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Annunaki Concert Review
After the reunion of Emperor in 2006 and the subsequent sold-out tour dates, it was only a matter of time before other disbanded metal legends followed suit. And, despite the limited choices available for Norwegian black metal (i.e. Varg won’t be touring the states any time soon), I was still a little giddy when Immortal announced their upcoming ‘Seven Dates of Blashyrkh’.
And, just as Emperor had, Immortal scheduled only two stops—New York City and Los Angeles—so I decided to make a vacation out of it and spend a week in the Big Apple. Throughout my time there I visited museums, ‘did’ Times Square, sidestepped strutting transvestites, and ate in any number of fine bistros, but none of it could in any way compare to the arrival of Immortal at BB Kings that Friday the 13th.
My comrades and I arrived at the venue about 5:30, half an hour before the scheduled door opening, and found a line of fans already stretching down the street. As I should have guessed, the doors didn’t open on time (6:00 for VIP, 6:30 for us, with the show scheduled to start at 7:00), but waiting in line was an entertaining experience nonetheless. BB King’s is situated on 42nd street, less than a block from the heart of Times Square, so for the duration of our wait we had plenty of flashing marquees and gawking tourists to entertain us. And, I suppose, we provided some entertainment of our own: the irony of 500 predominantly black-clad and surly looking young folks standing in the epicenter of commercial America is tough to miss.
Despite our poor position in line, once we got in the venue we still managed to secure a fine spot towards the front. As a standing room only, the venue can hold 1000 people, most of whom will have to stand around the sides and back of the room while the most dedicated (or rambunctious) fans will jockey for position in the lowered area before the stage. We ended up in the third or fourth standing row, a few feet beyond the reach of the railing’s footing, and spent the remainder of the waiting time chatting with our neighbors and ranking the corpsepaint of the fanatics in the first row.
The show began promptly at 7:00 with first openers Deimos. I had never heard them (or heard of them) before, and from the crowd’s general attitude, neither had they. The first we saw of the band was their drummer, a shaggy blonde guy who smiled a lot at the crowd and wore nothing but boxers. For some bands this wouldn’t be a problem, but I could tell that things were a little off as the rest of the band clambered over the rows of amplifiers, done up in traditional black metal style: corpsepaint, black clothing, dyed hair, errant tattoos, gaudy spiked accessories dangling from each appendage, everything.
They glared at the crowd with wide eyes, growled at us, stalked back and forth, and, I think, managed to alienate almost every single member of the audience before a single note was played. Once they did begin I was a little more drawn in, but the damage had been done. They were decent musically, but do really need to work on stage presence and chemistry, which can ruin even the most impressive musical performance. Throughout their set, they nearly false started every song and the lead guitarist was visibly frustrated with drummer, even throwing a water bottle towards his kit at one point. Their rhythm guitarist had a comatose expression throughout and kept his sunglasses tucked into the neck of his shirt. I can’t recall him engaging the audience much at all, since the ceiling was what held his gaze for the majority of the set. The band’s female vocalist was a surprise to both see and hear, with her extremely low barks, but her inter-song commentary was so timid that all the atmosphere she had accumulated (little as that was) was lost. The bassist had a strong scream, though, and seemed to know his instrument well. The few clean guitar interludes that were scattered throughout tended to be the set’s highlights, since the solos during the songs themselves were almost impossible to hear, but unfortunately, one of those interludes turned out to be an almost direct rip-off of Dissection’s ‘Where Dead Angels Lie’. After that, I admit that I stopped paying attention. The experience was summed up by the front row, who noticed Immortal’s set list on the side of an amp and spend the second half of Deimos’s set trying to take distinguishable pictures of it with their digital cameras.
The second band to take the stage was Annunaki of New Jersey. It was alleged that they were black metal, and I suppose that influence was present, but they turned out to be a lot more death and thrash—after Deimos, I’m not sure another local black metal band would have gone over well anyway. Annunaki are a rather new group, having formed in 2005, but the instrumentalists all have prior experience (Lament and Blood Feast) and the chops to show for it. As for the vocalist, Tony Stanziano, I had been introduced him while waiting in line, seen all his tattoos (including a console cheat code on his leg, evidently for Grand Theft Auto), and experienced his jovial Italian humor firsthand, and even before I’d heard a single growl out of him somehow was sure that he would do just fine.
