By Natalie Zed

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as a bad metal show. Even if the bands are horrendous and the vibe is weird, I’ll manage to have a good time because, well, it’s metal. Like that adage about sex and pizza, even when a metal show is bad, it’s still pretty good. This particular evening, however, was definitely one that went off the rails, for a variety of reasons.

It’s a well-known fact, at least to anyone who reads my reviews or follows me on Twitter (@NatalieZed), that I loathe and detest the Sound Academy as a venue. The sound is terrible, unless you’re dead front-and-centre, the drinks are ridiculously overpriced and it’s located down on the docks of Polson Pier. This location can be decent in the summer, when a cool breeze is blowing off the lake and one can bike or walk down. But on a frigid, late-January night when angry sleet turned all the roads to ice, I flat out hated it and resented every freezing step to this inconvenient location.

As soon as I was in the door and began to thaw out, my chilly mood dissolved. I was looking forward to a solid night of aggressive performances and for a bit, it looked like the rest of the night would be smooth sailing. Darkest Hour played a straightforward, but enjoyable set. Their set-list was drawn heavily from their most recent release, The Human Romance, which is the most pedestrian, and my least favourite, of their albums. However, this is the material they’re currently most excited about, and they play it well. I was also pleased that they at least played an up-tempo version of “No God,” from The Eternal Return, and closed with “Doomsayer (The Beginning of the End).” Their set was bright and tightly wound, and did a great job setting a solid pace.

The momentum of the evening unfortunately ground to halt, as fans had to wait for Suicide Silence, who began their set 45 minutes behind schedule. By the time their blasting deathcore struck up, the Sound Academy was bursting at the seams. Frontman Mitch Lucker Becan spent the set perched above his bandmates, crouching on a riser and demanding that the entire crowd put up their middle fingers and leave them up all night as a giant “fuck you!” to the world. This heralded one of the most awkward and hostile sets I’ve ever witnessed. Shortly after telling the crowd to keep flipping the bird, Lucker turned on his audience, threatening a woman in the front row, saying that he would knock her teeth out if she kept flipping him off. Next, he asked the crowd, “How many of you like sleeping with women? NOT MEN, ONLY WOWEN.” Finally, he began to order the pit around like a disgruntled gym teacher, micro-managing a wall of death and then demanding a circle pit. I’ve never disliked someone on stage as much as I disliked Mitch Lucker, and he made it genuinely difficult to enjoy their performance. “Bludgeoned to Death” had a driving violence to it and “Fuck Everything” featured a nihilistic purity I could otherwise get behind, but Lucker made it all unpleasant.

It was up to headliners Machine Head to deliver the magic, and I’m pleased to report they did an excellent job. Their set was definitely the most technically involved of the night, and huge screens displayed a complex suite of images to accompany the music, ranging from alchemical symbols to religiously charged etchings and spiraling, hallucinatory patterns. The set leaned towards newer material, and “Locust” and “Darkness Within” certainly went over well with the crowd. That said, it was unquestionably older numbers like “Bulldozer” and “The Blood, The Sweat, The Tears” that got the crowd roaring. It was great to see the change in the crowd as the fans reacted with passion and enthusiasm, rather than halfheartedly responding to being ordered about like cattle. There was love in the room again and that turned the night around.

However, before their set concluded, a couple of things convinced me to cut the night a little short. Just as “Ten Ton Hammer” began to gather momentum, someone standing next to me pooped his pants. He originally tried to deny it and blame the stench on someone else. Thankfully his buddy wasn’t buying it and dragged the fellow away. I fled to the back of the venue to escape the lingering stink and promptly witnessed a kid fall down, turn blue and begin to retch uncontrollably. As security whisked the fallen, hopefully just alcohol-poisoned youngster away, I decided that the universe was giving me a sign to abandon ship.

Live review by Craig Haze; Photos by Greg Parsons

A small, passionate, vocal crowd greeted Neurosis’ Scott Kelly and Baroness’ John Baizley for their show in New Zealand’s capital on their current solo acoustic tour. With able support from an NZ rock icon, Craig Radford, the night was filled with heartfelt, intense performances. The crowd may have been slim, but it added to the intimacy, and fans stood transfixed by an evening of outstanding and emotionally charged suites.

The show kicked off early. At 8.15 pm, Maurice Beckett from NZ post-rock luminaries Jakob took the stage under his Desbot moniker to a scant five souls. Running through a 30 minute set of heaving drone reminiscent of SunnO))) and Jesu, Desbot’s sound may have been the antithesis of what was to follow but it was an excellent dose of feedback-fuelled rock.

Craig Radford, frontman for long-running NZ crusty metal legends Sticky Filth, was up next. After apologizing for not having played a solo acoustic gig for a few years, he then set to dazzling the gathering crowd. Starting out with the rousing “The Devil Plays Guitar”, Radford, who is renowned for composing working-class hymns, delivered half an hour of impassioned dirty blues interspersed with effusive praise for his co-performers and the show’s promoter. Before performing the song “Hate Remains”— found on Sticky Filth’s latest album Fourth Domain—he assured us it wasn’t about us (“just one person in particular”) drawing a solid laugh from the crowd. Finishing up with the epic multipart cowboy narrative, “Dust and Dirt”, Radford’s short but intense set was a stellar introduction for what followed.

Baroness frontman John Baizley took the stage, immediately endearing himself by admitting it was a nerve-racking proposition playing solo. He asked us to gather close, explaining that it would make things hell of a lot easier for him, and the crowd dully responded, setting up a nice friendly huddle. Baizely began his 45-minute set with Baroness’ “Steel that Sleeps the Eye” before treating us all to some of the tracks he’s been working on for the next Baroness album. He explained it had been a weird year for him, not touring in order to write the next album, and if the tracks he played are any indication of what’s in store on Baroness’ next release, then prepare yourself for some psych-heavy dramatic majesty.

