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Nile Concert Review
When the press release hit that Nile was to appear on 2007’s Ozzfest circuit, I admit to being less than impressed. Evidently, Ozzfest has been the highest-grossing summer festival more than once since its 1996 debut, but that hasn’t stopped it from being of inconsistent quality at best, not to mention the breeding ground for gossip and controversy that heavy metal really shouldn’t be dabbling in.
That being said, there have been quite a few admirable groups who’ve taken their turn on the tour and seen their careers benefit from it, so I wasn’t about to begrudge Nile their decision. More importantly, at least to me, it provides band with the opportunity for off-date appearances along the way. More intimate venues, longer sets, better sound, less drama, and at a cheaper price, besides.
Fortunately, Nile took advantage of this opportunity and booked a whole slew of off-dates, one of which brought them to The Pearl Room in Mokena, IL between their Missouri and Ohio dates. The bill was filled with a pair of other Ozzfest bands (Daath and Chthonic) with the local group Dirge as openers.
As it happened, the day of their show happened to be one of the hottest of the entire summer with temperatures and humidity ratings climbing to brink of triple digits. Therefore, while driving down to the venue with the windows sealed and air conditioning set to ‘MAX COLD’—environment be damned—I decided to amend a theory of mine. In the past, it has always seemed that metal shows bring on unseasonably cold and dreary weather, but I now believe that this is only half of the equation. A freak snow flurry is entirely appropriate for Enslaved (and did indeed occur back in April), but one for Nile would be highly out of place. However, the 97 degree air that I was presently wading through fit right in with their Egyptian sandblasting. With this evidence, it seems that metal shows tend to shift the weather in any direction so long as it is an inclement one—extreme weather for extreme music. Or something like that; the drive to Mokena is a long one, and sitting in traffic affords me plenty of time to wonder about these things.
I arrived at around 5:30, half an hour before the show was to start, and met up with Nile’s tour manager, the amiable Punchy, who guided me backstage for my interview with Dallas Toler-Wade. The scene we passed on the way was a rather typical one—long-haired white guys lounging around, drinking, swapping guitar tips, etc.—until we reached the pool table in the back half of the room, where a rather large company of Taiwanese stood quietly. Although they were dressed conventionally and nary a corpsepainted face was in sight, they could only be Chthonic, and something about seeing them there, out of the costumes and gear, made me all the more interested to witness their stage theatrics.
Through another door was Nile’s dressing room, where Karl was bustling about getting ready and Dallas was warming up on a spectacular custom guitar. Its body was in the star design, mixing the flying-V with the Gibson Explorer, but with a handful of personalized flourishes. The edges were sharper, the headstock more articulated with the ‘Nile’ engraved at its base, the body two light shades of wood, and some Ankhs inlaid on the fretboard. I ogled it while he wrapped up almost casually with a torrid series of tremolo-picked scales and then we sat down to talk.
Both he and Karl were more convivial and casual than I would have expected and certainly more so than their music lets on: Dallas has an easy smile a manner of speaking that, without being a drawl, takes its time to not rush anywhere. Karl was in the room only on occasion, but from those few minutes I could tell that he and Dallas were very much of one mind, with each echoing the other’s thoughts and completing comments. For about an hour Dallas and I “shot the shit”, as he said, about the new album, the old albums, mythology, musicianship in general, and the unconquerable might of the phallus. I, of course, also couldn’t help but to delve into the perennial question, ‘Why Egypt?’, which Dallas graciously handled for what was no doubt the umpteenth time .
Once we wrapped up it was closing in on 7:00, so I returned to the floor to catch the last of Dirge’s set. The show had started later than expected, at 6:30 instead of 6:00, so I was able to see about half of their act, but after a couple minutes I found myself wishing that I’d stayed backstage with Nile. It is not that Dirge are a sloppy or particularly bad band by present-day standards, it is rather that present-day standards and my own tend not to coincide. Dirge’s core-inspired diatribes would fit somewhere between Mudvayne and Sevendust, and despite their T-shirts claim of being ‘Fuckin Metal!’, they were not received too kindly by what crowd there was to watch them.
They left the stage at 7:00, receiving earnest applause from no more than a handful of fans from of the front row, and gave way to Daath’s set-up crew. During the layover I caught up with some acquaintances and heard not a single positive comment about Daath from anyone. A couple young guys at the front were willing to give them a fair chance, but many more were highly skeptical.