He appears to be the youngest member of the band and from what I can tell has no prior experience, but my suspicion was proved right once they launched into their set. Although all the band were enthusiastic and engaged, Tony was the one who really galvanized their set and got the crowd moving with his wide range and down-to-earth attitude. The band had a strong sense of cohesion, which was particularly evident when their bassist, Karl Odenwalder, and Tony switched off with the high and low vocals. The mix was a little better this time around, so the soloing of John Blicharz was audible, but his amps were on the other side of the stage and I still couldn’t hear as much as I’d like. Overall, their songwriting was not especially memorable, but despite having only one album under their belts and only a few fans in the audience, they did a fine job and deserved the enthusiastic response that they got.
Still, I don’ think anyone in the crowd had shelled out the $65 to see Deimos or Annunaki, and by this time we were getting a little antsy. I myself was having a hard time comprehending the fact that Immortal was taking the stage next and must have said it out loud at least five times to try and convince myself. The rest of the audience didn’t seem to need convincing, though, and were chanting the band’s name within minutes of Annunaki’s departure. As the first two bands had played, I’d shifted forward a bit, and once all the gear in front of Immortal’s own was cleared the crowd swelled forward, pushing me up to the second row, closer than I’d been at the Emperor show the year before, and in perfect position to see the entire stage.
When Horgh’s kit was revealed we could see his name emblazoned upon each of the bass kicks, and another chant was started. Unfortunately, no matter how prolonged or enraptured a chant may be, it never seems to hasten a band’s arrival, and so we waited on. The company was fine, though, and I happened to run into a couple Chicagoans with VIP tickets standing just to my right and our back and forth of, “Oh, did you that tour of…?” passed the time easily enough.
Finally, right at 9:00, the flashlight was waved, the lights went down, and the crowd immediately crushed forward. As the night had continued, more people had steadily streamed in, and by the time Horgh finally appeared behind his kit through a cloud of smoke, the sold-out venue was packed and tremendously loud. Horgh raised his sticks to acknowledge us, each forearm practically the size of a round of ham, and as Apollyn and Abbath jogged on stage the crowd’s ravenous howls reached a fever pitch. Abbath surveyed the crowd, his hair blowing in the wind from the fan beneath him, smiled faintly, and then the tempest of ‘The Sun No Longer Rises’ was unleashed.
In the past few years, I have attended shows of all kinds and all sizes, but for the next ninety minutes I felt like a rookie all over again. The rapture of the crowd, the master showmanship of the band, the swarming photographers before the barrier, the constant mosh pit behind me: these are the things that make live music an indescribable, incredible experience that is unlike nothing else.
Other shows may be larger and other crowds more tumultuous, but at no other show have I experienced such constant, whole-hearted participation. This alone is notable, but considering that Immortal are black metal—less than singalong material, generally—made the experience doubly impressive. Each time Abbath leaned forward to croak into the microphone, hundreds of throats in the audience joined in, especially on the anthems like ‘Mountains of Might’ and ‘Tyrants’.
Although there were only three band members on stage, their sound and stage presence were tremendous. Behind the kit loomed Horgh, a monster of a man to do Viking ancestors proud, and despite his constantly crushing beats he didn’t appear to sweat a single drop throughout the entire set with his corpsepaint remaining immaculate. He and Abbath both at times looked almost like bobbleheads, nodding back and forth with an almost coy sense of self-awareness. This by no means detracted from the power of Horgh’s performance, though, as he absolutely brutalized his kit all throughout the set.
At the front of the stage were two microphones placed at opposite ends, which allowed the other two members to play to each side while Horgh surveyed the middle. On the opposite end of my spot was Apollyon on the bass, Immortal’s replacement for the recently departed Saroth. Although Apollyon has significant experience in the metal scene, this was my first encounter with him, and I admit to being a little dismissive when the set began. However, by its end, I was well convinced of his abilities as both a bassist and a showman. It is true that Immortal doesn’t write the most difficult riffs to play, but he still executed them with panache and devoted the rest of his energies to fitting right in with Immortal’s straight-faced satire.
Fixing the crowd with a constant grimace, he strode back and forth in his pentagram-emblazed boots with his head jutting forward and his evil eye hard at work. Now and then, no doubt when he was feeling particularly grim, he would spit directly up into the air, sometimes allowing it to fall back directly onto his head. It would have been laughable were we all not so incorrigibly caught up in the ‘necro’ atmosphere.