Baizely admitted to some trepidation in playing the gig, this being only his second show without Baroness, but he needn’t have worried—the crowd lapped it up. Although he never divulged song titles, he talked at length about the songs themselves. Before one particularly heartbreaking tune he revealed it was some “hard shit to perform”, which spoke volumes about his easy rapport with the audience. Plus, the song pretty much had everyone verging on tears. Baizley was in fine voice throughout; his husky vocals evoked a beautiful sense of fragility and melancholy in the acoustic setting. He moved briskly through a series of soulful, gorgeously presented tunes, picking up his electric guitar for a couple of elegiac, hard-strumming numbers, and ending on a haunting rendition of Bruce Springsteen’s “In my Fathers House”. His set seemed way too short, but we were privileged to see him a solo setting.

With no real changeover needed between sets, aside from swapping over a guitar, Scott Kelly sat down at the mic less than five minutes after Baizley’s exit and proceeded to flat-out mesmerize the audience. There were tracks from both his solo albums, along with covers and a new Shrinebuilder number he’d written in preparation for their next album—or, as Kelly noted, “if we ever get it together enough to make another album.”

His set was faultless. You could have heard a pin drop for the first five tracks, the entire venue transfixed by Kelly’s rumbling, graveled baritone. “The Ladder in my Blood” and “Searchers”, both from his latest solo album, The Wake, were heartily cheered. His performance proved him to be a master craftsman. He chatted happily with the crowd, saying he’d love to get Neurosis down here to play, praising NZ’s beauty, and jokingly telling us he was considering moving here himself, “depending on who wins those elections.” The smallish crowd made for some great to and fro between Kelly and the audience. But when he closed his eyes and leant into the mic to play his darkened folk and rough country tunes, the show took on a whole new ritualized atmosphere—with Kelly becoming the doom-laden preacher leading the ceremony.

Kelly sounded great throughout; his voice, rising and falling in mournful cadence, was deeply charismatic, and the honest and forthright delivery of the tunes made for an evening drenched in authenticity. He finished his set by inviting John Baizley back onto the stage for a couple of numbers, ending on a powerful version of Townes Van Zandt’s “St John the Gambler”. No encore, just two men packing up their guitar cases and shuffling off the stage in the face of a crowd essentially stunned by an evening of poignant, heart-wrenching roots music.

By Natalie Zed; Concert photos by Adam Wills

The line to get in to Lamb of God is officially the longest line I have ever seen in front of the Phoenix. The line of black t-shirts stretched for nearly a block. The line also moved slowly, as security searched bags and patted everyone down thoroughly – not without cause, it seemed, as I watched the dude in front of me in line hastily discard two full-sized box cutters security guards demanded that everyone empty their pockets. As soon as I finally got inside, wrangled a beer and staked out a relatively safe spot, I settled in for the night and prepared to be amazed.

Local opener Manahan did an excellent job warming up the crowd. Hailing from Keswick, Ontario and fronted by the shockingly young Cory Manahan (who is not yet twenty), Manahan are defined by their energy and amazing raw talent. Cory Manahan‘s guitar skills are simply preternatural. He is both nimble and passionate, and the songs are hooky and enjoyable, showcasing Manahan’s talent without being overly showy or complex. Manahan recently attracted the attention of renowned metal writer Carl Begai, and after this show it is easy to see why. They were an excellent choice as an opening, and they played a smart, slick and exciting to watch. They already have so much to work with, and so much potential, I can’t help but expect great things from them in the future.

The Acacia Strain, I am sorry to say, were disappointing. The Massachusetts deathcore band do not rev my engine, and their performance fell decidedly flat at this show. Their aesthetic embraces an uncompromising nihilism and negativity that is trying at the best of times, as they do not seem to be angry for anything but anger’s sake. This was an particularly ineffective attitude to have at this event, where the crowd was abuzz with positivity, collectively overjoyed at the prospect of the headlining set. The Acacia Strain’s set drew heavily from Wormwood, their most recent and homogenous record, and the featureless chugs of the riffing plus Vincent Bennett‘s uniform growls became a wall of while noise. The crowd were receptive and moshed along, but I can’t help but think everyone was so excited that they would have moshed to anything.

Before long, however, it was time for the undisputed headliners to begin their set. Smoke machines worked for quite some time before the band made their triumphant entrance, creating a moody fog that made the red and blue lighting seem like it was melting across the room. When Lamb of God made their entrance and the opening chords to “Desolation” sounded, the room erupted. Not for a moment during their entire set did the energy flag, either that from the stage or from the audience. The outspoken and charismatic vocalist Randy Blythe wholeheartedly embraced his role of master of ceremonies, and proved to be both an eloquent and positive. He spoke of playing a show at the Opera House in Toronto years ago, on the very first tour that took them more from spitting distance from their home in Richmond, Virginia. It seems Toronto has had a special place in the band members’ hearts since that first warm reception. It was clear that after a string of stadium shows opening for the likes of Metallica, playing the Phoenix felt positively intimate, and that connection was something both Lamb of God and their fans relished.

