Meshuggah owns all

It could be years before the NYC area gets another month as exciting for metal as February 2009. Metallica, the Dillinger Escape Plan, Soilwork and Meshuggah all headlined bills that exemplified the range capacity of modern metal. Deciding the best of all shows was a matter of taste, but band-for-band, there was no better bill than the Faceless and Cynic opening for the mighty Meshuggah at Irving Plaza.



Relative newcomers the Faceless luckily won a spot before two of the most worshiped bands in technical/death metal history, and even more amazingly, the California-based band nearly showed up the legends. Playing to an already-packed club that confirmed the band's much-warranted buzz, the Faceless compacted much of music theorist-favorite Planetary Duality into their 30-minute set, including "The Ancient Covenant" and "Coldly Calculated Design," after opening with their debut Alkadama's instrumetal (sic) centerpiece. Now minus a keyboardist, the band's new arrangement benefited guitarist Michael Keene, who riffed and shredded through a garishly neon green Washburn. By their last song, it was clear that the Faceless deserve some headlining sets in the near future.



Cynic, performing their first US shows in 15 years, also spent most of the set on their newest album, Traced in Air. Although the band owes its legacy to Focus, the seemingly one-off prog-metal watershed that's been bewildering headbangers since 1993, Traced in Air is arguably just as strong, and it was as much fun to experience new songs like "Integral Birth" and "Evolutionary Sleeper" as it was to hear heavier, more distorted Focus tracks, including "Veil of Maya" and "Celestial Voyage."

For all the thrills Cynic warranted in musical and historical contexts, their performance was mostly listless. Drummer Sean Reinart controlled every song with powerhouse drumming, but guitarist/processed singer Paul Masvidal competently performed every technically-exhausting song without any extra flavor, as did the studio hand rhythm guitarist and bassist. Had Cynic just stood in place and played recordings, their music would still be exciting enough to hold interest. But for a band that put so much effort into recording, seeing them go through the motions onstage was a little disheartening.



Still, there was no questioning Meshuggah's ability to provide the live show that their songs deserve. As with the two openers, Meshuggah's most recent album is one of their best, and wallop-packing new songs like "Pravus," "Combustion" and especially "Bleed" were as memorable as anything played that evening. Relatively less mathy and avant-garde than their previous albums, obZen's songs are fast and heavy even for Meshuggah, and it was hard to keep up with the band more for their pace than their experiments. Despite Meshuggah's inarguable talents and versatility, there was no change in pace during their set. Guitarists Fredrik Thordendal and Mårten Hagström's riffs and solos steamrolled out of songs like "New Millennium Cyanide Christ" and "Suffer in Truth," while singer Jens Kidman, whose face might be frozen in "angry samurai" mode, barked out a guttural yell that never hinted that clean vocals even existed in him.

Meshuggah's main selling point might still be polyrhythmic monster Thomas Haake, whose varied, brutal drumming may trounce any other metal percussionist. Injuries have sidelined him over the past few years, but seeing him nail Meshuggah tracks that had been completed with samples and drum machines testified for the power of man over machine, albeit in a way that contrasted with some of Haake's sci-fi inspired lyrics. Meshuggah closed with "Future Breed Machine," probably their best-known song, and prompted a floor-encompassing mosh pit to break out for the show's last few minutes. There was no encore, so we never found out if Irving Plaza would be able to survive one.

Sitar Heroes

From "Paint it, Black" and George Harrison laying the basic groundwork, up to A.R. Rahman's recent American success, nothing stirs up rock n' roll quite like a sitar.

Alice in Chains, "What the Hell Have I" (from the Last Action Hero soundtrack)

Someone forgot to tell Alice in Chains that soundtracks are meant for songs that weren't good enough to make it to studio albums. "What the Hell Have I" stood out among solid tunes from giants like AC/DC by showcasing Sean Kinney's unpredictable drum phrasing, Jerry Cantrell's haunting, understated guitar solos and previously unheard sitar chops, plus the late Layne Staley expressing his drug-addled torment with a voice that could shudder William S. Burroughs.


Guns N' Roses, "Pretty Tied Up" (from Use Your Illusion II)

Izzy Stradlin's dominatrix fable is one of G n' R's most underrated numbers, throwing a barrelhouse piano, a propulsive bassline and one of the band's best choruses under Axl's fantastically twisted narration. The live version unfortunately omits the sitar, which is propels "Pretty Tied Up's" intro and spices up the verses on record, but the song doesn't need it to sound depraved.


King's X, "Out of the Silent Planet" (from Gretchen Goes to Nebraska)

King's X's full-length masterpiece opens with perhaps its most subtle number, which is like saying Warwick Davis was the tallest Ewok. Biting it's title from C.S. Lewis, and barely indicating where King's X's soaring melodies, layered harmonies and impeccable musicianship would take the listener during Gretchen's adventure, "Out of the Silent Planet" is a fine example of how King's X's, as catchy as they are, never sound like any other metal band.


