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Suspyre Concert Review
Although the Chicago Powerfest has been an annual event for years now, 2007 marked my first experience with it. The Pearl Room, where it was to be held, I was familiar with from previous shows, but I’d never attended any multi-day ‘events’ there of this magnitude before. I had, though, read that the organizers of Powerfest are associated with Progpower USA, which in my experience was an incredible event, so I had some high hopes for the show as a whole.
Of course, the summer concert season cannot begin in earnest until highway traffic slows to an intolerable crawl during the late afternoon, so even though I left at 4:30 I did not arrive to the venue until after the show had started (the doors had opened at 5:30 with the first band, Suspyre, set to go on an hour later). When I pulled in to the parking lot, though, it was more than half empty, and once I got through the door I saw that there were no more than 40 people watching the band on stage, with maybe as many others milling around the bar off to the side.
Suppressing my disappointment, I turned to shoot some photos and was again a little thrown off, as the band on stage looked and sounded nothing like the Suspyre with whom I was familiar. Aside from the music itself, which was far more aggressive, my first impression was that they all looked too old, in particular the grizzled vocalist with the wispy hair, requisite leather pants, and spasmodic flails of his arm. Yet, for all his aged looks and awkward gestures, he certainly belted out the screams with confidence in the time-honored Rob Halford tradition and maintained the energy of the set admirably. The band turned out to be Shatter Messiah, a new power/thrash collaboration of experienced minds from Springfield (including Curran Murphy on guitars, who’s played with Annihilator and Nevermore). Although the audience was sparse overall, I saw a good handful of loyal fans sporting their shirts, and the merch table for Nightmare Records (staffed by Lance King, ex-Pyramaze vocalist) prominently featured their CD. I myself didn’t pick it up, but I noticed a good few who did, and I can’t blame them. I still only managed to catch a few songs, though, as I had arrived late and their set was just around half an hour.
After they had finished, I took the layover to establish my spot towards the front of the audience and get to know the people around me. I had noticed a couple other photographers poking about, one of whom ended up standing right next to me. His name was Fred, from Caustic Truths magazine, and he and his girlfriend had driven all the way from Quebec for the show. Although that was the most remarkable journey I heard of, it was not the only; other examples included New Jersey and South Carolina, both rabid fans of Solitude Aeturnus and Saturnus, respectively. In fact, throughout the two days I think I talked to more people from out of Illinois than from within, oddly enough.
After an unusually long wait, Suspyre finally got going. Despite how young I had expected them to be, I was still surprised. Their bassist in particular, Andrew Distabile, looked like an overgrown 13 year old, and between the elfish guitarist Rich Skibinsky and their female session keyboardist/flutist (whose name I could not find), they played quite the counterpoint to the rough and tumble Shatter Messiah preceding them. Their music tends towards the vein of neo-classical power metal with a healthy amount of technical layers, and it translated well to the live setting. They suffered from a poor mix that had the vocals far too low and the bass at a deafening roar, but considering that the band had arrived at the venue just minutes before taking the stage due to a bird flying into the jet intake of their plane, it is difficult to be too harsh on them. One criticism I heard after the set that I do agree with, though, was that they didn’t seem to play ‘together’ enough; instead, it felt at times as if each member was performing individual pieces that came together to form an incomplete patchwork rather than a seamless whole. I imagine this is partly due to aforementioned bad mix blotting out the subtleties and partly due to their youthfulness as a band. In time, they could develop a stronger synergy and become a notable presence in the field of American power metal.
Next up was a band called Benedictum. I had heard one song of theirs long before attending Powerfest, but had forgotten all about it by that night. I admit to not having researched the band much beforehand, either, making them the band I was the least familiar with of all those at Powerfest. Some of the members came out to set up their gear, and I was a little amused to note that they all matched the metal stereotype of stout guys in camo pants and cut-offs. I made an initial guess that their style would be Pantera-esque, but began to doubt this when I saw Chris Morgan come out and set up his keyboards. Some adjustments and a few minutes later, they kicked off their opener with the microphone at center stage still unmanned, so I raised my camera to shoot Jesse (guitars) and Pete (guitars) instead. As soon as I did, though, I heard a massive roar and the lights flashing wildly, heralding the singer’s arrival.
