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Cryptopsy Concert Review
Only two weeks ago, The Pearl Room was a congenial and cozy place where hundreds of friendly youths gathered to enjoy the warm, welcoming melodies of Kamelot and Epica. Last night, it was anything but. The weather was sober and biting, the parking lot far from filled, and the doors of the venue closed against the wind. It was, all in all, a perfectly uninviting atmosphere.
But really, if there had there been neon-vested attendants directing a horde of eager fans back and forth (as there were for Kamelot those weeks ago), my experience last night would have gotten off on the entirely wrong foot. This is death metal—there are no parking attendants, no flashing lights—only a handful of outliers congregating for one night before crawling back into the shadows and cracks from whence they came. And so on.
Cryptopsy have been touring extensively over the past year in support of ‘Once Was Not’, while Skinless are making the rounds (soon to be another with Necrophagist, it looks like) for ‘Trample the Weak, Hurdle the Dead’. The show was slated to start at 6:00, but as The Pearl Room is wont to do, there were a trio of local acts to perform first. It gave me time to kill, though, and would come in handy later. I had been scheduled for an interview with Flo (Mounier, of Cryptopsy), so I checked in at their makeshift merch table. Both Skinless’ and Cryptopsy’s tables purveyed T-shirts, CD’s and even thongs (one of which actually sold, I was told), and while a very helpful and charming lass ran them both quite competently, there was no Flo to be seen. I was told he would be located eventually, so with a healthy dose of skepticism I went on my way to see the opening groups.
The venue by this time was ‘filling’ up, perhaps reaching half capacity on the bottom floor. The top floor had been cordoned off, and all that empty, dark space was a gloomy presence in the back of my mind for the entire night. Perhaps it was the eerie, cavernous atmosphere, perhaps the fact that so few people actually made the effort to come see the show—either way, it certainly made the enthusiastic crowd seem rather small in that large space and that much more intimately involved.
The first group to play was The Everscathed, a wide-eyed, grimacing trio of mid-paced black/death metal from downtown Chicago. Their songwriting was really quite frustrating, as they would plod about, hinting at excellent grooves and indulging in them only rarely. Vocals were traded between the guitarist and bassist, both rather serviceable, but the almost comical shriek to the guitarists ‘speaking’ voice between songs combined with their overdeveloped theatricals (corpse-paint worthy expressions and gestures minus the corpse-paint and frostbitten woods) detracted from their overall impact. Perhaps they warmed up later into their set; I’ll never know, since at about that time the charming merch girl found me and brought me back to the table to meet Flo.
As I approached, I recognized his bearded face, and peripherally saw another man standing to his left, hair askew and shoulders hunched. The charming merch girl (whose name I would like to say is Erica but I am regrettably uncertain) presented me to Flo, whose hand I promptly shook. Unfortunately, he said that he was terribly busy and would not have time to do the interview himself.
‘However,’ he said, ‘if it’s alright with you, Lord Worm will do the interview…’ and he turned to gesture towards the man beside him.
That first look into Lord Worm’s eyes is one I will never forget. From Cryptopsy’s pictures, I had crafted a dispassionate, cold, and towering figure in my mind, and while he was indeed cold, he was neither towering nor dispassionate. He nearly smoldered with hostility, his hands clasped together, an eyebrow raised, and his penetrating eyes boring into my skull. No doubt the sheer magnitude of his reputation had something to do with how struck I was, and later on I realized he must have been giving me a bit of theatrics for his own perverse pleasure, but I am certain that his gaze is an unusual one even in the most benign of circumstances.
When he said nothing even after Flo took his leave of us, I began to fidget a bit. Not wanting to make a complete fool of myself, I tentatively introduced myself and after a few words back and forth he seemed to find me worthy and gestured abruptly and strode towards the back of the venue. I followed, a little anxious as I tried to scrape together ideas for questions whilst scratching all the one’s I’d had for Flo from my list. We ascended the stairs, passing the burly bald security guard, and entered what I would like to call the VIP lounge. I would like to call it so for two reasons, one frivolous, one viable: the first, so I can claim to have been there, and the second, because it had a wide screen TV, pool tables, a staffed bar, bright red carpet, and a bevy of leather couches scattered throughout. Lord Worm chose the rearmost for our interview, and after I foolishly dropped the recorder I was forced to admit that I had few, if any, questions prepared for him. He said, “That’s alright. You could always start with what I had a girl in Toronto ask me: what flavor of ice cream I’d like to be. It was so stupid. Fantastic.”
So, of course, I asked him. Partially because I was curious, partially to stall for time. After initially thinking I would run out of questions (I looked down at the tape recorder when my mind first went blank and it showed only 7:34), we got along quite well and I could tell that despite the fearsome, withdrawn persona he presents, he really was quite an engaging fellow. Not one I would call particularly agreeable—it seems his goal in life to harangue every well-meaning citizen on the planet—but he was witty, intelligent, and, dare I say, almost friendly. Although a casual listener would no doubt call his vocal assault nothing more than barbarism, it became obvious to me that aside from a constant motif of alcohol consumption, he approaches his work and life seriously and intelligently. Indeed, I do not believe I have ever heard the phrase, ‘…esters in it that are pleasing to the palate’ during a metal show, nor am I likely to ever again.