Metallica, "Wherever I May Roam" (from "The Black Album")

James Hetfield's self-empowering anthem depicts a vagabond entirely unbound by commitment, material possessions or any authority: Invictus as a headbanger. Employing an electric sitar and twelve-string bass over an undeniable hook, Metallica's unconventional arrangement still sounds like a single entity, and it emphasized the idea that Metallica could streamline their music without conforming to anyone else's standards.



Queensryche, "I am I" (from Promised Land)

Always the metal band that would rather be Pink Floyd or U2, Queensryche were releasing bombastic and ambitious hard rock up to their last few listenable songs. One such track was "I am I," a grinding, sitar-laden slice of proto-Ænima prog that doesn't say much but sounds incredible. Geoff Tate's stereophonic vocals makes "I am I" ideal for headphones listening, and fist-pumping isn't far behind.

Iron Maiden videos

Iron Maiden's last run through the states was easily one of the most exciting shows I've ever seen. The setlist couldn't have been better, the band sounded better than I'd ever heard on CD or DVD, and the only thing that came close to matching the energy of the 50somethings onstage was the rabidly appreciative crowd. It's fair to say that I'm thrilled about the upcoming theatrical release of Flight 666, a documentary of the tour.



Also, this Brazilian cartoon of Bruce Dickinson and Eddie flying a plane together doesn't make much sense, but it's worth a post.

Go see the Dillinger Escape Plan

How to endorse a Dillinger Escape Plan show? Their bellicose and abrupt math-metal requires particularly adventuresome ears, and their stage shows are violent and loud enough to send many concertgoers home early. But they're also the best live metal band playing clubs right now, as proven by their recent show at Webster Hall's studio.



After solid opening performances from alt-metal instrumentalists Caverns and Knife the Glitter, a smattering of chords from 10-year-old EP track "The Mullet Burden" signaled Dillinger's slowest moment of night, seconds before half of the band was in the audience. Like four Iggy Pops with a drummer (noob Billy Rymer, who nailed every song,) the band violently flung themselves into the crowd, destroyed equipment and somehow never missed a note of their exhilarating compositions. Racing through some of their earliest noisecore tracks, Dillinger showed up fans who complained about the melodic tracks on the recent Ire Works by playing their most aggressive math-metal with a pace and fierceness that early records like Calculating Infinity couldn't come close to. Still, the wildly infectious "Milk Lizard" and the rarely-played "Horse Hunter" were more than antagonistic enough to hold their own with early thrashers like "43% Burnt" and "Sugar Coated Sour."



The most traditional-rock moment came with a surprise cover of Living Colour's signature "Cult of Personality." Fans closer to the bandmembers' ages screamed along every word (although missing the cue for the JFK quote) while everyone got possibly the only Living Colour cover that could match the hooky aggression of the original. Haw all you want about Greg Puciato being unable to match Corey Glover's range, I'll take Puciato's ability to carry a tune over Glover's need to show off his chops any night. This avowed Living Colour fan wonders if the original band could pull off such a powerful rendition today.



Sweating profusely, heaving cymbal stands at the crowd and swinging (sometimes upside down) from fragile-looking ceiling lighting, Dillinger's performance was only matched by their music. Profusely sweating guitarist Ben Weinman played behind the back and crowd-surfed while emitting the agile and deafening assaults of "Fix Your Face" and "Panasonic Youth," and recent addition Jeff Tuttle is now a vital part of the chaos, living up to his GG Allin t-shirt with by creating as much of a din as any of his bandmates, between slamming into speakers and diving through the crowd. Other than Andrew W.K., no headbangers obliterate the band/fans barrier as the Dillinger Escape Plan do.



Provoked into a rare encore by the sold-out crowd, Dillinger capped the night with Miss Machine standout "Sunshine the Werewolf" before going beyond all expectations by seizing Nine Inch Nails' "Wish." By then shirtless, Weinman destroyed his guitar by crashing it down several times a few inches away from the crowd, ending the set about 80 minutes in. It was a short night for a non-Dillinger metal show, but a full-length set from the second-best underground metal band in the world couldn't have topped the five guys in Dillinger that evening.

The trouble with Chuck Klosterman readers

It's hard for me to understand why Chuck Klosterman is such a polarizing figure. Sure, disagreeing with his opinions, having no interest in late '80s/early '90s pop culture and lacking patience for his quips are understandable. But whatever the case, Klosterman offers a fresh set of beliefs from the general Rolling Stone/Pitchfork-dominated media, provides relatively ego-free narration and can be funny without getting off topic. His columns are almost always worth checking out, and I'll defend him at length from his detractors, but I'm also a little bothered by the positive reception he gets.