To their credit, though, Daath did put on a very energetic show, high in both confidence and intensity. With six members on stage, they didn’t have too much room to run around but they all made of it what they could, especially their vocalist Sean Farber. His growling voice is a deep roar that is stronger in the live setting than on record, where all the additional layers and production tweaks obscure his natural talent. He glowered at the audience, leaned into our faces, and at one point wrapped the microphone cord around his neck like a noose. An overused and rather childish gesture, but it suits the band’s style of blunt anger. I’d heard the single of theirs, ‘Ovum’, which many have called one of their few truly death metal songs, and after listening to the rest of their set I found myself in agreement. Daath have plenty of talent, particularly in the vocal department but their songwriting leans a little too often on chugging pit anthems, despite their best efforts and backing keys. Daath are just too familiar. If they can develop the vocal interplay between Sean and the surprisingly powerful voice of keyboardist Mike Kameron and make the best of Kevin Talley’s ‘veteran’ presence on the drums, Daath may be able to break the mold, so to speak, but at present they are just too familiar.
The rest of the band weren’t quite as malevolent as Sean, and on the contrary seemed to be having fun with the crowd instead of haranguing them. The contrast made for a bit of an odd impression, but Daath were at least unified in their enthusiasm, which isn’t always the case.
As for the crowd, we were split on Daath, half of us just waiting them out while the other half appeared to really enjoy it. The female contingency in the crowd seemed particularly enthused, with one of them fighting to the front to claim the setlist at the end and a handful more dominating the pit throughout Daath’s half hour.
One song, though, did bring just about everyone together: Cannibal Corpse’s ‘Hammer Smashed Face’. Sean introduced it obtusely, saying, “Are you guys ready for some old school death metal?”, which segued into an odd guitar intro, making it hard to recognize the song until it was in full swing.
The volume of Daath’s set, and every other band’s, actually, was equally brutal. Before the show a line of amps had been arrayed in front of the stage, which is typical, but these were of an especially large size. While they did give some band members a place to stand out closer to the crowd, by the end of Daath’s set I almost found myself wishing for earplugs, however heretical a wish it may be for a young fan of heavy metal.
At around 7:50 Daath wrapped up and left to respectful but not unanimous applause. By that point in the evening a small group had formed of younger guys towards the front, and they summed up the overall consensus of the crowd rather well with: “Should have played more Corpse covers.”
We all soon forgot about Daath, though, when we noticed some new arrivals in the audience. At first all I could see were glowsticks waving in the air at about shoulder level, moving slowly towards the front, and then a few seconds later I caught glimpses of a fisherman’s hat with an American flag design. At last, a tiny Taiwanese woman of advancing years came into view, still waving the glowsticks and smiling eagerly as she wiggled into the second row. After her came others, male and female, all at least middle-aged, clad in conspicuously light shades of clothing, and almost all of them clutching glowsticks.
After a moment of bewildered silence, we realized that these were most likely the relatives of Chthonic, and I was forced to rescind my earlier estimate that not a single person in the crowd had come to see them play. As a matter of course, the young folks in the crowd poked fun at the old behind their backs, but I was also glad to see them coming out. Heavy metal often gets the reputation of just being for kids and lowbrow losers, so to see these obviously well-groomed elders coming out and enjoy themselves (at least, as far as I could tell) was a pleasant surprise.
The layover was of the half-hour variety, which was longer than I would have expected, but the band’s gear was set up and ready to go on time, and without delay Chthonic took the stage. From the crowd’s reaction it was clear that many of them had never heard of the band before, much less seen them, and they were indeed a sight to behold. Their general vibe wasn’t far from that of Cradle of Filth, with the corpsepaint and fashionably Gothic overtones, but Chthonic added some personalized twists to the equation that made them particularly fun to watch.
The most unusual and eye-catching element was undoubtedly Su-Nung, the band’s erhu player. Also known as the oriental violin, the erhu is a two-stringed bowed instrument with a long, thin neck and a small sound box at its bottom. I’d heard them frequently before as part of various Asian music traditions, but never before in a metal band, so was just as interested as everyone else to see it in use.
Were it not for the erhu, Chthonic’s bassist, Doris, would no doubt have been the main attraction, if only for the fact that she is female. Something about the bass seems to attract women to metal, and when asked none in the audience could explain this phenomenon to me, but it’s not something I’ll complain about, and it didn’t seem as though anyone else was, either.
And, to be fair, when it comes to the corpsepaint Chthonic are not directly ripping off Cradle of Filth or any other band, for that matter. Chthonic are much more aware of both their country’s culture and political climate than the average black metal band, and their corpsepaint is used to do more than just intimidate other or hide themselves. Although it is inspired in part by the Scandinavian originators, Chthonic’s use of corpsepaint is also a nod to traditional Taiwanese religious customs tied to ancestry and folklore.
These themes also came through some in Chthonic’s lyrics, unexpectedly, particularly when Freddy spoke between songs about the U.N. “The U.N. is too much afraid of Taiwan,” he said, adding that, “they believe they represent all of the nations. But you and Chthonic represent ‘underworld.’”. Earlier on the Ozzfest tour, Freddy was even interviewed by National Public Radio, and has been an outspoken political advocate for Taiwanese induction into the U.N.
