As I walked into the grimy halls of Gramercy, I hear the sounds of a band's set already in progress. I don't even know the band's name, nor does it really matter. Rather than listening and observing the band and the high-pitched squeals of their frontman, who obviously just got off work because he's still wearing his mechanic's uniform complete with his first name, I'm too busy absorbing my place in the venue to really take notice. Maybe had a certain "S" shuttle been working properly I would have caught these guys in their formative, perhaps tentative, set in time to give them a respectable grade.
My head is spinning and my brain is pulsing against the cranial walls of my skull as "The Smash Up" set up their gear onstage. Observing the crowd so far, it's obvious that the local acts, which includes New Jersey natives The Hixon, have invited their family and friends who, quite appropriately, come dressed in regular street clothes - by that I mean, non-black T-shirt without Slayer or Metallica on the front, and no faded blue jeans. It's good to see non-metal folk supporting their loved ones when danger is so very near! Looking at the two banner, you'd think these guys were something special. Given a cursory glance at their Wikipedia page, I found that they recorded a song that ended up on one of the "Saw" films soundtrack. But onstage, they have the same sonic appeal as every pussy screamo punk band playing today. Their Wiki page claims they're "post-punk" but it's a sad lie! What I am witnessing is an imperfect mix of all those bands on the Victory Records label with their sanctimonious Christian bullshit leanings thrust in my face. Maybe they're not a bad band normally, but they're certainly the wrong band performing on the wrong night tonight. Set Grade: C
One thing I really like about The Hixon is that they remind me of an underdog band. A grizzled, but still hungry band, with members who are pushing past their expiration date. Still, they continue to gain ground with the locals and some reputable friends who put them on their bill - case in point, tonight's show. I first saw them at a basement show at Fontana's and their gimmick pretty much the same at that night: Their burly frontman comes adorned with a gas mask and spiked gauntlets. He utters a primal growl and the band takes off. They play fast and furiously, only now it's in a wider space than Fontana's. But the players don't move around, remaining content to simply perform without any theatrics that might distract. They play like they're still practicing in the garage, especially since their focus seems to be on each other and admiring their respective prowess rather than on the small mass of people in the crowd who casually sip their Bud Light. Set Grade: B-
The Hixon
The Hixon
Don Jamieson
I wasn't too thrilled to see Fat-Pig Eddie Trunk and Small Dick/Big Balls Jim Florentine introducing the lackluster Don Jamieson onstage. The interlude with Jamieson seemed rather pointless but obvious only because he's tight with Richard Christy and Tim "Ripper" Owens. Looking like Wolverine from X-Men, complete with mangled hair and mutton chops, his jokes are recycled, especially his Twisted Sister/Alice Cooper/masturbating to Lita Ford jokes, and somewhat generic. But what else can he talk about? Can't do dirty jokes at an all-ages show, I guess, and for that matter his set lacks any sizable bite and it matters less because his jokes are irrelevant. He has to resort to dick jokes and the size of Owens, Tommy Lee, and even metal god Rob Halford. It gets old before it starts and Jamieson's set can't be over fast enough. Set Grade: C
Charred Walls of the Damned
Charred Walls of the Damned
Richard Christy soloing
Despite the distractions of the various Howard Stern workers, like marble-mouth JD Harmeyer and squealing and very homo High-Pitch Mike, Charred Walls of the Damned comes out swinging with a better arsenal of songs and presence that seems to finally lift the night slightly above ground. Admittedly, I didn't care for the self-titled album, which was good for your average metalhead but not enough to keep on my iTunes, but with the experience and command of Tim "Ripper" Owens and drummer Richard Christy, the set maintains my interest. Owens wears his usual attire - sunglasses, Monster Energy hat, and loads of screaming vocals - and commands the stage well, but as a commentator he should follow the crowd's advice: "Shut up and sing!" I will give him credit, however, for using my sunglasses - our little rock star injoke - to full effect during "See You in Hell" by Grim Reaper. I hope he wears them in good health. But despite the dwindling masses who, by the last two or three songs, had filed out of Gramercy, the band played on for the few 80 to 100 still left in attendance without missing a beat. Set Grade: B
On a side note.... what the fuck is up with another strange interlude involving Sirius/XM host Jose Mangin doing a rendition of Sepultura's "Territory"? Mangin is capable and fun and all, but he lacks the gravity, control, stamina and finesse that Max Cavalera has in order to pull it off with brutal, primal conviction. An "A" for effort but a "C+" in execution.
Despite many shoutouts, name-drops and random, sometimes pointless, guest appearances from metal community (Jose Mangin and woman-beater Tommy Vext) and Howard Stern universe (JD Harmeyer? High-Pitch Mike and Eric? Brian Phelan? Who gives a shit!), it ended up being a decent night after all.
Show Grade: B-
No comments:
Post a Comment