Days of Rage: Day 3

DAY 3 - January 16 - Skeletonwitch and Ringworm at The Union AND Electronica Night at UNDISCLOSED HOUSE VENUE

The day’s festivities kicked off at 7 pm with an Electronica show at UNDISCLOSED HOUSE VENUE. Six acts played in the span of three hours, which was probably a record for any show in Athens. Those in attendance were treated to several different styles of electronica, featuring the gabber/breakbeat styles of Active Chainsaw, the IDM/breakcore of Shapeless Shadow, the chopped and screwed electronic noise of 24hoursthegirl, the funky and folky (respectively) sampletronica of Mr. Leg and Blithe Field and the heavy electronic noise misery of programs.

After the proceedings at UNDISCLOSED HOUSE VENUE were over, several of us piled into the car and attempted to get in to The Union to see local thrash metal heroes Skeletonwitch and Cleveland metalcore (see above) legends Ringworm. Unfortunately, the Union was at capacity and the line to get in to the venue was out the door. My friends and I decided to cut our losses and go home to order some pizza and watch a movie. We chose to watch Blades, a film distributed by Troma that is a shot –for-shot remake of Jaws that substitutes a large, sentient lawnmower on a sleepy New England golf course for a giant Great White shark preying on helpless vacationers. Quint’s ship, The Orca, becomes a black Astrovan with a rooftop crow’s nest in this as well, which was a touch that ultimately helped seal Blades’ fate as a fantastic movie and also helped seal the fate of last weekend as the Days of Rage.

Days of Rage: Day 2

DAY 2 – January 15 - We March, The Cutter Family, Horrible Creeps, Forced Hand and You’ll Get Yours at The Smiling Skull Saloon

On Friday of that same weekend, I found myself once again at the Smiling Skull for yet another punk show. The first band, You’ll Get Yours, hail from Cincinatti and played pop punk. That’s not to say that they’re pretty boys who cater to a demographic

of 15-year-olds, like most commercial pop punk. Rather, they represent the current wave of Midwestern DIY pop punk bands, which seem more influenced by bands like the Lawrence Arms than by Blink 182. I’ve actually drawn up a chart for easy understanding (click to enlarge):

Anyway, You’ll Get Yours was pretty good, if not a bit sloppy, which in many ways added to their charm. Up second was Parkersburg, WV, punk bandForced Hand was followed by Columbus hardcore outfit Horrible Creeps, who take a different approach than many of their contemporaries. Comprised of a drummer, a vocalist and a bass player, one would expect their sound to be lacking fullness. However, one blast from bassist Elijah Funk’s (also of Le Vansona, Bohemian Grove and Hollow Bones) stack of four bass amplifiers is enough to dispel these thoughts. Horrible Creeps is marked by thunderous drumming, meaty bass chords a squall of noise from Funk’s miserable wall of amps. They also have the most awkward lead singer ever (a compliment), whose stage presence is not the traditional hardcore singer who, while he is angry and surly, is doing stuff mostly for show. The Creeps’ vocalist will literally stand less than a foot from your face, look you in the eyes, shout at you and call you out for no good reason. Frankly, it was one of the most confrontational punk sets I’ve seen, which made them stand out quite a bit in my mind.

Finally, there were two sets from The Cutter Family and We March. The Cutter Family kicked things off, with a lively old-school punk set that saw We March guitarist Curtis Frey taking on the role of lead singer as well, while wildman Zach Fuller assumed bass duties. The Cutter Family bears a bit more influence of The Stooges than We March shows, which sets them apart from their main project.

We March, of course, played an animated, out-of-control set to a large-sized crowd who, for the first time that night, were moving around. Much of this was spurred by Zach Fuller’s antics, which are much lauded and the stuff of legends in the Athens punk scene. Oh, by the way: If you can listen to ANYTHING We March has ever played or recorded and hear influences of Blink 182, it's time to stop writing about music.

Days of Rage: Day 1

The weekend of Jan 14-18 posed a special challenge to me: to see how hard I could rage at - not one - not two - but THREE punk and metal shows in one weekend. Despite gloomy weather, winter quarter thus far has been packed full of excellent shows taking place at venues with atmospheres as diverse as the gold-standard indie music dive known as The Union, the don’t-give-a-fuck charm of the Smiling Skull Saloon and the renegade, seedy, underground flare of a basement show.

Day 1 – January 14 – Abbadon, Empirian and Sonofafuckingbitch at The Smiling Skull Saloon.

The weekend kicked off a day early with a Thursday night show at the Smiling Skull. My garbage noisecore band Sonofafuckingbitch opened the night, wasting the audience’s time with offensive lyrics and the musical equivalent of hardcore punk karaoke. Our complete lack of talent served as the perfect starting point for the night.