The set was as blistering as it was moving. “Walk With Me In Hell” turned into a whole-venue sing-a-long number, and “Ruin” was as transcendent as it was great and terrible. They also played a lot of material from the new album, Resolution, including “The Undertow” and “The Number 6,” which even live comes across as a smoother, slicker and more mature incarnation of their classic, groovy American heavy metal. The crowd was positively rabid, members of the audience throwing themselves at the stage an each other. The entire floor of the Phoenix eventually became a pit, the area right on front of the stage was like a maelstrom, with little eddies and whirlpools breaking out all the way to the very back wall. The venue eventually threw the rear doors open to ease the infernal heat, and people’s bodies near the exit gave off visible steam when the cool air hit them. It was exhausting and sweaty and exultant, the most love concentrated into a single performance that I have seen in a long time.

It’s official: I am moving to Randonesia.

By Sean Palmerston; Photos by Albert Mansour

Last Friday night was a good night. It was road trip time with good friends and I got to knock another band off my bucket list of must-see groups. The band in question was legendary NY crew Riot. Around the time that Hellbound.ca got rolling in June of 1999, the band played their first reunion show with the Thundersteel era line up of the band and we were lucky enough to have Pharaoh guitar slinger Matt Johnsen do a very thorough review of the show (read it here). It sounded pretty awesome and fellow Hellbound scribe Rob Kachluba decided there and then that if the band played anywhere locally we had to go.

The “local show” ended up being in Rochester NY, some three hours away from Hellbound HQ in Hamilton, ON, but Rob, Albert Mansour and I made the trek after work on Friday night to check it out. Mr. Kachluba was worried about getting there too late to see the entire Riot set, so we departed at 6:45 in hopes of making it to the venue for 10. There was no problem there, we got in and acquainted with the place only to discover that (a) there were four opening bands and (b) the second of said four was still on stage. Great. I have no idea who selected these bands, but I hope they paid him for the honour to open up for Riot. It’s the only thing that would make sense. None of these bands fit well with Riot’s sound, so it was pretty painful waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

It was nearly midnight when Riot hit the stage, after a strangely garbled intro, the three instrumentalists of the band got things going with a ripsnorting take on the classic instrumental “Narita” before vocalist Tony Moore joined them onstage for “Fight Or Fall” and showed the crowd almost immediately that he still has terrific pipes. Moore never missed or dropped a note all night. His voice was perfect through out, just like the performance by the rest of his band. Of course, Riot guitarist and founding member Mark Reale wasn’t there for the show. I am sure you all know by now that he passed away only a few days after this show, but the band had his guitar case front and centre on stage in tribute to their missing leader. In his absence, the band’s lead guitarist Mike Flyntz did such an amazing job that it’s still giving me goosebumps a week later. Having never seen him perform live before, I can definitely say that Flyntz is very underrated. Looking similar to Jeff Beck, he had no problem filling the air with wicked riffs and some very tasty soloing without becoming showy.

Over the course of nearly eighty minutes the band played a great selection of material from the early years of the band as well as the Thundersteel/Privilege of Power years. It was just fantastic to hear “Road Racin” and “Warrior” side by side with new track “Riot” and my personal fave Thundersteel song “Flight Of The Warrior”. Bassist Don Van Stavern was the most animated, jumping up on the stage’s outer wall and pushing the crowd to really get into it; drummer Bobby Jarzombek was in great shape, never missing a fill and even throwing in some cymbal splashes behind his head. This band live is a well-oiled machine indeed!

Riot’s set was a whirlwind affair, ending way too early. The band did give the smallish crowd of approximately 125 people an encore of “Swords and Tequila” and “Thundersteel”, but it was still way too short for my liking. I wish they could have played for two hours plus, but I am sure the absolute freezing temperature in the club – Tony Moore mentioned it was the first time he had ever played a show without breaking a sweat – didn’t encourage them to play any longer. Nonetheless, their set gets full marks from this impressed writer. I only hope that Reale’s death this week doesn’t mean this will be the band’s final US show ever. RIP Mr. Reale, you will be missed.

By Natalie Zed; live photos by Adam Wills

I’ve been looking forward to this show for ages. Fellow Hellbound writer and friend Justin M. Norton suggested I check out Ghost months ago and I was immediately smitten with the retro coolness of their sound, and the disparity of their surprisingly upbeat music paired with unabashedly occult and infernal lyrics. I was so disappointed when they could not get into the country to join Enslaved and Alcest on tour (recently I heard a rumour that was because they put their stage names on their visa forms – can you imagine working for the border and getting paperwork from Nameless Ghoul and Papa Emeritus?). When it was announced that they had successfully been cleared to travel and would be headlining, I was overjoyed. Theatricality is a necessary and vital part of heavy metal, in my mind. From the carefully choreographed violence of hardcore to the complex film projections of prog, the live metal experience is as much about putting on a show as it is purely playing music. Ghost promised to deliver on this front, and that definitely revs my engine.

The night started off somewhat lacklustre with a set from Ancient Vvisdom. The self-styled “metal rock ‘n’ roll” band from Austin, Texas sound a lot like a dirtier, folkier Alice In Chains. Though they had lots of carelessly applied makeup, battle jackets and small animal bones strewn about the stage, I got the feeling that they were playing, that they were really something more akin of a hard indie rock band just trying on the trappings of metal in an ironic way. The front man of Ancient VVisdom is also the percussionist (I can’t call someone who plays two cymbals and a tom a drummer, even if he uses a length of chain as often as drumsticks), and he certainly pours out energy into the performance. They did ease into their set, I can say that I enjoyed the last two songs, but they didn’t seem comfortable enough with their own aesthetic to really pull it off.