Which brings me to the master of Immortal’s camp (both definitions of the noun), the one and only Abbath. Aside from Varg Vikernes, Abbath is likely the most joked about musician in the history of black metal; fortunately for us all, the sociopath former is ‘safely’ imprisoned while the one roaming free is in on the joke. In fact, he started it, and continues to carry it through with tremendous ingenuity and consistency.
Whenever discussions about Immortal arise, the question always following is, ‘Are they serious?’, and up until this show I myself knew not the answer, although I suspected that they were not. As soon as Abbath appeared, though, the answer was apparent, and once he began to talk between songs, it was undeniable.
To describe Abbath is to invite failure: he simply is beyond words. At once capricious and utterly dedicated, he somehow has managed to keep up the Blashyrkh fantasy while still retaining his credibility as a phenomenal musician through Immortal’s timeless catalogue. The telephone pole proportioned weapons they wield, the WWE-styled costumes, the sloppiness of their early albums, the absurdity of their lyrics—none of it can defeat the aptly-named Immortal or their incredulous, adoring audience.
Abbath knows this and capitalizes on it in style. Although he was clad rather simply in a Darkthrone cut-off T and some black spandex pants, he still channeled perfect theatricality with every movement. He bobbled his head, prowled, swayed, struck poses straight out of the infamous ‘Call of the Wintermoon’ video, and even crabwalked for us. And we, inexplicably, ate it up, cheering and laughing along with the band. I myself laughed half for the absurdity of it but also half out of relief, finally knowing that when Abbath struck his corsair’s stance with hand on hip, hair blowing in the breeze and tongue wagging, he knew exactly what he was doing.
The setlist was equally outstanding, too. After ‘The Sun No Longer Rises’ we were treated to, in order: ‘Withstand the Fall of Time’, ‘Solarfall’, ‘Sons of Northern Darkness’, ‘Tyrants’, ‘One By One’, ‘Wrath from Above’, ‘Mountains of Might’, ‘Unholy Forces of Evil’, ‘Unsilent Storms’, and for the encore ‘At The Heart of Winter’, ‘Battles in the North’, and finally, ‘Blashyrkh’. The heavy favoring of ‘At The Heart of Winter’ impressed me in particular, as did their improved performance of it. The album, though still my favorite, is admittedly messy at times, but during the show Abbath’s guitarwork was highly improved. He even managed to throw in some additional tricks, like slides and a few taps here and there, all drowned in their trademark reverb, of course.
At various points throughout the set he would pause to look us over or say something to further drive us into hysterics. Some of his most choice comments include: “Well, are you ready for more of this shit? So are we,” as they returned for the encore, and “BB King’s… New York… Manhattan… USA…..un-fucking-beleviable,” uttered with an approving sneer.
And finally, after right around 90 minutes, their set drew to a close. Abbath thanked us, Horgh clasped his hands above his head and nodded approvingly, Apollyon simply frowned, and into the mist they disappeared again. Right before they left, though, Abbath evidently claimed that Immortal would return, although I myself didn’t hear it. I was too busy focusing on Horgh, who threw out his drumsticks from the show, one of which landed directly in my hand. Unable to believe my luck, I immediately hid it from the dozen or so fans around me clamoring desperately on the floor. A few minutes later I met up with the Chicagoans again and showed them my prize. Since they were going backstage to meet the band, one of them offered to get it signed for me, which I agreed to. Foolish though it may have been in hindsight, the risk paid off as I was eventually rewarded with the stick once again, signed by Horgh as well as Apollyon and Abbath, all in silver marker.
In waiting for the drumstick, though, we were delayed in leaving for nearly 45 minutes, and although we ran the dozen blocks back to Penn Station we missed the 11:37 train. Disappointing as this was, the stick made the wait for the 1:04 worthwhile, and it gave us a chance to catch our breath and reflect on the experience. That, and to donate some change to the advocate for the homeless whose normal speaking voice sounded almost exactly like Abbath’s croak. And yet, even in the days that have followed, trying to fathom the experience and capture its essence in mere words is beyond my abilities. So for the final comment and concluding thought it seems most apropos to return to the words of Abbath himself: “Fucking A. What more can I say.”
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