As interesting as all this was, though, the show is what the audience came to see, and Chthonic did not disappoint them on that front. They did play for ten minutes shorter than their scheduled forty, but I think the decision was a wise one, since by the end of their set my focus was beginning to stray.
For most of their time on stage, though, Chthonic had the crowd’s undivided attention as well as their vociferous support. Even those of us who had laughed a little at Dani’s spiked face mask (“Vega from Street Fighter!”) or figured the erhu to be a gimmick were entertained by Chthonic’s blend of symphonic black metal, the erhu, and even some thrash elements that made them sound like Dragonlord as much as they did Cradle of Filth. Helping them along the way were the keyboards of CJ, who sounds much louder on record than he did live, but still supplies an essential support to the band’s sound, making up in large part for the fact that Jesse is the band’s only guitarist. Su-Nung on the erhu did serve to double the guitar or harmonize in some places as a lead guitar would, but most of his playing was reserved for leads during instrumental sections or choruses. When not playing he would stand absolutely still with his head tilted, hardly seeming to blink, breathe, or swallow until, like one of the deities Cthonic honor, was summoned again to perform. This sort of motionless disinterest did sap the band’s stage presence some, since Su-Nung wasn’t the only to employ this general technique, but Freddy and Jesse were both headbanging and energetic, with the former exhorting us many times to, “bang your fucking heads!”
The most Cradle of Filth aspect of Chthonic would be indeed be Freddy, their vocalist, since his primary technique is the same high pitched shriek that Dani Filth uses, and the two have many similar tendencies. However, Freddy is ultimately a more diverse vocalist who uses some quite respectable deeper growls and also never resorts to the sort of wretched whispers that Dani does. Also, as we heard on Chthonic’s closer and best song of the night, ‘Quasi Putrefaction’, his lung capacity is also remarkable, enough for a 21 second scream at full volume after already performing for half an hour.
Still, though, it did begin to wear. The band were all competent at the least, particularly Freddy and Su-Nung, but by the end of their set the cracks were beginning to show a bit. Although Jesse’s guitars were turned down for most of their songs, when he stepped forward for the final solo we could hear him fumble some notes, and although Dani’s use of his cymbals was sharp, his efforts at double kick on his single bass drum were hesitant and sometimes stuttering.
Despite this, the crowd really gave them a very cheerful applause when they left, and even those of us who weren’t really fans had to join in for the unusual show they had put on. I hadn’t thought that the crowd would have been too receptive of them, but they were there to see Nile, after all, so if they liked Egyptian death metal, why not Taiwanese black metal?
Speaking of Egyptian death metal, with Chthonic done there was only band left on the bill: Nile. With the towering ‘Annihilation of the Wicked’ banner draped across the back of the stage and George Kollias’s kit unveiled, the anticipation began to build. George popped out a couple of times to loud shouts, and close to Nile’s start time also gave us a brief taste of his drum prowess during the sound check. Although Chthonic had left the stage 10 minutes early, Nile thankfully did not wait the entire 40 minutes until their scheduled start time, and so after half a hour (and ten minutes early, themselves) the lights went down and the band emerged from the wings to take the stage.
To the center mic strode Dallas with an approving scowl on his face and both arms raised with horns up. Karl, looking almost as jolly as he had backstage, was to Dallas’s left, with a computer behind him and a host of effects pedals at his feet. The final member to appear was their new bassist, Chris Lollis, who stood to Dallas’s left. After a few moments of surveying the crowd while the majestic symphonic opening of ‘Ithyphallic’s first track, ‘What Can Be Safely Written’, surged in the background, George kicked in with the double bass and Nile’s onslaught was unleashed.
My first impression of Nile’s set, aside from its sheer power, was the clarity of the sound. I had heard from a number of people that their live performances were muddy and a waste of time, but, at least on that night, no metal fan could have complained. The overwhelming volume from the earlier sets had been transformed into what I can only describe as a staggering weight. Once Karl, Dallas, and Chris all combined their instruments, the sheer power was nearly enough to make knees buckle. The sort of pressure you feel pushing down on your chest, not needling in your eardrum.
I have always enjoyed the extremes that Nile employs—dizzyingly fast rhythms next to wailing solos and staggering chords that would do doom bands proud—but the band’s albums have often lacked a production punch that transported their live show from merely outstanding to completely crushing. Dallas’s guttural growls, Karl’s bowel-shaking “zombie thing”, as Dallas had put it, and Chris’s throatier roars led an instrumental assault equally diverse, particularly between the leads of Dallas and Karl. The two were in lockstep during the rhythmic parts and it was during their soloing that they really got to show off: Karl’s prolonged, agonized note bends countering Dallas’s racing lashes. Often trading off on their solos, each would approach the crowd as they played, eliciting a crush of bodies with horns outstretched.