I’ve seen Blood Ceremony in smaller venues and less auspicious circumstances, and have always been impressed; at this show they completely blew me away with their intensity and skill. The band are based right here in Toronto, and are surely one of the city’s hard rock gems. They both terrorized and thrilled the Mod Club with a top-notch performance. Blood Ceremony call themselves “witch-rock,” and perform a combination of occult metal, harsh folk and horror infused classic rock. Frontwoman Alia O’Brien is an arresting figure, performing with heavy, Nefertiti-like eyeliner and black hot pants, the long fringes on her coat accentuating the swooping movements of her arms as she switched between singing (in a smoky, coke-dark voice), playing the flute (eerie and playful) and pressing the keys of the organ (oppressive and moody). Their set was vibrant, vital, heavy, and super playful and enjoyable too. They put on a weird performance that is also supremely great to witness. They have been deservedly enjoying quite a bit of success this year after the release of their sophomore album, Living With The Ancients (March 2011), and touring Europe. They deserve even more support, and especially more love and attention locally If you have not checked this band out I sincerely advise that you do!

Ghost are a band who thrive on theatricality; it is their life blood. A red velvet curtain obscured the stage the entire time the band was setting up, and came up as the opening notes of the intro music began to play, with the band already on stage and dramatically backlit. There can be no doubt that the undead cardinal Papa Emeritus and his band of hooded Nameless Ghouls are a imposing sight, and the dramatic coloured lighting in lurid shades of red, pink and green makes everything even more surreal.

Musically, however, it pains me to say that their set was only okay. Vocalist and front-demon Papa Emeritus’ voice started out on “Deus Culpa” kind of weird and pitchy, as though he had not warmed up.

Ghost clearly settled into the show, and while the performance never lagged and the illusion was seamless, the music was just decent. The cheerfulness of the record, Opus Eponymous, works as a recorded piece but as a live show the upbeat garage rock seems not only at odds with the incredible perfomativity of anything else, but becomes almost thin and weak in comparison. The performance benefited from a tight set, barely 50 minutes in length. Ghost played their whole album plus a cover of “Here Comes The Sun” (which was great) and no encore, just the red curtain coming down and again obscuring the stage. I fully enjoyed myself, loved the spectacle of it, and look I forward to the band touring and performing more, and in the process getting better at their live sets and improving their charisma.

Words by Jay H. Gorania; Harm’s Way photo by Steven Tippett

A stone’s throw southward from the railroad—on the “wrong side of the tracks,” of course—the show’s DIY venue was the gutted-out, rented-out spare space of an auto repair shop. Sometimes the car shop owners/employees are heard outside chatting in Spanish while they’re choking down cheap beer. The leather couches outside the venue stood out like a sore thumb from the interior’s rubble-like chunks of concrete, as well as the jagged poles and wires that wind down from the ceiling as though they’re reaching down to strangle or stab you. And there’s a blood-stained teddy bear. There is no rock star lighting, no rock star excess.

The venue had once been an underground black metal store. It was either here or at the other location at which the store was located (a few years ago) that an elderly Christian man who owned the property inquired about a dead chicken that was being carried around. “Is that for some kind of Satanic ritual?” Apparently it was, and the black metal shop owners were subsequently evicted, not surprisingly. Why would the scruffy-faced, barely-bathed heathen relating this story to me admit that to the old man? But I digress…

Fast-forward to 2011, the DIY venue was the crossroads at which two separate hardcore tours met for a much-anticipated eight-band bill. Take Offense started things off with a decidedly metallic spin on old-school hardcore, sounding like a bunch of metalheads doing their best to channel the spirit of the Cro-Mags.

Betrayal followed up with the kind of generic breakdown-after-breakdown approach that gives hardcore a bad name.

That hiccup aside, Harm’s Way picked up the violent thread Take Offense was sewing and figuratively jabbed the needle through the audience’s collective heart. The musical brawn and burliness took shape in the commanding presence of Harm’s Way vocalist James, a short, shirtless, muscular dude who looked like he was born to kick ass. Yet this wasn’t an exercise in tough-guy hardcore simplicity. Instead, Harm’s Way’s coarse music was down-trodden and essentially the backdrop for which James could unleash a session of primal scream therapy.

If Harm’s Way’s desolate energy provided the soundtrack to someone committing a crime and spending time in prison, New York’s Backtrack provided the soundtrack for that person’s “getting out of jail” party, a much more interactive performance typical of what one would expect from a hardcore show. Anthemic and energetic, driven by bare-boned simplicity and plenty of negative space between and within the riffs, Backtrack’s fist-pumping mania was only that much more enjoyable because of vocalist James Vitalo’s hollering that found idiosyncrasy with its relatively high-pitched nature. In other words, he doesn’t sound like the billion dudes in metal and hardcore who are nothing but generic, third-rate rip-offs of Phil Anselmo.

If you take the balls out of hardcore, then you’ve got Hundredth. No one was pointing a gun to my head, so I didn’t have to listen to their generic cry-baby cop/bad cop melodic hardcore. I gladly left the building.

Stray From the Path’s take on hardcore was both contemporary and catchy, referencing metallic hardcore post ’95, augmented with explosive blasts of noisecore here and there, as well as early millennium metalcore. Drew York, more of a yeller than a screamer, spat out lyrics with a quick, barked delivery, doing a sufficient job of rousing the crowd. And true to the picture-perfect image of a hardcore show, fans regularly lunged forward to scream into the mic extended by the vocalist.

At one point, however, no one knew the words, York’s eyes flipping right-to-left as though he was on the lookout while stealing from a cookie jar. Awkward. A moment later he found some dude who knew all the words to pick up the dropped ball. Sweet relief!

The much-hyped Trapped Under Ice followed suit, and they certainly did not disappoint with their jarring, teeth-grinding music that transitioned from old school hardcore muscle to Biohazard-like metallic hardcore/hip hop groove. You could fight to their music, you could dance to it. What sets Trapped Under Ice apart from the pack is that their songs stay with you, entering your eardrums and gnawing on your gray matter.

