What An Asshole!--Volume 1

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Goes Cube--Another Day Has Passed

I've been taking the train to work for the last month or so.  I actually kind of enjoy it, provided that the weather isn't too cold during the walk over there.  I'm not a cold weather person; where I grew up was freezing cold if it got into the 30's, and Austin this year has annihilated my understanding of what cold weather actually is.  It sucked.  I'm just lucky that it didn't snow too much; with enough snow, there's a high likelyhood that I'd walk out to my car to get a work shirt or something and they'd find my perfectly-preserved frozen corpse five feet from my front door once the thaw came.  I'm helpless against the cold; like a monkey flinging his feces at a group of laser wielding stormtroopers, my many attempts to deal with the cold proved unsuccessful and even ludicrous.

But the summer is coming, and I'll finally be back to sweating all day and stinking like a dead body as a result.

So anyway, I walked over to the train earlier this week.  It was a nice day, but largely unremarkable.  I dodged the Mopac hobo successfully and made it to the train station with plenty of time to spare.  I was listening to the debut full length from Goes Cube on the way to the station, and my iPod died on the walk over.  As I was standing on the platform waiting for the train to come, I beheld a sight that nearly caused me to turn and run, train be damned.  It was a school bus, full of kids, coming to take a field trip to check out our fledgling public transportation option.  Which, by the way, is a really lame sort of field trip to take.

Now, I'm not going to lie to you.  I'm afraid of kids.  For one thing, they always remind me of my former self, the seventh grade Monsoon Cobra walking around, loudly announcing the dumbest possible shit.  If I ever came through some kind of wormhole/timewarp and came across myself at the age of 12 or 13, I can guarantee that I would not be able to stop beating up my past self.  Every time my 13 year old self would open his mouth, I'd have to slap him like a bitch.  And being reminded of my former self is unpleasant.  For another thing, I watch a lot of Law and Order: SVU.  I know that when those kids are hanging around at the train station asking me what that thing on my head is (it's a hat, retard) and riding their razor scooter, I have to ignore them and move away.  Because if those kids get abducted (and according to Law and Order: SVU they all inevitably do), mom and dad are going to remember the dude at the train station and I'll be in trouble.  Then you have to convince the police that walking through the green belt behind your apartment complex was for fun and not to bury a tiny body, and they never believe that (also according to Law and Order: SVU).

So today I secluded myself from the children as best I could and kept my headphones on my ears as a discouragement for any of them to try and speak to me for any reason.  I idly listened to their stupid questions and watched them wear their crappy technicolor hooded sweatshirts until the train finally came.  We got on and the place was obviously in disarray because of the gaggle of squawking middle schoolers all collectively refused to shut the fuck up and sit down, but then I heard something amazing.  One of the chaperones was behind me, and one of the kids announced (in typical way-too-loud-for-the-circumstances fashion) "I want to go sit up there with my friends!" to which the chaperone replied (just as loudly as the kid's pronouncement, mind you) "YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS!"

It was awesome.

So now, I associate Goes Cube with that time spent on the train, and the kid who got shamed by the bearded man sent to ensure that they wouldn't get crushed by the train or stolen by the weirdo who takes said train to work.

Goes Cube is a very good band with a very strange name; they exist in that nebulous outerworld of metal that, until just recently (for me), only Burst and Bison B.C. inhabited.  They generally play slow- to mid-tempo heavy music with shouty vokills and lots of watery, wobbly clean interludes sprinkled throughout.  Unlike most bands that attempt the watery clean interlude, bands in this category inexplicably tend to be able to pull it off without damaging the song in any way (I suspect it's the hard-to-pin-down nature of the music that allows such flexibility; however, if a progressive death metal band attempted the same thing, the resulting product would suck super hard).  The riffs are tasty and the licks are hot, but Goes Cube tends to eschew the mathy nature of Burst in favor of a more straightforward sludge-oriented approach.  Myriad forays into Isis territory lend the music an interesting dynamic, where the riffs are serenely heavy and hypnotizing (though sometimes too long).  My favorite part of any music is the fast part, and though Goes Cube uses this songwriting mechanic relatively sparingly, when it hits it works wonders.  It's really no wonder that when this album first dropped about two years ago, Decibel magazine was all atwitter over it.

If you're in the mood for some metal the defies easy classification, you should follow your nose and check out the album.  I think Goes Cube is going to be around for SXSW, so if they are I'ma go see them live and try to make it up to them that I stole their album from the Interbung.  And that's when things get awkward, I try to make them my friends, and they duck into the crowd, reminding me that I need to sharpen up my social skills for when I meet new people.

But I'd rather be playing video games.

Stopgap Post

I don't have anything good to write about until tomorrow.  Enjoy some videos that you've probably already seen.  Thanks to Ed and Marshall, respectively.

Additional Immortal Pictures

 The original band name for Immortal was The Norwegian Dreams, but they couldn't sell the accompanying teen sitcom to any Norwegian television networks, so they went with their second choice, which was The Beastie Boys.  When they found that was taken, they settled on Immortal.