We were followed by a long set from local metalcore band Empirian who brought a very dedicated (read: left right afterwards) crowd out to see them. Empirian are a cross between technical thrash / death metal and contemporary metalcore (stuff like The Number 12 Looks Like You), which I can’t profess to being a huge fan of. Frankly, I think metalcore was better off in the vein of Integrity and Ringworm than in the hands of bands like Job For A Cowboy, but Empirian managed to maintain some of the heaviness and grit lacking from a lot of today’s scene-y Hot Topic grindcore. They are EXTREMELY good musicians, as well.

Finally, Lancaster, Ohio grindcore band Abbadon were made de facto headliners after the intended headliner, Hope Lane Is A Dead End (remember what I was saying about scene-y metalcore?) had to cancel. Abbadon’s own style is reminiscent of Napalm Death, but with more of a black metal influence on the riffing.

Unfortunately, guitarist / rifflord Andrew Adams’ guitar amplifiers were malfunctioning for some reason, which led to a bit of a slowdown in the pacing of the night. Adams’ technical difficulties were shortly corrected, just in time for the second half of Abbadon’s half-hour long set. The band launched into possibly their most crushing song, “Plaguebringer,” to the sound of catcalling from a rather wasted college sophomore, who couldn’t understand why the music was so angry. Thankfully, the heckler’s inebriated wailing was drowned out by a merciless breakdown replete with gang vocals. This night was also notable for the fact that a stranger walked in on me in the bathroom and saw my penis as I pulled up my pants at the adjoining sports bar, the Cat’s Den.

Let's Get Physical

Exercise does a body good. It’s the message pounded into us from Kindergarten, where hyperactive children are herded into the gym and encourage to run, jump, stretch and strain for periodic intervals before they’re shuffled off to art or music or reading. However, once we’re free and clear of the standardized educational system, the decision of betterment through exercise lies solely on the self.

After far too many years of pudgy existence, I finally made the decision to better myself through exercise. This came about from a session of self-reflection/self-loathing, which resulted in me deciding that 1) I would no longer like to see my meaty manbreasts when I look in the mirror and 2) that exercising would provide me the solitude to listen to a few more albums than I normally get the chance to. Thus, on a snowy day in January, I decided to finally take a step forward in my life and start going to the gym.

I’ve been attacking my fitness (or lack thereof) in two ways: aerobic workout (which consists of me using the elliptical) and weightlifting (which consist of me pulling muscles and grunting). However, equally important to the actual physical activity of exercising is the musical accompaniment, the planning for which can actually take longer than the workout itself. In the few short weeks of self-betterment, I’ve learned several things about the music one should listen to while working out.

First of all, as much as I love powerviolence discography CDs (and believe me, I think these damn things are going to eventually cure cancer), I’ve learned that they are possibly the worst thing to listen to while using the elliptical. Across the discographies of bands like Crossed Out, Apartment 213 and Spazz, I’ll catch myself breaking into a sprint during the blastbeats and slowing down to a crawl during the sludgy-ass breakdowns that seem to pop up every 15 seconds or so. What seems to work well for running is something fast, aggressive and unrelenting. Most thrashy (and some atmospheric) black metal tends to work well, but I think I’ve had my best results with Black Flag’s Damaged. Perhaps it’s the fuck-it-all attitude of the lyrics, the absolutely pissed-off vocals or perhaps just the image of Henry Rollins kicking the shit out my fat body, but it seems like early Black Flag (as well as other early and '90s-era hardcore punk) tends to work well. A lot of straightedge hardcore bands tend to make music that works well for exercising mostly because of lyrics about “never giving in” and “not letting yourself down.” These can be interpreted not only as “don’t drink” but also “five more minutes, fatty. Keep going.”

On the other hand, I’ve found sludge metal to be perfect for lifting weights or working on the machines. The sluggish, plodding riffs and droning feedback of albums by Electric Wizard or Sleep serve as an excellent complement to the slow, deliberate strains of weightlifting. Industrial noise tends to work well in both scenarios, due to the relative absence of any beat or pace to the music, which makes it easier to move at an even pace.

I did make one mistake, though, with the music I chose to listen to one day during a particularly strenuous workout. My choice of Bloodyminded’s Gift Givers was ill-fated, not because it’s a bad album, but because of the subject matter. More than half of the tracks on Gift Givers deal with eating disorders and body image problems from the perspective of those affected by them. While it’s an excellent album, it’s disheartening and strangely ironic to hear songs whose lyrics consist of screamed choruses of “The thinner the winner” and “The best little anorexic girl in the world” while powering through the “fat burning" section of the treadmill LED display.

Maybe someday I’ll find the perfect album that suits all of my workout needs. For now, though, I’ll be content to play the guessing game with albums that will inspire me to get physical.