Hearing people applaud Klosterman's analyses (which range from the Boston Celtics to Saved by the Bell, but are rooted in bands like Van Halen and Mötley Crüe) is a little like hearing people fawn over Joyce Carol Oates for writing about boxing. Once a noted intellectual takes a look at a supposedly lowbrow subject, critics gush about how such a great mind can find depth in something like metal, comic books, sports or horror movies. In truth, all of those subjects have thoughtful, intelligent fanbases, including people like Klosterman who understand why David Lee Roth and Axl Rose are important. Not all of such fans are given the sort of public forum that Klosterman gets, but in general people's reasons for enjoying Guns N' Roses are as smart as those for liking Radiohead. I'm guessing that it wasn't Klosterman's idea to subtitle one of his books A Low Culture Manifesto, but that title reflects the way that most people seem to view his subject matter.

Self-important critics who don't get metal assume that they're too enlightened to enjoy it, or worse, that they appreciate it ironically for its camp value. This is clearly and unreasonably elitist--as much as I don't get why Kenny Chesney sells out arenas, I'm sure that his fans have perfectly good reasons for supporting him, as do folks who enjoy T-Pain or Sufjan Stevens. None of those artists are "low culture," just different options for music lovers.

On the opposite end are those who assume that Klosterman likes stuff because it's lowbrow. A few years ago, fuming bloggers chastised Klosterman for being unenthusiastic about the buildup for Snakes on a Plane (before anyone had seen it.) Perhaps most scathing was the Gawker piece Asshole Whose Entire Career Based On Appreciating The Lowbrow Wants To Pull Up The Ladder, which was aghast that a guy who enjoyed some mediocre art didn't appreciate all mediocre art. But assuming that Klosterman likes stuff because it's bad is just as fallacious as assuming that he's the only smart guy to like this stuff. Is it inconceivable that he's an individual who likes art that specifically appeals to him? Apparently so.

Is this really as funny as I think it is?

Because Creed is fish in a barrel.

St. Valentine's Day Megadeth

One of the few things that metal isn't particularly great for is love songs. However, it does give us "In My Darkest Hour," a perfect break-up song courtesy of Megadeth.



Said to be the only song that Dave Mustaine ever composed in one sitting, "In My Darkest Hour" was inspired by the bus accident death of his former bandmate in Metallica, Cliff Burton. Over an mournful, uncharacteristically slow progression, Megadeth seethed over a former lover who, "Though I reached out for you...wouldn't lend a hand." But no matter how much Mustaine talks about "needing love" and "finding space," it's hard to see the song's target as anyone other than Dave himself, who had cut off ties from Burton after being kicked out of Metallica.

This song reached a mass audience in Penelope Spheeris' film The Decline of Western Civilization II: The Metal Years, a film that documented the mostly-idiotic behavior of '80s hair metal bands and their detractors.


But at the film's conclusion, an American thrash metal quintet with an itch to reinvent rock music, push their musical capabilities and douse their metal with more thoughtful messages than their contemporaries, showed up to perform "In My Darkest Hour."



For any metalhead's darkest hour, it's good to know that Megadeth are there.

Acrassicauda

One of the best music documentaries in recent years is easily Heavy Metal in Baghdad, about an Iraqi metal band called Acrassicauda. Set in the aftermath of the US invasion of Iraq, the bandmates struggle with nationwide crises, oppression and everyday bloodshed while taking refuge in playing and listening to metal (which they advertise as "rock," since anything heavier is forbidden.)



Fast forward to February 1, 2009, when members of Acrassicauda get to meet James Hetfield backstage...



Read more about it in the New York Times article here.

Lux Interior

The Cramps won't be on any metal best-of lists, but one listen to White Zombie, Eagles of Death Metal or (unfortunately) Nashville Pussy exclaims the influence of Lux Interior, Poison Ivy and the band's ever-rotating rhythm section. Like the Misfits, the Cramps wrote simple, sleazy tunes about sex, sci-fi, sex, horror, sex, drugs, sex, white trash and sex. This inspired legions of psychobilly bands to learn two chords and got countless metal bands to schlock up their image.

But unlike the Misfits, the Cramps really sounded like they really could've dragged themselves from the "Enchantment Under the Sea" dance, maybe if John Waters had directed Back to the Future. Lux Interior, who passed away this week at an uncertain age, reinvented '50s prom music into something Sex Pistols fans could get behind. He emphasized early rock's seedy side, turned up the volume and hyperventilated through every performance until even the most self-serious punk could crack a smile.

"Goo Goo Muck"


"She Said"


"Garbage Man"


"Naked Girl Falling Down the Stairs"


Performance at Napa Mental Hospital


Lux Interior wasn't the kind of guy you'd bring home to Mom, but if he were, we'd never have Bad Music for Bad People. Rest in peace, sicko.

Death of Metallica