A hard act to follow, but Terror is an intimidating live act regardless of how someone feels about their music. Frontman Scott Vogel, formerly of the legendary, now-defunct Buried Alive, was in fine more, ruling the crowd that already paid him the blind-eyed devotion that a preacher at church might receive. It was “maximum output” throughout their set, and an hour or two beforehand, Vogel went bonkers while watching one of the opening bands at the side of the stage, grunting and punching yours truly in the torso. Hardcore!

Every rose has its thorn, though. While their prototypical hardcore numbers were well-crafted and powerful, their more recent thrash metal-flavored material was forgettable and generic, for the most part, in spite of the proficiency with which they were played.

A last-minute addition of Letlive, a rocking post-hardcore act, seemed to excite the crowd. It was well played; it was passionate; and it made me feel embarrassed for their talented but ridiculously melodramatic singer. The last time they played here he fell before my feet in a pile of sob and emotion. I’m not sure what he was sobbing about, but I was mourning the death of Clint Eastwood—figuratively speaking, that is. In other words, when did men lose their balls?

By Kyle Harcott; Live photos by Ted Reckoning

Kicking off their very first shows in support of the stupendous 17th Street, early December saw San Francisco’s Hammers of Misfortune schedule four dates in the Pacific Northwest – the first of which would be their inaugural date in Vancouver. It’s safe to say that this show was my most-anticipated of the year, as I’ve been itching to see Hammers live since being introduced to them via the 2010 Metal Blade reissue of their back catalog (courtesy Hellbound’s editor, Sean Palmerston – who also amped me up with tales of the band’s impeccable live show), compounded by 17th Street being one of the best albums released in 2011 – unquestionably, this would be one hell of a show.

Unfortunately, the turnout left a lot to be desired – about 50 dedicated heads made it out. Apparently Bison BC were playing in Chinatown this same night and drew quite a bit, a concern not lost on the Biltmore’s bookers, who had designs on cancelling the show as late as the day before (as the band was three-fourths to the border!). Luckily, it all worked out and Vancouver got its show.

I got to the Biltmore right as ‘local’ (well, a ferry ride away) heavies Mendozza were finishing up their opening set. I’m kicking myself to have missed them- Mendozza always put on a killer show, and their 2011 self-titled record is the heaviest thing they’ve put out, so I would have loved to hear how it translated live. Fortunately, my illustrious Hellbound colleague Rob Hughes made it to the show earlier than me and caught their whole set, so I’ll turn it over to him for a moment:

“Mendozza made the most of their opening slot and delivered what turned out to be the heaviest set of the night. There’s no second-guessing with this band, no time wasted pondering what they’re about. Mendozza have the stoner/doom thing nailed, with hard-charging, bad-ass songs that sound deadly serious yet revel in the joy of the Riff. Not ones to depend solely on power chord saturation, they have the courage and authority to drop into a guitar solo or extend a song with a hypnotizing riff coda. A friend of mine, who’s a devout Sab-head from way back, was well into them. Mendozza were pure tar and concrete, laying down a solid foundation for the visiting bands to build on.”

Olympia’s Christian Mistress were quick to follow, and summarily got the room going with their gnarly take on trad metal. Featuring an absolutely scorching twin-axe attack in Ryan McClain and Oscar Sparbel, and the leather lungs of frontwoman Christine Davis, the band roared through a killer set of songs from 2010’s Agony + Opium, as well as previewing a few from their upcoming first release for Relapse, Possession. Having already perfected their classic NWOBHM sound on record, Christian Mistress come across even rawer live, and tracks like “Desert Rose”, “Black Vigil” and “Home in the Sun” positively seethe with heavy-handed aggression. Needless to say, fists pumped and heads banged righteously among the small-but-dedicated crowd. Really hope to see the Mistress up here again soon, hopefully for a longer set next time.

As Hammers quickly set up to begin, I spied drummer Chewy Marzolo showing Van City some canuck love , decked out as he was in a Rush first-album t-shirt. The band opened with intro ‘317’, its towering vocal harmonies made fuller in the live setting. From there, a flawless segue into ‘Trot Out the Dead’, giving frontman Joe Hutton the chance to commandeer the ship with his powerful voice and presence. While I expected Hammers to be tight, I was pleasantly surprised to discover exactly how spot-on the intricacies of their songs translated live. Hammers of Misfortune, of course, had the perfect balance of both precision and emotion, the songs given a new vitality, positively glowing in the live setting. ‘An Oath Sworn in Hell’ was up next, the guitarwork of Leila Abdul-Rauf as its centrepiece. But it was the next few -the lead tracks from the new record- that left me absolutely jaw-dropped: ‘17th Street’, ‘The Grain’, and the live debut of ‘The Day the City Died’ in succession, each song’s razor-sharp hooks somehow having grown even more heart-kickingly massive when blasted through a cranked PA – so powerful, I could only stand there with a gigantic smile on my face and just soak it all in. It was here -in the newest songs- that the guitar interplay between Abdul-Rauf and John Cobbett really shone through, the two of them in complete sync as they hammered home their awe-inspiring harmonies.

Yet still there was more to come: the powerhouse-stomp of ‘Motorcade’, driven by Sigrid Sheie’s thunderous keys and Max Barnett’s groove-laden bass; the Maidenesque ‘You Should Have Slain Me’, with Abdul-Rauf taking the central vocal roar over from Cobbett’s recorded version; and the powerhouse finale of ‘Doomed Parade’, its extended ending bringing the house down and leaving the crowd hungry for more. Vancouver may not have been the largest crowd, but we howled our appreciation and made a beeline for the merch table en masse as soon as the set was over, sending Hammers to their next stop in Bellingham with a few loonies, anyway.