And, as it turns out, the microphone had not been unmanned; Benedictum’s vocalist is a woman. But Veronica Freeman is not like any female vocalist I have ever seen. Describing her in words is difficult, but to give an idea imagine a mix between Doro Pesch, Tina Turner, and a Vegas dancer. Although I generally find female-fronted metal bands either uninteresting or gimmicky, for the entirety of their set Benedictum had my complete attention. Pete does a commendable job keeping the energy up despite being the only guitarist, and Jesse’s supportive bass and backing shouts fill out a solid heavy metal foundation, but it is Veronica who put all the pieces together and makes the band’s stage show a highlight of the festival. In an outrageous leather get-up and knee-high pumps, she strutted about the stage, swinging her hips and striking poses just on the edge of lascivious, really doing a fine job of commanding the audience. Vocally, she was just as powerful in delivering each line with confidence and power. Her middling range suits both the band’s aggressive musicianship and her own persona, and she even employed a few harsher wails, though never quite what one could call a growl. The influence of Dio-era Sabbath on her was obvious, even before the band let loose a sped-up version of ‘Heaven & Hell’ and she affected an even rougher timbre. And overall, between that song and their anthemic closer, ‘Valkyrie Rising’, Benedictum went a long way towards challenging my preconceptions about women’s stereotypical role in most metal bands. Although I can’t say that I’m as impressed with their recorded material, I would certainly take the opportunity to see them play live again.
After their set, I think most of the audience was a little stunned. That Fred fellow was in the minority who had seen it come and said after they were done, “That was a true rock show. If anything tops that, it’ll have to be pretty fucking good.” He sounded skeptical that it could happen, but I myself was confident. Because next was Solitude Aeturnus. For years, this band has epitomized truly heavy metal for heavy metal’s sake for me, and range back as one of the first bands help me appreciate the realms of doom in all its epic majesty. And finally, after years of inactivity, they not only reunited and release a great new album, they were just one changeover away. And I had front row.
Predictably, the changeover took far too long. I’m not sure what the problem was specifically, but throughout the entire evening bands were looking confused while they set up their gear and spent inordinate amounts of time twiddling knobs and fiddling with their gear. I think The Pearl Room is a great venue, that their management is sound and their security staff professional, but the sound and light technicians sometimes leave me unimpressed.
Anyway, when John Perez first came out to set up his guitar he got a respectable handful of cheers, although the rest of the band were essentially unacknowledged by the crowd. I suppose it may have been rude, but John Perez and Rob Lowe, the remaining original members, were all that mattered to us that evening. After the final adjustments and nearly double the allotted time, the stage technician flickered his flashlight towards the booth, the lights went down, and Solitude Aeturnus kicked out that crushing first riff of ‘Haunting the Obscure’. Finally, the barflies and stragglers had arrived and once the set started most of them came to the floor to watch, so by the time Rob himself appeared from offstage dressed in catholic vestments and with an oversized cross dangling around his neck, we welcomed him with the level of fervor he deserved.
The band is obviously much older than they were during the days of their greatest work, but their sound was absolutely massive between John’s lead and Steve Moseley’s rhythm guitars. Nothing, though, could compare to the piercing power of Rob, the Bruce Dickinson ‘Air Raid Siren’ of Doom. His voice has not lost a single ounce of its power and his timing and pitch were impeccable. He would slowly sway and stroll back and forth across the stage, only stopping to spread his arms and fix the audience with the whites of his eyes and cross his arms before him, hands making the horns. Between his black fingernails, rolled-back eyes, the cross of Flava Flav proportions, and the Catholic robes, Rob’s stage show was an outrageous gimmick, but with a vocal presence as powerful and ageless as his and with those monolithic riffs behind him, I couldn’t possibly find fault with it.
Which brings me to John himself, the complete contrast. While Rob prowled around and put on his act, John was just banging his head and swinging his guitar, for all the world looking more like a new scene kid than a living doom guitar legend. In fact, at one point early on in the set his swinging became so wild that he actually tripped on a cable, lost his balance, and rolled onto his back where he lay for some fifteen seconds or so with his hair in his face. As their show progressed he became tamer, particularly when he had a solo or mellow interlude to play, and although I appreciated his gusto early on, I think the softer side was more appropriate over all.
The rest of the band held their own as well. Steve contributed a solo from time to time while James on bass and Steve on drums both performed well and fit in with the tone set by Rob and John. From time to time between songs, Rob would hand the microphone over to John; I thought the gesture a professional one, considering that vocalists so often get all the spotlight even when a guitarist may play just as crucial a role. John certainly talked more than Rob did and he had a few interesting quotes as well. He introduced ‘Pawns of Anger’ as one of his personal favorites, and then said of ‘Phantoms’, “This is a song from one of our worst albums…well, our worst album, worst fuckin’ album. But it’s a song I like.” I agreed with him on both accounts.
Songs from all throughout their career (with specific attention paid to those most well-known early albums and the newest, ‘Alone’) were played with equal intensity. Too, the majority of the crowd seemed familiar with every song played, so when Rob pointed the microphone towards someone in the front row like a blessing, the fan knew the words and could jump right in. All too soon, though, John took the mike to say that they had only one song remaining. Despite my repeated yells for ‘City of Armageddon’, their closer was ‘Tomorrow’s Dead’, also from ‘Alone’. When they were done, chants of ‘Solitude!’ and ‘One more!’ were started, but unfortunately the schedule could not accommodate an encore and they were forced to end.