We talked about line-up changes, his career outside of metal, the future, the past, the scene today (both the good and bad), his own goals, the upcoming album, and a potential ‘side project’ that may someday come to be. In fact, I got quite lost in time, and when I eventually did stop the recorder, 57 minutes had passed. The second act had come and gone, but honestly an hour with Lord Worm is worth tenfold what I missed out front. I mean not disrespect to Dead For Days (the second band), but facts are facts. Lord Worm and I shook hands a final time once reaching the threshold of the ‘VIP lounge’, and I took my leave. I thank him for his patience (i.e. tolerance) and attention.
The third band up was the last of the locals: The Burning Down. I at first mistook them for Skinless, having lost track of time while in the Worm vortex, but once I saw the sparse kit (one kick, two toms, a snare, three cymbals and a high-hat), I caught on. Tracking down information about The Burning Down was a bother, but apparently they were formed from the ashes of Roadrunner Records’ Five Pointe O, a semi-metalcore band who broke up after only one release. The Burning Down have a lot of that same driving power chord action, but their their vocals thrashed more than I would have expected, and the solos were significantly more substantial, in an interesting, challenging, and almost discordant way. There was a cheering middle-aged woman who I am quite certain was infatuated with the vocalist/guitarist, but aside from her persistent cheers, their set was more engaging than I would have expected. Even so, I was glad to see them wrap up after no more than 30 minutes, since, after all, Cryptopsy was that much closer.
Finally, the actual tour bands were beginning. Skinless seemed to know their set-up rather well, but throughout the entire sound-check there was a thin buzzing sound coming from the PA. The white pony-tailed, weathered and half-toothless technician even was stumped for a time. But, fortuitously, just as the band was preparing to play, it faded away. So, with a trademark sample, they began to trample, hurdle, and crush us thoroughly. Between clear production, precise playing, and just plain energetic performance, they were able to really break out of the standard, unspectacular style I had figured them for. Yet, even for a band featuring two rather new members (vocalist Jason and drummer Chris), they still put on a purely Skinless performance: brutal and fun. The band themselves did not move around too much, but Jason’s pacing back and forth, bouts with crowdsurfing, and talkative nature really kept everyone involved, even before the crowd participation moments, which he likened to, ‘Day camp. Every night. With Skinless!’ He began by goading the pit, but not in the plaintive, annoying manner some bands do. This is to be expected at any concert—the really interesting part came when before one song asked for all the ‘old-school headbangers’ to literally come up on the stage. At first they were hesitant and the security dragged the few opportunists back down, but Jason asked again and in less than a minute’s time at least twenty people had crawled onto the stage. The next song began, and they all began to have at it, some looking more comfortable than others, but all obviously enjoying themselves while Jason stood before them, gurgling and growling away. Surprisingly, the plan worked rather well—the clamoring was kept to a minimum and the other band members weren’t mobbed while they played. A couple kids started pushing each other, but before it could become an actual mosh the song ended and the irked voice over the PA demanded that everyone get off the stage.
Jason wasn’t done, though. A few songs later he had the crowd separate, sending half of them to the back of the room, and then on the count of four they rushed forward, crushing the half of us at the front and sparking another circle pit. Jason’s final crowd participation moment, the rarely performed chicken fight mosh, was not allowed. Security up until this point had been rather accommodating, but they drew the line at boisterous teenagers climbing onto each others shoulders and fighting each other to loud, angry music. Understandable, but disappointing still. A few songs more and they were done. The applause was genuine and eager, and it was clear that some in the audience had come more for Skinless than Cryptopsy. Though I myself could not say the same, I made a note to delve further into this band I’d sorely overlooked.
The tech crew kept the momentum up (or tried to) by clearing the stage rather quickly and preparing for Cryptopsy’s set. After about fifteen minutes, Flo came out and unveiled his kit. Now, I can’t imagine how massive it must be in the studio, but what he had here was still impressive. He had the obligatory dual bass drums, both crested with the trademark winged demon, four toms, a snare, and sixteen overheads. Sixteen. I made sure to watch during the performance, and from what I saw he used every single one.
Not only that, but as the sound crew continued to prepare, I saw him don a head mike. So, not only was he performing some of metal’s most challenging material, he was also saving extra breath for back-up vocals. What can I say, he’s Flo.
While he was preparing, another man came out to set up a guitar stand, and from his long curls I could tell it was Alex Auburn. They and the blazing red Canadian Hockey shirt he was wearing gave him away. The sweater was not entirely fitting for a metal show, really, but an amusing reminder that this was Cryptopsy, after all—Canada has every right to represent. He set up an array of effects pedals and a pair of guitars before retreating again. After another frustrating bout with that persistent buzz, they decided to begin anyway.
