Philadelphia Phree-Phor-All Part II: Circle Pits + Meatheads + Punches to the Face=Major Drag/Canada Wins!!!

Alright, so, the show started out innocently enough: About 60 or so awkward, black-t-shirt-sporting metal fans in attendance to see Bison B.C. totally wreck house (the "B.C." stands for "British Columbia."). They were one of the finest openers that I've seen in a while. Metal...crust punk...sludge. They had it all; and beards to boot. Great stuff! Black Cobra, from SF, came on next. They're on Southern Lord, so my expectations were somewhat high. Unfortunately, the were boring as shit. I generally get more enjoyment out of mowing the lawn. (In fairness, I LOVE mowing the lawn.) The drummer did all the work while the guitarist/vocalist pretty much acted strangely and played at a mediocre level. Zero points for the U.S. Then came Priestess (Canada). I'm a huge fan, so I was especially excited. Although their beard quotient was somewhat less than that of Bison B.C., they were incredible! Seriously,they were insane. The dual guitar harmonies set the place ablaze. Not to mention, they were some of the coolest cats around. Very humble and entertaining: two things I've never been accused of being. They burned the place down right before High on Fire came out.

Now, something I've failed to mention up until this point: For nearly the entire duration of the show, I stood behind this guy who was essentially a spittin' image of John Goodman's character from "The Big Lebowski." I mean, he looked just like him...other than the long ponytail coming out of his bandanna and the way he beat his chest while singing the Dio songs blaring from the PA. I actually tasted this poor bastard's hair on several occasions that night. Boo!!

Anyway, as High on Fire's roadies set-up, the crowd swelled. More than anything, I noticed how the jock: metal dude ratio started to slant uncomfortably in favor of the jocks. Finally, the lights went down and High on Fire took the stage. As they went into the beginning of the first song, it was very apparent that Matt Pike (one of the most sun-abused men ever)'s guitar was not working. Roadies came out in an attempt to fix the problem before the track really kicked in, but it was to no avail. They had to stop the song before it really started and figure out the problem. Pike looked disappointed and I honestly expected the whole church to burst into flames, but luckily, that didn't happen.

High on Fire played a few songs and the place absolutely erupted! For the first several songs, I found myself working harder to stay upright than to experience the set. During the third song, I saw some dude find and reapply his contact lens...in a very metal fashion, I might add. Then, within about 15 seconds, I saw one cat get knocked out cold while "moshing" and another kid get cold-cocked right in the nose by one of the aforementioned meatheads. With blood everywhere, the kid pretty much gave up and tried to let the guy know that he wasn't going to continue. Unfortunately, the hitter (as opposed to the "hitee,") didn't seem into the gesture. Onlookers eventually pulled the two apart. High on Fire muscled through a fantastic, although muddy-sounding, set. Score one for the U.S. It was easily one of the loudest shows I've ever been to. At certain points, I actually felt dizzy. I've finally seen High on Fire. On this night, however, Priestess stole the show. Canada won, 2-1, but more importantly, Justin and I survived the noise, the violence and the sea of spilled beer of which the floor bore the brunt. Overall, a great night. The next day at work sucked, but at least I have several stories to tell.

Currently blasting: Mi Ami-"Steal Your Face"

Philadelphia Phree-Phor-All Part I: Q: Who's Got the 10 1/2? A: Not me.

I got out of work at 4:30 Tuesday afternoon. I then met up with my man, Justin, and we high-tailed it to Philly for a night of stoner metal featuring the likes of High on Fire, Priestess, Bison B.C. and Black Cobra. After stopping for gas, drinks and over-priced pizza, we were on our way; eating up highway at 80 mph in my trusty ride. We got to the venue a bit early, so we decided to backtrack a few blocks to a Dunkin' Donuts where we could purchase cold beverages and use the facilities. On the way there, a forty-something, stocky dude told me that he liked my shirt. On the evening in question, I was sporting my Black Flag "Slip It In" shirt feature the Raymond Pettibon illustration of a nun holding onto a hairy arm (leg?). Classic. I mumbled a 'thanks' in his direction and we moved along.

****SIDE NOTE: Punk and metal shows always seem to function as pissing contests for people with band t-shirt collections. The idea is to sport whatever shirt could potentially make the most hipsters collectively share the greatest amount of jealousy. This is why I am usually more apt to wear my James Brown shirt to a show than almost any other shirt in my collection, because it doesn't really qualify in the fashion show. If I still had it and it still fit, I would also wear my 'Archie Bunker for President' t shirt that I got from my grandma years ago. On the morning of the show, I grabbed the closest non-black t-shirt I had, no agenda in mind. Big mistake.

So, anyway, Justin and I made it back to church where we meandered about for bit as we waited for the show to start. Bison B.C. came on around 7:45 and absolutely killed it. Score one for Canada! As they were tearing down and Black Cobra prepared to set-up, I ventured over to the merch tables to see if anything looked good. (Best piece of the night: High on Fire tote bag with the Pontiac Firebird logo.) On my way to said table, who do I run into but the Black Flag fan from earlier. This time, he stopped me and formally expressed his love of Black Flag. After indulging him with what seemed like half a dozen handshakes, we briefly talked about our favorite eras of the band as well as our favorite albums. I referenced Rollins-era Black Flag as sounding like a bulldozer running into a wall and he mentioned his man-crush over "Who's Got The 10 1/2?" at least once for each handshake he pressured me into only moments before. It was apparent that my portly, forty-something friend was intoxicated. I gave him the old "see ya later" but didn't mean it. He did.

After Black Cobra's painfully boring set came to a close, I took a stroll to the back of the room to flip through a couple boxes of used cds that some guy was selling. Nothing really caught my eye so I headed back to the spot that Justin and I had planted ourselves for the first two bands. I turned around and an extended hand was waiting for my shaking. It was "10 1/2 Man." It was almost like we hadn't spoken twice within the last hour. He told me how big of a fan he was of Black Flag...especially...you guessed it..."Who's Got The 10 1/2." This time, he had an open bottle of Miller Lite in one hand and an open Pabst Blue Ribbon pounder in the other. He talked about his infatuation with Henry Rollins and how Henry is really only about "this tall";according to this man, Henry Rollins is about 4'7". I said "wow" and "cool" a lot in an effort to humor him. At the end of his lengthy monologue, he asked, "So...what do you think about 'Who's Got the 10 1/2?'?" To which I said, "It's my FAVORITE album!!" He nearly lost his shit. I gave him the old "see ya later" one last time and dodged him the rest of the night. I'm not gonna wear that shirt again any time soon.

NOTE: The story behind the name of Black Flag's live LP, "Who's Got The 10 1/2?" is that one of the members allegedly had, and hopefully still has, a 10 1/2" member. Seeing as though there was a girl in the band at the time, it pretty much limits the owner to Greg Ginn, the apparently dwarf-like Henry Rollins or Anthony Martinez (?). I'm gonna go with Ginn.

Currently blasting: Black Flag-"Slip It In"