At this point the majority of the crowd filtered either back to the bar or out towards the door, leaving only a couple rows still at the stage. While I had not expected quite that severe an exodus, I wasn’t entirely surprised. Solitude Aeturnus could have easily headlined that evening. I mean no disrespect to the actual headliners Lethal, but they do not command quite as significant a fanbase nowadays. It was nice to get a bit of a breather, though, step back to stretch for a bit, and watch some of the older faces in the crowd start to filter forwards. I also noticed a pair of newcomers who were anything but old—two giddy girls in festival tour shirts who I guessed to be no older than 13 (11, as I later discovered). They stood with their hands on the amps in front of the stage, chatting, bouncing up and down, and generally confusing the rest of the fans up near the stage, since they obviously weren’t old enough to remember ‘the good old days’ when Lethal were recording, and didn’t look at all to be the metal type. A pair of women soon came to stand with them and from their interaction it seemed likely that they were family. After a few minutes of glancing at one another and not talking, conversation finally was struck up between the elder pair and I. As it turns out one of the girls was actually the daughter of Lethal’s bassist Glen Cook and she was there with a friend and family to see her father perform for the first time. It was a poignant reminder to me that shows like this aren’t always just for the fans; families and even the bands themselves can get as much out of a good concert as can the tattooed fan legions.
Our pleasant albeit sporadic conversation helped pass the time while Lethal set up. From what I hear the band are very particular about their sound, and they certainly took the time to prove it, as by the time they finally were prepared to play it was 11:15, nearly half an hour after their scheduled start time. Until they began, I had just slightly more confident an understanding of them than I had of Benedictum. The only points of reference I had to go with were the facts that they came from Kentucky, were recording in the early 90’s, that my Quebecois friend thought they were excellent, and that their guitarist looked like Dennis Quaid with long hair. As soon as they kicked off their set, though, my skepticism disappeared. Despite Lethal’s long absence from the scene, the band’s mechanics were tight and the soaring vocals of Tom Mallicoat were spot-on classic. Their style draws heavily from the classic 80’s tradition, but is a lot more thoughtful than the typical glam-rock of that era. There’s a strong dose of Queensrÿche in the mix, from the six-string subtle prog vibe from bassist Glen, and the guitars of Eric Cook and David McElfresh supplied a heavier, more galloping approach that really give Lethal their flair.
In concert, Tom isn’t the least bit like Geoff Tate, anyway. He may have been back in 1992, from what pictures I’ve seen, but 15 years brings a lot of changes, and that night he didn’t’ actually didn’t look like a metalhead at all with his Stetson hat, tweed blazer, and tennis shoes. Nor did he really seem to act like one on stage (or off it, as I later saw). When singing, he took great command and belted out his lyrics with admirable force, but the rest of the time he spent trotting about the stage, leaping up and down and clapping hands with the front row like a giddy youth at play. In between songs was the only time he was still, when he would simply stand and look out at us all in the crowd. Sometimes he would smile, sometimes banter a little bit with members of first couple rows or with his bandmates, yet just as frequently he would only watch. I got the feeling he was trying to ingrain the experience on his mind to remember years down the road while at the same time reliving the past, those years ago when Lethal were recording playing for international audiences. This may have drawn out their set and the silences a little too long, but I can hardly begrudge the band the enjoyment of the stage and the appreciation of their long-lived fans. Besides, when they actually did get to playing a song, they did so with the consummate professionalism of experienced veterans who know each other nearly as well as they know themselves.
The audience didn’t seem to have any complaints, either. Some of the guys in the front row were singing every word to every song and a few others would scream ‘Lethal! Let’s play some Lethal!’ after every song finished. Even I, who had not heard much from them beforehand, was having a hard time taking pictures and not nodding my head to the likes of ‘What’ They’ve Done’ and ‘Fire In Your Skin’. It really makes me wonder what sort of career they might have had if they’d not shelved the band after two albums and kept at it.
Unfortunately, their set ended rather quickly. They did got a little later, probably about 15 minutes after the scheduled end time of 11:50, but I still think they could have tacked on a few more songs without anyone complaining and they still would have had time to make up from the delayed beginning. Although the house was not as packed as it had been for Solitude Aeturnus, the fans that remained were faithful and loud, and they gave the band a well-deserved ovation and round of cheers.
As for myself, I was beat from standing up for 6 hours, shooting 800 pictures, and had work to get to in the morning, so I didn’t stick around long. I exchanged final pleasantries with that charming pair from Kentucky/Ohio and set off on the long car ride home. I was tired and sore and half-deaf from that pesky bass production, but most of all, I was ready for round two the next evening.
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