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Decapitated Concert Review
By this time in my concert-going career, I should expect the bad weather that always hinder my commuting efforts. Whether it’s the first snow of winter, golf-ball sized hailstones in March,, or a seismic apocalypse whenever, it seems like every time I suit up to go to a metal show the environment has to get fussy.
And Wednesday, just minutes before I headed out the door for Mokena and Summer Slaughter ’07, a blinding rainstorm swirled up, slowing traffic to a maddening crawl. It’s ironic—all drivers comment derisively about how poor weather causes everyone else on the road to forget how to accelerate, but no one seems to have found a solution yet. As such, by the time I got to The Pearl Room, the line was already out the door. This was a little surprising, as I hadn’t seen an extreme metal show get this sort of attention in Mokena before, but it was Necrophagist, after all, plus eight more nationally recognized acts. This event was Necrophagist’s third appearance in Chicago in just over a year and each time they’ve packed the house, so the move from Logan Square to the roomier Pearl Room was a good one
At 5:30, the venue was already packed. At around 4:30, the local group Born of Osiris had kicked off the evening’s festivities and by the time I finally got in Beneath the Massacre had also finished, but seven bands were still left on the docket (with the big-name headliners hours away), so it was surprising to see such an early turnout. The crowd was mostly the stereotypical young white male, as I’d expected, but there were also a respectable amount of older fans and females in the crowd. In fact, aside from Kamelot and Epica, I don’t know that I’ve seen that many women in a metal audience at The Pearl Room before. I suppose, now that the geeks have had their run as the sexy outcast, now it’s the unshaven metalhead’s turn. Cheers.
The lineup of bands to perform, despite its variety, was really rather conveniently spliced. As a matter of course the lesser known bands play first, but in this instance they also happened to be the more ‘core’-influenced: the aforementioned Beneath The Massacre, Ion Dissonance, The Faceless, and As Blood Runs Black, performing in that order. And so, despite the full attendance, there was a generally friendly cycle of fans with good spots on the floor. Although I missed all of the before mentioned bands, I imagine the scene kids held sway for the most part during the first half while the death metal types took over for the second. At the previous two Necrophagist shows I had seen scores of emovers and other scenester giveaways, but by the time I started mingling in the audience they were largely outnumbered by more traditional-looking metal fans.
At least, that cycle is my generalizing hypothesis. While it would have been my pleasure to see those bands perform (some of them for the second time), I spent that time upstairs in interview with Arsis main-man Jim Malone.
At least, partially in interview. Jim had said earlier that he was frazzled, and with all the interruptions and distractions we encountered through a 45 minute interview, I can begin to imagine what the rest of his week must have been like. The majority of these interruptions were related to the band’s touring van, which has been laid up in Sacramento for the past week with a broken part. As a result, Arsis have had to cancel their Summer Slaughter appearances since; the rest of the band and the gear stayed with the van in California while Jim flew out to Chicago to man the merch table. And as of that evening, he himself didn’t know how the rest of the tour was going to go. A disappointing setback by any standards, but nevertheless he was friendly and bright. Over Long Island iced teas (which, combined with his posture, was enough to elicit comparisons to Jiminy Glick from some other band members), we discussed Arsis’s past, present, future, and quite a few unknown “exclusive” tidbits to keep on the down-low.
At one point he was called away for a few minutes, so I had some time on my own to absorb the ‘VIP Room’ ambience and take in the scenery. At the bar, some younger folks that looked like they were with the openers Born of Osiris were loitering, in the bank of couches opposite me, Ion Dissonance and Cephalic Carnage came and went, and behind me Covan of Decapitated was browsing the web. Which, by the way, brings up an interesting point. These metalheads, when it comes down to it, were generally pretty geeky. ‘Friends’ was on the television, the best wireless internet cards was a keen topic of conversation, and before Jim returned to our interview I could hear him and a few others at the bar picking up a few bars of the ‘Fraggle Rock’ theme song.
In fact, the only really appropriately metal-looking type happened to be sharking the pool table. Dressed all in black, he would survey the room, amble over to an unsuspecting victim and drop the length of a pool cue over his shoulder and say, “I will play you.” This was Muhammed of Necrophagist.
Although he would constantly turn aside compliments to his game, the only times I saw him lose were when he scratched on or accidentally pocketed the eight ball. And, too, although the room was loud and constantly busy, he remained quite focused on the game. When Jim and I sat down in the vicinity to record out interview, Muhammed bought Jim a drink to get us to move elsewhere.