Blown away as I was, what struck me most about Hammers in the live setting is how cohesive the ‘new’ lineup is, the six of them so at ease in playing off each other, and each so commanding on stage, it felt like they’d been doing this together a long time. And so with their show ended and ‘byes’ said, I sloughed off home into the frosty night ecstatic that the show had surpassed my hopes. I can’t wait for the opportunity to see that band again.

Review by Jonathan Smith; Live photos by Adam Wills

One of the first bitterly cold nights of the season did not stop Ziltoid the Omniscient, accompanied by Devin Townsend and a handful of opening bands, from recently paying a visit to Toronto’s Opera House. His presence, both as a disembodied voice and a puppet who appeared on the screen above the stage, made sure that the evening was anything but a routine metal performance. It was certainly the only show I’ve ever attended that was presented in co-called “boob-o-phonic” sound, and the only time in my experience a show has opened with a booming voice proclaiming “75% of you are gay and the rest are ugly!”. Such is the level of the humour that is part-and-parcel of a Devin Townsend show.

Anyone familiar with Townsend’s work knows that this is par for the course. He just does not take anything or anyone (much less himself) too seriously (this is, after all, a man whose avatar is often a green phallic puppet). This was more clear than ever during his Toronto performance. Just when his more juvenile antics gave one cause to wonder who is in on his jokes and who is the butt of them (and the blurry line in-between), the self-deprecating but sincere heart that ultimately shines through all of Townsend’s work became clear.

The aptly-named “The Bearded and the Bald” tour featured not only Townsend but a variety of local acts. Extended dinner and spontaneous pre-show drink plans meant that we only witnessed the last of these openers, Ottawa’s Today I Caught The Plague. Their performance felt surprisingly brief given the amount of effort they poured into it, and their level of energy meant that I was never bored. While my unfamiliarity with their work means that I can’t recall a single individual song they played, it was clear that they are a hard-working indie band who seem to like to practice squats on stage. Their sound was a mixture of progressive metal elements; it would take multiple listens to be able to unpack the many layers that make up their songs.

Next we were verbally abused by Ziltoid and subjected to a number of Top 40 dance hits from today and years past. As the stage was being set up, the screen in the background played a montage of photoshop images that featured Townsend’s more ridiculous expressions pasted onto a variety of popular culture figures and a surprising amount of small and hairless animals. Eventually the lights dimmed and Townsend appeared to roaring fanfare, announcing that “I was an Advanced Dungeons & Dragons dungeon master for years!”. He opened the show with “Truth,” perhaps one of the greatest opening shorts ever recorded, and then moved into “Om.” Next up were a few cuts from Ziltoid The Omniscient, “ZTO” and “By Your Command.” Then came live staple “Life” and an emotional rendition of “Earth Day.” The latter displayed just how much Townsend’s fans get into his songs, and their singing along made that much more of an impact. At one point he began to take things in an unexpectedly more intimate direction, bringing out an acoustic guitar to do a sing-along version of the radio-friendly “Ih-Ah!” from Addicted!. Material from his latest albums, in the form of “Stand” and “Juular,” didn’t appear until near the end of the main set. Throughout the evening, as if to distinguish himself from his more crass Ziltoid persona, Townsend spent a lot of time apologizing for being “dumb” and being unable to engage in intelligent stage banter. Toward the end of the show he seemed to be at his most sincere and open, telling us that “The only posers are those who don’t follow their dreams” and soon after screaming “I fucking love Enya!”.

At the end of the main setlist, Townsend announced “It’s time for the fake encore! You better start booing us until we come back out” The encore was itself almost a short second set; the band tore their way through “Vampiria,” more Ziltoid cuts, and then ended with the expected but always welcome “Deep Peace.” Notably absent from the setlist was any attempt at bringing in songs from the excellent Ghost album, a strange omission given that the band obviously had acoustic instruments with them. Admittedly, it must be difficult to craft a setlist when one has as much of a back catalogue as Devin Townsend, and it was hard to miss certain songs when the ones that were played were so enjoyable.

During the encore, a refrain of “We Are All Puppets” flashed on the big screen. Standing in a packed crowd that seemed completely sucked into Townsend’s performance, it was hard not to think of the ways in which Townsend lays bear, and then proceeds to mock, the act of “being metal” and extreme metal as a musical outlet. If we in the audience are puppets whose strings are manipulated by artists, then Townsend is both puppeteer and lead puppet, a living caricature of the genre who takes such obvious joy in poking fun at both the scene and his own place within it. His performances are both sincere and satirical, and that is what makes them unique.

By Natalie Zed

This was my first time attending a show at the new location for the Hard Luck Bar. They’ve moved down the street and up a flight of stairs, into the room that was previously The Poor Alex Theatre. The new location is bigger than the old Hard Luck and more concert-friendly, with more room to move around. The stage is also a bit higher, though the bar is small and weirdly squashed. I’m excited to see what the space becomes as they renovate.

I arrived around 8:30, expecting to walk in just as Into Exile were to begin their set, and discovered that they would not be playing. There were rumours of car trouble, and in the end the band were a no-show. After waiting as long as they could, the next band scheduled, Legions from Burlington, ON, filled the opening slot. A friend standing next to me described them as “Dragon/Horse the Band,” and that summary was as apt as it is hilarious. They play power(ish) metal, with riffs and song structures that are more than inspired by (I would go so far as to say “lifted directly from”) Dragonforce. They certainly have some skills with their instruments, but their songwriting is not original. I still could have enjoyed Legions’ set, as they performed their songs well and did have good energy (at least in as much as they could get across on the very crowded stage), if it was not for their vocalist. A new addition to the band, the young man behind the mic seemed nervous and uncomfortable, and does not have the vocal range to pull off what is demanded of him by Legions’ music.