The lights went down, the band walked out, facing their twin Cryptopsy banners at the back of the stage…and then entered Lord Worm. He wore the black leather pants, boots, and black collared shirt I had seen him in earlier, but he now also wore a full length leather coat and black leather gloves. He prowled to his spot on the middle of the stage, clearly embracing his theatrical role quite enthusiastically, and for a moment they were all still.
And then the roar of some unearthly creature came through the speakers, lingering a few moments before, “…do that rather well…don’t you think?” The crowd had first erupted in cheers when the band had arrived, again when Lord Worm arrived, a third time when the beast first roared, and then a scattering of us chimed in on, “don’t you think?” just as Cryptopsy unleashed ‘Crown of Horns’. Those of you who still dislike Lord Worm’s vocals have every right—they are rather difficult to digest, I admit—but seeing him perform live is an experience all on its own. He would belch the verses as he turned from side to side, and then would stand and slowly sway during his prolonged, unmistakable shrieks. Although they did not perform ‘Open Face Surgery’, which contains one of his longest shrieks, I did count one that lasted at least fifteen, maybe more than twenty seconds. To end a song, no less, after he had already been ‘singing’ without a chance to catch his breath. Those criticizing his efforts on ‘Once Was Not’ (some felt he was getting old) should really see them on tour. During our interview he said he feels as though he is a better vocalist now than he ever was, and I cannot disagree. He would switch from one register to another without disruption; his power, range, and lung control are phenomenal. At one point later in the set, he rushed to the front of the stage and almost frantically reached out at the audience, grasping hands, and in some instances (myself included) placing his palm over someone’s head and clenching his fingers tightly, almost like some evangelical exorcist priest. The contradictive characteristics he so earnestly seems to embody are utterly fascinating.
During instrumental segments, he would pace back and forth in front of Flo’s raised kit, gesturing wildly with his hands and shaking his head frantically, like some possessed madman in a convulsive fit of rage. After how collected and conversational he had been earlier, this display was actually the most unnerving part of the entire show—I honestly cannot say whether he was aware of the audience at the time.
It was during these moments when I was able to focus on the rest of the band, who are all quite skilled in their own right. Flo and Eric Langlois being recognized masters in their respective fields, and new guitarists Alex Auburn and Christian Donaldson both accounted well for themselves, Alex in particular. He had swapped out the red sweater for a slightly tacky black outfit with heavy buckles and all that, but I suppose it fit the mood better. Anyway, his riffing was outstanding, and I also do not think I have ever seen a guitarist sweat that profusely in a long time. Perhaps because it was not the sort of sweat that stuck to the flesh. It would dribble off his moustache, nose, even his hair, until his guitar glistened with it and even the ground he stood on looked like a bottle of water had been upended. It was simultaneously fascinating and a little repulsive. At one point, he was leaning directly over me as I stood against the stage, and I could feel droplets landing on my head. Another flew in my eye during his head-banging. Again, one on hand I’m repulsed, but on the other it’s all part of a very ‘metal’ brotherhood experience, so I suppose I’m better off for it.
Eric had an absolutely gorgeous bass with flame metal plates placed on its body, quite tastefully if I do say so, and the crowd ate up everything he did. For all his slaps and taps and funky groove, he was a very focused performer who did not play too much to the crowd, but his technical proficiency more than made up for it. The instrument theatrics were left to Christian, the new guitarist and the youngest in the band. His jerky movements and characterized facial expressions reminded me of the quirky fellow Canadians in Unexpect, reveling in their complicated riffing and how naturally it flows from their fingertips.
For some reason, Cryptopsy’s set seemed unnaturally short. They played for around an hour, I believe, but it seemed as though they had just begun to touch on of all their later works (with a heavy lean towards ‘None So Vile’) when they left the stage rather abruptly. Of course, we all knew it wasn’t over, so quite caught up in the moment I started a Cryptopsy chant that lasted a minute or two. They soon returned, and Lord Worm reiterated the question that had introduced ‘We Bleed’ during their set: are we masochistic for wanting more or sadistic for making them perform more? I don’t think it mattered then; we knew what was next. ‘Phobophile’. And it was unbelievable, the peak of their set. Just as that track marks the complete disintegration of reason on ‘None So Vile’, so did it mount the final blasphemous crest on their performance.
I don’t think any second encore could have lived up to that track, so I suppose it’s for the best they did not add on, but I would have liked to see a drum solo from Flo. I understand the demands of a tour, though, and there is always next time, we can say.
I will take consolation in the fact that I got a pick from Auburn, one of three that were handed out. And two days later as I write this, there is still a dull ache in the back of my head, inflicted purely by the power of their performance since I didn’t headbang at all. I almost wonder if it’s just natural fatigue or the lingering influence of Lord Worm’s tainted touch. Even if it were, at this point I don’t think I’d mind.
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