After the interview was finally through, Jim played me some of the new material he’s been writing for the new album. It sounds as though all the touring Arsis has done with these technical bands like Ion Dissonance and Necrophagist has rubbed off a little bit—Jim himself called over Muhammed to check with him that one of the songs wasn’t too similar to Necrophagist. And although it was still in the pre-production phase, I can say with certainty that it sounds fantastic, far better than ‘United in Regret’ and pleasantly different from ‘A Celebration of Guilt’. Hearing the new material and talking about it with him was a fantastic experience, but I can’t help but be a little frustrated by how long it’ll be until the album is released—way to get me overexcited, Jim, thanks for that.
At around this time I thought that getting back down to the show was a good idea, but I couldn’t pass up a golden opportunity; the pool table was free and Muhammed had no immediate competitors, so I challenged him myself. He considered for a moment before accepting, and we went on to split the two games we played (though, for fairness’s sake, I should note that he beat himself, again, by pocketing the eight ball), and would have played a third if there had been time. However, there were not many bands left before Necrophagist’s set, so he left to warm up and prepare and I headed back downstairs.
The audience was really packing in towards the stage, but I was able to circle around to the side and get a decent spot for Cattle Decapitation, who got under way almost as soon as I arrived. Until then, my experience with this band was limited. I knew that they had comically explicit album covers, played a sick variety of grind/death metal, and were staunchly vegetarian. The crowd appeared to know this as well and cracked any number of vegan-related jokes in between songs. No one could make light of the band’s performance, though, except for the band members themselves. The music itself was far more complex and riveting than I ever remembered it being, and the band themselves really threw themselves into their stage show. The guitarist Josh Elmore would make a different face for each jerking halt of the music and vocalist Travis Ryan spent nearly as much time dousing himself in bottles of water and spitting up into the air—and then trying to catch the spit as it fell—as he did singing. When he did, he reminded me some of Converge’s Jacob Bannon (albeit a much more satirical one) for how unassuming he looks but how ungodly he sounds, and how complete the transformation from benign to possessed is once he opens his mouth.
They played material mostly from ‘Karma Bloody Karma’ as well as a few from both of their other records, and left a very positive impression overall, despite a technical snafu that knocked out Josh’s amp. In the interim, the crowd started calling for a drum solo when Michael played an off-hand fill, which we unfortunately did not get. Travis offered his own entertainment, saying, “I could freestyle for you guys, would you like that?”, which was obviously met with laughing cheers. Michael even laid down a solid rhythm for him, but when the time came to deliver, he backed out. Luckily for him, the amp was fixed by then, and the band finished their set without issue, just minus one song.
Next up, continuing the cranial theme, was Cephalic Carnage. As each band member came out to set up their gear, I couldn’t help but notice how well their music reflected their looks: eclectic, disarming, odd, and directly inspired by copious quantities of chronic. The members of the band looked like they were cut from completely different cloth, with vocalist Lenzig leading the way as the aging conquistador, complete with salt and pepper moustache. Bassist Nick and one of the guitarists themselves looked metal enough, but the other guitarist wore a cybergeek skullet that rivaled Devin Townsend’s, and drummer John was impossible to place at all.
For warm-ups, they slid one by one into the riff from ‘Ontogeny of Behavior’ right before the chorus, where the drums come in with the off-beat cymbal-work backing up the palm-muted chords. This, of course, elicited cheers from a significant portion of the audience, and I myself wondered eagerly whether they would unleash the epic live.
I had some time to wonder, as their set-up took significantly longer than I would have thought. But, after only a small delay, their bass player Nick pushed a button on his effects board, the only instance of its usage that I could see throughout the set, and we heard the opening to ‘Endless Cycle of Violence’.
However mismatched they look altogether, Cephalic Carnage know how to tear up a stage with the best of them. None of them were particularly into the axe-chopping or self-destructive antics many other spastic bands engage in, but the audience went utterly insane nevertheless. Ignoring the security guards’ cries, they moshed, fought, started multiple circle pits, and wrought all sorts of havoc throughout the entire set. It didn’t matter to them what the song was or even which part of the song was playing—chorus, breakdown, interlude, verse—anything was suited to their madness.
Of course, the band loved this. The lead guitarist in particular was getting involved, standing on the amp in front of him to watch and gesture for more circle pits, and even throwing himself into the audience a few times. Some other band members were more placid, or if not that at least focused on their instruments, with John being the most detached. For all the madness before him, he could have been practicing alone in his basement, but he came through where it counted and laid down his complex beats and fills with precision.
