friday, June 29, 2007
Boston, November 1, 2003. I had just returned to the city, caravan style, from Middlebury, VT after a journey of almost epic proportions: driving up to Woodstock from Boston on Friday to spend Halloween with my buddy Steve, going with him over the border to New Hampshire (Hanover, I believe) for a costume contest that we lost for reasons that still boggle the mind, driving back to Woodstock in disgust, then deciding to drive up to Middlebury in the middle of the night to visit friends at Middlebury College with the express intent of drinking heavily and running a radio show at 3 AM. All four hours I spent sleeping that night were on a floor, so it was probably a miracle I made it back to Boston, but made it back I had and - pounding, sleep-deprived headache aside - it was time to rock.
That night was one of the few concerts where I've viscerally regretted not bringing earplugs. Intellectually, I know I'm doing irreparable damage to my ears every time I go to a concert and don't (as Chris Cornell once put it) practice safe rock, but this particular show burned the message into my consciousness with the fury and precision of six-inch tall letters of fire burned into the inside of my skull.
After the opening band cleared the stage, I made my way to what turned out to be the acoustic centerpoint of the club, watched KMFDM take their positions, heard the countrified opening of "WWIII"...then felt my skull compress and my jaw drop as the machine-gunned guitar and heavy, thumping bassline crushed my eardrums into oblivion with volume I could not have thought possible, while the lighting rig went into an epileptic strobe, dazzling me with the sort of shock and awe then popular in Iraq. It was the beginning of the most physically possessing concert I've ever been to, one where the waves of sound were such a physical presence they felt tangible - something I've never encountered since. It also left a ringing in my ears that lasted for enough days afterwards I thought I was slowly going deaf, like Beethoven but without the composing ability. 'Point taken,' I thought afterwards, when my hearing returned to normal. 'Ear plugs from now on.'
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
There are a lot of good options - Iron Maiden/Killers, Led Zeppelin/Houses of the Holy, Metallica/Master of Puppets, Judas Priest/Screaming for Vengeance - but if someone was to put a gun to my head, I think I'd pick the Metallica/Ride the Lightning jersey, for two reasons: first, it's one of my favorite album covers of all time, very simple and clear with its entwined promise of metal and electrical death. Second, if you're going to lay down the money to wear a bike jersey instead of a t-shirt, why not have it tie in to speed and going fast?
Via David Fiedler
Thursday, June 21, 2007
To be sure, Roger doesn't sound like the most productive member of society and he goes to over 300 concerts a year (talk about dedication), but that's not what's important: the point is that Sweden is such a metal country that they'll give you money and benefits for loving metal, albeit a love that's probably far beyond healthy. I may have to reconsider my moving plans.
Finland had no response to Sweden's challenge to the Most Metal Country title at the time of this posting.
Via Seth and SuicideGirls
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
I have a bit of a quandary, here: did he manage to recover so quickly and easily because he's a fencer and knows how to fall, or because he's so awesome and therefore took fencing lessons? Which comes first, the fencing or the awesome?
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Two pieces of awesome:
1. Even Finnish television underscores how metal the country is.
2. The drummer is wearing an Avenue Q shirt, which seems wonderfully incongruous with the setting.
I think I may need to make emigration plans...