The two traded out their guitars a few times each during the set, with Karl’s being the real eye-catchers. The first he drew out was a double-necked monster, much like Dallas’s had been backstage, but his had as its top half an 11-stringed fretless that he used more often than the standard guitar below it. Another of his customs was a gold KxK with a speartip headstock that extended for nearly 10 inches and had red paint on the tip. Obviously pleased with it, Karl swiped it at the audience a couple of times, but once he started playing, the sound of the instrument proved that it was no toy to be messed with. Paired with Karl’s use of the foot pedals to provide the necessary gong hits and other effects, the band were almost able to recreate the deepest textures of their albums.
On the other side of the stage, Chris remained surprisingly animated, especially considering that he’s been in the band for only a brief time. During the heaviest passages, he would sag over with his bass nearly scraping the floor as if the weight of the riff was literally dragging him down, and at others charge the amps at the stage’s front, goading the pit on to further madness while he kept breakneck pace with Dallas and Karl. Although Nile have certainly gone through their fair share (and more than) of bassists and drummers, they have been lucky indeed in that all of them have been so talented.
Which, of course, brings us to George Kollias, the most permanent drummer that Nile has ever had, although he has performed on only two albums. Despite this, the crowd was surprisingly supportive of him, calling out and cheering his name almost as often as Dallas’s, who, as the ‘lead vocalist’, naturally is a magnet for attention. And he certainly earned the praise, laying out a punishing and precise barrage that compliments Nile’s guitar-work superbly.
After their opener, the remainder of their set list consisted of ‘Sacrifice Unto Sebek’, ‘The Blessed Dead’, ‘Cast Down the Heretic’, ‘Ithyphallic’, ‘Eat of the Dead’, Smashing the Antiu’, ‘Laying Fire Upon Apep’, ‘Papyrus’, ‘Sarcophagus’, ‘The Essential Salts’, ‘Lashed to the Slave Stick’, ‘Annihilation of the Wicked’, and their self-proclaimed “stadium rocker” closer, “Black Seeds of Vengeance.” Having taken the stage early, Nile used extra time to give us another song, ‘Execration Text’, which fit well into the wide survey of their discography.
Fortunately, I didn’t get hit too much by the moshpit, but I can’t say the same for the row behind me, who suffered many elbows and conked heads throughout the night. Security at The Pearl Room is typically maintained by surly types even more massive than the professional stereotype, and this time a pair stood in the pit’s middle, practically throwing anyone who came into contact with them. One kid was unlucky enough to fall into one, and, being off-balanced, was immediately knocked over when the security guard pushed back. Looking over my shoulder as it happened—during a song and from about ten feet away—I could hear the sound of his body hitting the floor.
Although Nile’s visuals weren’t particularly flashy, there was a sense of satisfaction and pure enjoyment with their music that I don’t often see, particularly on Karl’s part. Grinning during solos, grooving during rhythms, he quite effortlessly commanded his portion of the stage. The one issue I could possibly have with the set overall was that his vocals were a little too quiet. However, the pitch of his vocals can reach as low as I’ve heard in metal, without the use of pitch shifters, so it is understandable that bolstering them to compete with the rest of the mix would be difficult. Dallas certainly had no problem being heard, though, and spit out his growls with wicked speed and clarity while never falling behind on his instrument.
Technically speaking, it was one of the tightest shows I have seen in my time, rivaling anyone from Symphony X to Cryptopsy. Once Nile finally finished their set an hour and a half after they’d begun, more than half of the audience stayed to cheer them and chant, not leaving until security bodily forced them to. When Karl came over to shake everyone’s hand one girl apparently pulled him down, bringing him into a crowd of people who hardly gave him room to stand for all their enthusiasm to congratulate him.
In retrospect, the most impressive aspect of Nile’s set was nothing I have detailed to this point, and nothing that could be clearly seen. It was instead the intangible feeling of how well the music spoke on its own, without any embellishment from the band members. They did put on a good visual show—if not always a particularly polished one (Dallas wore a black t-shirt that said ‘Got frappe?’)— with plenty of presence and appropriate lighting, but at its peak moments, it wasn’t the band that was performing. It was their music. Dallas had spoken to this earlier, saying that when you’ve got a song concept or lyric that’s savage, the riffs have got to communicate that, regardless of what the performer’s original intentions are. Karl likened a successful experience to cleaving a steak—when all the pieces work together, there’s a rush of satisfaction that just feels right. Recalling how Dallas swayed forth to deliver the closing lead motif to ‘The Essential Salts’, nodding at us with a knowing grin, I knew precisely what they meant.
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