Lenzig’s growls were higher and not quite as wet as they are on record, but his delivery as well as Nick’s were outstanding; towards the end of one of their ‘Xenosapian’ songs, Lenzig held the final growl for what I estimated to be nearly twenty seconds. Between each song he would introduce its meaning and its content. Most songs came from the new album, and he sounded entirely serious as he described to us a Macabre-inspired track about a serial killer who loves breakfast cereal and makes furniture out of his many spare boxes. There were a handful from ‘Anomalies’, such as ‘Counting the Days’, and ‘Kill For Weed’, which had nearly all the audience raising their hands to get baked with the band after the show. In a nice touch, ‘Kill For Weed’ logically—at least, logically for Cephalic Carnage—segued into their ‘Lucid Interval’, a connection that Lenzig pointed out to us in passing.
Now that I look back, I don’t think they played any of my absolute favorites that I had hoped they would, but it didn’t really matter in the end. The energy and presence that they had was impressive enough; if I had any doubts about this, watching one of them swing his guitar like a scythe into a swathe of up-stretched arms was enough to persuade me. It’s a surprise that he hasn’t broken either his guitar or someone’s arm doing that so far this tour. However, I did hear that there was blood on the floor by the show’s end, so perhaps he did tag someone after all.
Completing the trilogy of head-related bands was perhaps the most well-known of them all—Poland’s Decapitated. Although the band is still very young, they have developed an impressive international following, thanks in large part to their seminal debut, ‘Winds of Creation’, which had been one of my first experiences with death metal of any sort. This would also be my first experience with Polish death metal in a live setting, having missed last year’s tour with Vader.
However much I was looking forward to their set, I was still a little apprehensive, since ‘Organic Hallusinosis’ and new vocalist Covan, from what I had heard, didn’t appeal to me as much as the earlier work had. However, I had met with Covan backstage for a bit and he’d seemed like a very convivial and attentive guy, so I was more than willing to give 2007’s Decapitated a chance.
Typically, during the layover at a metal show the upcoming band will set up their own gear in full view of the audience. Although some cheers or greetings are to be expected, the band is usually left to themselves. Not so, Decapitated. As soon as Vogg appeared, nearly the entire front row started yelling, shouting, or growling at him and raising the horns. Vitek, the band’s drummer, received even more praise, and seemed especially entertained by one of his most popular greetings, “Motherfucking Vitek!”
Their set-up took less time than Cephalic Carnage’s, and by 9:20 they were ready to go, with Martin on bass and Covan on vocals to complete the line-up. Unsurprisingly, they opened with the single from their new album, ‘A Poem About An Old Prison Man’, which is far from the technically jaw-dropping tornados heard on ‘Winds of Creation’ I had hoped for. However, to my surprise, I found myself really enjoying their newfound style of direct aggression. No matter how much they’ve changed over the years, Decapitated’s sound is still thick and crushing, and it just took the live setting for their new style to sink in properly. Listening back on it now, it still seems as though the new material is best heard live, and perhaps loses a bit of luster on record, but I still appreciate it much more than I did.
With heads banging in slow unison as they laid down grinder after bowel-shaking grinder, Decapitated played an excellent counterpoint to the wild excess of Cephalic Carnage that had preceded them. Like many of the bands that day, they had only one guitarist along with the standard vocalist, drummer, and bassist, but the sound they produced was incredibly dense. This was particularly impressive when Vogg’s guitar would shoot up from the lower frets into a wailing solo, leaving Martin’s bass alone at the bottom. It was also surprising to see Vitek at the kit; he’s been such an impressive presence for so long, I had expected him to have a kit equal to Flo Mounier’s monstrosity, but instead it looked almost like a punk rocker’s. A couple toms, a snare, and the requisite two bass kicks were crowded in around him with only a few cursory cymbals raised much higher than usual. Sparse though it was, Vitek still managed to bring out all its best and has me authoritatively persuaded that he is one of the strongest and most consistent double-bassists in metal today.
What really elevated their set, though, was the dark horse, Covan. On stage, the smiling enthusiasm of a child that I had seen backstage was gone, replaced with a primal swagger and fiery glare. With his long hair almost obscuring his face, his entire body would rise and fall with the downbeat as he strode from side to side, gesturing with his clawing hands and thumping his chest. The ‘tough-guy’ edge that I’d heard on record was gone, replaced with a full death metal roar that felt much more powerful, and all doubt I had had as to his place in the band was gone.