Happily, Hallows Die were next to play, and put on an excellent set. It has been a good year for this Toronto-based, multi-genre group. Hallows Die officially play melodic death metal, but their songs also incorporate elements of folk and even some blackened thrash. This performance was their first in their home town after many months on the road, on a tour that took them from Ontario to British Columbia and back. The band were still in tour shape; they performed a high-energy set, had a great deal of fun on stage, all while playing with skill and focus. Their set drew heavily from last year’s album, World of Ruin, and it it clear they have developed a solid, positive relationship with those songs. It’s been a while since I had the pleasure of seeing Hallows Die play in Toronto, and it was great to have them back.

I’ve been looking forward to enjoying another love set by UnexpecT since I saw them play at Sneaky Dee’s last year, and they delivered on all of my very high expectations. The experimental French Canadian band are the very embodiment of an avant-garde aesthetic combined with a dauntless independent spirit. UnexpecT released another excellent self-recorded album, Fables of the Sleepless Empire, earlier this year, and have attracted a great deal of well-deserved critical success. Their set drew heavily from this album and from 2006′s In a Flesh Aquarium, with a few older numbers mixed in as well. Their set was as delightfully schizophrenic as everything I have come to expect from UnexpecT. Leïlindel seems to convulse as she sings, and there is something about the unnatural way that several members of the band headbang that reminds me more of puppets on strings than human beings, which only increases the success of their twisted cabaret performance style. Their set was cacophonous and demented, an extreme metal dreamscape. There is something absolutely escapist in the spastic way they perform their difficult, layered music, so that each performance is a perfectly immersive experience. I will never get tired of seeing this band play live; there is nothing else quite like it.

Words by Jay H. Gorania; images by Victor Hewtty III

Day 1 – Friday
Since there were hipsters everywhere, the thought crossed my mind. But rather than swinging like Tarzan from one stringy, vine-like ironic mustache to the next, which surely would have caused problems, I sprinted across Fun Fun Fun Fest’s massive park-consuming, multiple-stage monstrosity to get to the “black” stage to catch Danzig, who was a couple songs into his set. Expectations were high, not just because it was the legendary evil one himself, but because he was set to play Misfits and Samhain songs as well, with an appearance from original Misfits six-stringer Doyle himself.

Since the show, the Interweb and Facebook have been flooded with jokes and mock-up pics. Yep, things didn’t go as planned.

Danzig took to the stage 45 minutes later than scheduled, cutting extensive time from their allotted 90-minutes just prior to the strict 10 p.m. city curfew, and irking many in the crowd. A few minutes shy of 10 p.m., Danzig told the crowd the organizers were going to cut their set. He went as far as asking the audience if they thought organizers had ever heard of “a riot,” intelligently side-stepping an overt call for one.

With only a couple of Misfits songs played, such a brief time shared between Danzig and his former Misfits bandmate Doyle onstage, the set was cut. Johnny Kelly beat the drums as supporters chanted for fest organizers to reconsider, but the band eventually left and the crowd did too as the cops came to make that happen, in the face of a few “pig” comments and bottles and cans that may or may not have been directed toward the stage. Few could legitimately blame the cops though, as they truly were just doing their jobs, and enforcing a city curfew isn’t quite as insidious as Nazi soldiers who were “just following orders.”

In the heat of the moment, a few cries of “Occupy Fun Fun Fun” seemed humorously on-point, but a few cries of “Occupy Danzig” may have been more appropriate if there’s truth to the organizer’s perspective. According to his Facebook page anyway, Danzig said he was sick that day and didn’t want to play in the cool weather, demanding soup and vitamins and a windscreen for the stage along the way.

Regardless of perspective or spin, Danzig took his time getting on stage, and the fest organizers had to abide by the city’s curfew that was enforced by the on-site cops.

“I flew here from Jersey for that? Seriously,” some tall dude spat with his jaw literally agape with disbelief. Needless to say, the ordeal was a disappointment to many.

As far as the show?

There have been many complaints about Danzig’s singing, and while it certainly wasn’t 100 percent, his enunciation and brief holding of notes was what was awkward. His raw singing voice wasn’t that bad. Several people rotated from stringed instruments to drums after Johnny Kelly jumped offstage from behind the drum-set during Danzig’s songs, and generally speaking, Kelly was the musical highlight. The guitar and bass sound was terrible throughout.

Jogging about fifteen minutes from Auditorium Shores, Hellbound found itself in the heart of 6th Street area, Austin’s infamous music and party hub lined with venues, pool halls, bars, restaurants and tattoo parlors. Red 7 was the destination, and hometown boys Mammoth Grinder were thrashing away on the outside stage with reckless abandon. It wasn’t clear how many demands they had as far as rider food and weather protection, however they were clearly content enough to tear through their set that sounded like Entombed playing crust punk mixed with thrash.

Not long thereafter, Touche Amore performed with great clarity to a crowd that was reacting like they were the Beatles, but their melodic post-hardcore is certainly not for everyone, as we immediately turned our attention back inside for long-running grindcore beast Phobia.

The heart and soul, and original member, of the band is singer Shane MacLachlan. With former Black Dahlia Murder drummer Zach Gibson driving the rhythm with a steady hardcore battery and lightning quick blasts, Shane took to the stage without pretense and with a blue collar kind of work ethic. Don’t waste time, just get to business. His face was turning red as he screamed as though he was expelling his last breath.