The audience was not quite as manic as they had been for Cephalic Carnage, but they were no less enthusiastic. A couple crowd surfers popped up (and were summarily kicked out), while the rest of the audience contented themselves with headbanging. A few songs in, a full-sized Polish flag with the band’s name spray-painted across the top rose up from a middle row, and eventually its owners made their way to the stage and hopped up. The security guards were by now a little overwhelmed by the crowd surfers, so some bold members of the front row were able to clamber over the floor amps and headbang with the band or leap out into the first few rows. It looked as though things were about to get completely out of control, especially when the flag appeared on stage, but the band remained undisturbed and the music continued.
It was only after they had finished, probably around 9:50, and left the stage to much applause that I realized they hadn’t played a single track from ‘Winds of Creation’: ‘Day 69’ following their opener, and then other tracks like ‘Mother(fucking) War’ and closer like ‘Spheres of Madness’ fleshed out the rest of their set. However much I would have liked to hear some of those oldest songs, it was an excellent set nonetheless, and it’s good to hear a band have such success with a crowd without having to reach back for their old trump cards again.
Finally, that familiar buzz began. Each of the three times I’ve seen Necrophagist, the layover before their set is imbued with an energy entirely unique from any other. Fans get a bit more giddy than usual and chat up their neighbors, telling stories about the last time they saw Muhammed and company, or chortling over those who have never experienced the likes of ‘Stabwound’ live. This time was no different, and I was lucky enough to have a front row spot. Inexplicably, the pair who had stood in front of me left after Decapitated and were kind enough to let me slip right where they had been standing. The placement was almost perfect, with as close a view of Muhammed, Stefan, and Marco’s kit as one could get. Sami was unfortunately further away, as he has been each time in the past, but a front row spot is never anything to gripe about.
Although the show had fallen a bit behind schedule, the running crew caught up admirably, and by 10:05, only five minutes late, the lights went down and the band emerged. Muhammed had changed little since I saw him back stage, having only changed into a Vader Cabinets t-shirt, while both Stefan and Sami looked just as hale and hearty (or in Sami’s case, cadaverous) as they have in the past. Muhammed’s guitar, however, was entirely new. In the past he had a matte black Ibanez, which this one also appeared to be, but it also had a glorious pearl inlay of the band’s name about halfway up the fretboard.
The other new addition to the band’s image was more conspicuous: new drummer Marco Minnemann. He replaced Hannes Grossmann, who had been admirable in his own right, and from what I read Marco is not an entirely metal drummer, so I was not quite sure how things would turn out. Sitting behind his raised kit, he looked rather like a California surfer dude: shaggy, sandy blonde hair, a constant smile on his face, and a bright yellow t-shirt. His kit was equally unusual, with some curiously proportioned drums alongside the usual array of toms and snare. There was one absolutely massive drum off to the left that at first I thought was a tom, since it was angled to hit with a stick, but actually turned out to be a third bass. Necessary, perhaps not; incredibly awesome, without a doubt.
With only a little bit more introductory flair than usual, Necrophagist launched headlong into their staple opener, ‘Stabwound’. The crowd by this point was a little exhausted, so they weren’t as ravenous as they have been in the past, but their attention was still riveted upon the band. Besides, it was nice to be able to focus on the music for once and not have to worry about losing my head to a crowdsurfer or a kidney to a mosher’s suckerpunch.
‘Stabwound’ was punctuated by Muhammed’s familiar ‘Thank you very much!’ and followed by a selection of ‘Epitaph’s stronger cuts: ‘Ignominious & Pale’, ‘Epitaph’, ‘Seven’, and ‘Diminished to B’. Although ‘Epitaph’ is my lesser favorite of the two albums, I find that as I hear it more in concert I begin to appreciate it more. It’s a denser album, not quite as easy to get into, but it rips nonetheless and was a pleasure to see performed live. Each member was phenomenal as always, and I am continually impressed by how Sami keeps up with (and, as I’ve mentioned in the past, perhaps even surpasses) Muhammed in speed, particularly when he’s taking the solos on tracks like ‘Epitaph’.
At the end of ‘Diminished To B’, the band extended the final sliding riff for an additional minute or so, allowing Marco to start showing his stuff. Up to this point he had been carrying on much as Hannes would have, but now with the spotlight on him, he really began to take off. First it was subtle, and then more adventurous; he changed tempos, meters, rhythms, with an improviser’s flow but never disrupting the rest of the band. The audience was already appreciative of him and this just served to sweeten the deal.