From Ashes Rise took things down a notch with a retro feel a la Saviours with spacious songs that build up with the kind of approach that Neurosis used to take. Their bassist was banging his head and raging onstage like he was doing his best to summon Cliff Burton’s spirit. While the variety of screamed vocals and black metal rasps provided contrast, the music demanded strong melodic singing which was absent.

Day 2 – Saturday
Negative Approach’s bare-knuckled, gritty, yet catchy ‘80s punk rock is inherently suited best for a club setting, but the outdoor showcase was an appropriate nod of recognition in the sense that a band of their stature clearly deserves a massive audience. The day’s weather was cursed with a pressing wind that picked up the park’s ground and spit a filthy storm of dust upon the audience, mirroring the merciless effect of Negative Approach’s music.

John Brannon, who went on in his career to front the equally abrasive Laughing Hyenas, barked his lyrics with as much ferocity as you could ever find from any hardcore or death metal vocalist around. And similar to Phobia’s Shane McLaughlin, there was little pretense as far as banter. He let the crowd know they were from Michigan, and he announced song titles, and then he went absolutely apeshit.

Much maligned and much praised, the transition of Cave In from ‘90s metalcore/noisecore into an arena rock band has turned heads and raised eyebrows, but whether one approves or not, they have the ability to perform alongside any rock band, their progressive stylings more tasteful and restrained than that of Coheed and Cambria, their song-writing as passionate and rocking as anything you’ll hear from the Foo Fighters (a band for whom they have opened).

On the other side of the park, Kool Keith had the massive sea of fest goers bobbing their heads and smiling. Watching a DJ behind the turn tables alongside glitter-wearing Kool Keith isn’t an exciting display by any means, but the schizophrenic ranting of Kool Keith was charming in its loose, unique delivery.

“Why is a rap dude mentioned in Hellbound,” one might be asking. Fun Fun Fun Fest’s musical variety is a welcome proposition for anyone who has gone to metalfests where blast beats run together with little or no variation, and when you can’t tell one grim dude from the next due to them seemingly using the same corpse paint make up artist.

Next up, The Damned put on one of the weekend’s best sets, truly putting the rock ‘n roll in punk rock. With a quick vibrato similar to that of Roy Orbison, Dave Vanian‘s lounge lizard crooning evoked feelings of melancholy that battled some of the band’s up-beat old school rock parts, though collectively they came together with the goth ‘n gloom underpinnings that ran throughout. For a bunch of guys in their 50s, their seemingly boundless energy was surprising, endearing and entertaining.

Along with other tracks, The Damned ran through their classic debut album Damned, Damned, Damned, and to the crowd’s delight, Vanian took a verbal swipe at Danzig by saying the crowd and band should pack tightly together to keep Danzig warm.

A couple of songs from the reunited post-hardcore punk/rock act Hot Snakes were as addictive as they were on record, but we were on our way to catch instrumental metal act Russian Circles at Red 7’s outside stage.

Not far removed from the metallic jam-outs of Pelican, Isis and Red Sparowes, Russian Circles wasn’t afraid to the massage smooth, calm passages for extended periods, before building them up to monolithic, edgy climaxes that are just as much hard rock as they are metal. The idiosyncratic and heavy use of effects and loops pedals, impressively pulled off in similar resonance to what’s heard on CD, set the band apart from others riding the instrumental metal wave.

Next up, Texas’ death thrash legends Dead Horse offered a very different kind of heavy music. With a decidedly Southern and Texan spin on death thrash, Dead Horse performed their classic songs in front of a rabid crowd that was as rowdy as the attendees of a small town rodeo. Fitting in terms of appearance if nothing else, singer Gregg Martin looked the part of a southern man with his boots, button-up shirt and farmer’s cap. Meanwhile, drummer Ronny Guyote’s belligerent battery was simply outrageous. It was almost as though he was fueled by an unholy cocktail of crack and jet fuel.

Capping off the fun, energetic aspect of their performance, their metallic rendition of the B-52’s “Rock Lobster” was met with laughter and mosh pit insanity. Big, dumb, silly, violent fun.

Day 3 – Sunday
Due to an unfortunate personal mishap that will soon be discussed in my blog here at Hellbound, I missed Eyehategod, Cannibal Corpse, Henry Rollins’ spoken word performance and Trash Talk. If some reports were accurate, “Cannibal Corpse had the biggest pit ever,” and “Eyehategod was so fucking awesome.”

At any rate, Hellbound did make it in time for Slayer. After seeing a completely lack-luster and disappointing performance in the summer of 2010 in Denver, there was reason to question whether or not they “still had it.”

At Fun Fun Fun fest, anyway, they delivered exactly what any longtime Slayer fan would hope for. Dave Lombardo’s powerful stomp and drum bashing was everything he is known for, and Tom Araya’s voice was in top form, whether he was screaming his lungs out or singing. He even hit higher falsetto notes and screams than he’s normally capable of pulling off.

Continuing to fill in for Jeff Hanneman, who is sidelined due to a health-related issue, Exodus guitarist Gary Holt simultaneously stayed true to the originals and he also let his natural style shine through, especially as he took a few liberties with the solos.

Araya gave fans the over-the-top language they wanted to hear, about darkness and what not, delivered with a tongue-in-cheek tone that satisfied the high brow folks as well as the stereotypical meatheads who took his words at face value. He also threw in some profound thoughts here and there. “You don’t have to wear a uniform to fight for freedom,” he said, perhaps referencing the Occupy Wall Street movement, unquestionably ringing true for anyone who values the fight for freedom.