Little did we know. After Muhammed finally closed the song, the rest of the band left the stage, leaving Marco sitting alone under the lights. We, hoping for the drum solo we’d not received earlier, were this time not disappointed. For the next seven minutes (approximately), Marco put on the most impressive display of percussive mastery that I have ever witnessed, bar none. As before, he began slowly, as if flexing his muscles to test their strength. Slowly, he increased speed, intensity, and complexity, until his drumsticks were a literal blur as he flew about the kit, utilizing every inch of it, including that thunderous third bass drum, as low as a digital sub-drop, lower even than the bass drums at his feet.
As he played, he would sometimes flip his sticks back and forth, hitting with the front, then the back, or even flip them around his fingers as he transferred from one side of the kit to another. The complexity of his solo did not suffer for this showiness, though, and he proved his status as a professional drummer in fact as well as name, ranging across many styles and techniques. He would halt for a few seconds every minute or so, then suddenly leap into a different style, stifling the howls from the audience, who by the end of his solo were standing silent in utter amazement.
After a tremendous climax, he stood and raised his arms, chest heaving, and accepted our applause. Some of the running crew and a couple other band members had collected at the side of the kit to watch, and they all raised their arms, laughing and looking at one another in disbelief. I pity the next drummer whom I see attempting a solo—to top Marco that evening would have been nearly impossible.
As if that were not enough, the rest of the band came out from behind their full-stacks that lined the wall and laid into the second portion of their set. The solo had served to split the albums, so the songs here were all from ‘Onset of Putrefaction’, starting as the album did with ‘Foul Body Autopsy’ and then closing with ‘Extreme Unction’ and ‘Fermented Offal Discharge’. After the first, Muhammed broke character for a moment to dedicate the next track to a kid in the second row who couldn’t have been older than 13 or any taller than five feet, and then it was right back into the music. Marco, though no doubt exhausted, still paced each track perfectly, and Muhammed’s final solo was as pinpoint precise as the first had been.
And so their set finished, one of the longer that I’d seen them play at nearly an hour. The crowd was tired and not as loud as we probably should have been, but in listening to the awed comments of, ‘Did you see that?’ or simply, ‘Jesus Christ’, it was clear that Necrophagist had shone once again.
As we all bottlenecked at the door, Covan tapped me on the shoulder and asked after the pictures I’d tried to take. The crowd had been to insane during Decapitated and Cephalic Carnage to get any shots, though, so he instead introduced me to a very inebriated Vitek and we fell to talking about the tour and his experience with the band so far. The door guard unfortunately shooed me out without a chance for full farewells after only a couple minutes. But, again flashing that kid’s smile I’d seen backstage, Covan gestured to the back of the venue when the guard had turned away, so I went around to meet him.
A few small patches of fans had gathered there, either looking for autographs or milling about with Lenzig and a bowl. It looked as though each band had a conversion van and a trailer for their gear, but then I noticed the massive touring bus backed right up against the wall. It had been printed with the logos of Summer Slaughter, Ibanez (the tour’s sponsor), and finally Necrophagist, and from the way it was being packed it looked as though the band had it all to themselves.
After chatting with Nick and Lenzig for a bit, Covan emerged from backstage and guided me to the other side of the street, where a cadre of Poles had set up camp behind Decapitated’s van. They waved bottles of booze and other controlled substances in our direction, and although I understood not a single word they uttered, the next hour or so was one of the most unusual and entertaining in my concert-going experience. The band played rather gracious hosts, chatting amicably with friends and strangers both, and Covan kindly made a point to look out for me when I was completely lost in the conversation.
I told Vitek and him the story I’d heard about their Milwaukee Metalfest show where a fan whose jaw had been dislocated and/or separated in the pit refused medical attention, still wanting to get back in the action. Covan was a little surprised, but Vitek merely nodded in consideration. I did not get to spend much time with either Martin or Vogg, but we all shook hands and I commended them on the set. After more rounds and a dozen goodbyes from the drunkest of the group, the van’s driver finally began shooing everyone into the van. We all bid each other farewell until next time (which might be sooner than one might expect, if what they tell me is correct), and I finally headed home at around 1 AM.
Reflecting, it seems that Necrophagist have really done well for themselves with all this American touring and are on a dramatic upswing in popularity. With sold out shows and packed floors like the Pearl Room was, it’s no surprise. Although I’d like to see a new studio album from them, if they decide to swing around on tour one more time before they record, I won’t complain. Besides, Muhammed owes me the rubber match.
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