A friend of mine sent me a different writeup of the Immortal show the other day.  That dude was way more knowledgeable than me on the subject of Immortal, and he used significantly more $10 words than I could even conjure if I had an actually active imagination (curse you television!) and a dictionary that yelled words at me.  It turns out that, while I was meandering around in a whiskey-induced haze, there were several people who dropped beer bottles and then injured themselves on the broken glass once the impromptu mosh pit inevitably broke out.  I was curious about how I got someone else's blood on me; now I know that everybody was likely just as stinko as I was (which would also explain why so few people gave me the business for being as stinko as I was).  So, I guess the mystery has been solved and replaced by a whole new, much more sexy mystery: namely, which kind of hepatitis did I contract by falling all over someone's blood they forgot at the show?

Incidentally, I made several new friends that fateful night, and one of them, Josh Dawkins from Lions of Tsavo (namedrop, bitch!) sent me some additional pictures from that evening.  Since I haven't been writing very much lately, a result of having to expend my creative juices elsewhere for a brief time, I decided to add some more Immortal pictures to the pile.

Gratuitous Guitar-firing-a-laser shot.

"I hope they can feel my grim frown; I'm doing it really fucking hard."

 

Immortal didn't have a fog machine.  This effect was achieved through the collective marijuana smoke of San Antonio.

 

 Right before the show ended, nobody was capable of seeing with their eyes due to the smoke in the air.  Several people died of smoke inhalation that night; they will be remembered as pussies.

 

Thanks Josh for hunting down my email address, which I didn't realize wasn't easy to find (it's now visible on my profile, and I'm waiting to see how that pans out).

 

 

Slammin' Saturday Roundup XXXTreme--Immortal Live in San Antonio

It's not very often that I actually get down with something that is tr00 and kvlt.  Black metal is one of the genres of music from which I cull very little of my musical taste, though it has become more and more frequent that I am able to find something in that darkest category to enjoy and identify with on a deeper level.  But this past Saturday, something amazing happened.  The mighty Immortal swooped in on giant, ice-covered pterodactyls and brought the frostbite and frowns to San Antonio, TX.  Now, I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "Out of anywhere in Texas that Immortal could do their sole Texas show, why in the holy hell would they choose San Antonio?"

That is not for us to ask.

On this most grim day, my crustiest and cakiest bro Van Damned was kind enough to open up his apartment to an elite group of people for pre-show partying and general good times, and good times were indeed had.  Among the group were other crusty, cake-y bros Andy Wilhelm (with his girlfriend Amanda in tow) and the Artist Formerly Known as the WZA'd, who this time didn't say anything that would piss off somebody in a band that I like.  The Farinellis were in attendance and regaled us with stories of Gaahl's creepy tastes, which are more horrifying than you'd think even if you know who he is, while latecomers Daine Vineyard, Josh Dawkins, and a fellow I only know as Adrian rounded out the evening with beards and band notoriety.  Our motley crew looked like this:

Getting pumped...

But quickly devolved as I drank all of Van Damned's whiskey into this:

Thug life is for chumps.  We live the Chug Life.

and finally pictures started to resemble mugshots shown on the Megan's Law website

Photographic evidence of why I'm an embarrassment to my family and friends

and we knew that we were ready for action.

We showed up to the show and got through will call without any issue.  We were pumped and ready, and there were a great many people in full corpse paint that were similarly ready for such a wonderously grim event.  Absu opened up the show and played a great set that I remember hazily at best, and since I know very little about Absu I can't name any of their hot cuts that got jammed out, but the air was thick with anticipation.  And also pot smoke.

 Grim.

 Gratuitous drummer action shot.

Absu finished their set, and Immortal started setting up.  It took forever, but I took the opportunity to wander around in a confused haze, find Van Damned, get punched in the stomach by Van Damned for some reason and get lost again.  Then the show started.

It was glorious.

It looks like they have smoke machines, but that's just the crowd's collective smoke adding ambiance.

Immortal giving shout outs to the people in the crowd wearing Immortal corpse paint.

The music was tight and hateful, a pumping, squealing hot mess of ultimate grim power and scowls.  I was floored; and by that I mean that a mosh pit broke out right in front of me, and the guy behind me made an executive decision that I should be a part of it.  He shoved me from behind, and my drastically compromised sense of balance coupled with the slippery floor caused me to immediately fall flat on my back.  I was lifted up by the crowd, and no sooner than 5 seconds later, a dude in the pit came at me and the exact same thing happened.  Laying on my back, gazing up at the sparse lighting and the faces of the people who thought I should be moshing, allowed me a short moment of repose to realize that I probably wasn't going to drive home to Austin that night.  Shortly thereafter, I was mercifully allowed to leave the pit.  I wandered to a better lighted section of the venue to find that I was filthy and had acquired a smattering of mystery blood on my hands, which was unsettling in a way that was appropriate for the show.  I took a quick hobo shower in the bathroom and charged back out to see more of the spectacle.

 Here's a picture of Immortal's setlist via Brooklyn Vegan.  Since I've never been good at retaining song titles, I figured you might like to look at what got played so that you may burn with jealousy that I was there:

The show ended and we headed out to eat and hang at Van Damned's grim and frostbitten apartment.  I then realized that I was going to have to explain to my wife why I had "Chug Life" written across my belly in permanent marker.

But she's seen worse things written on me.

Thanks to Stephanie Farinelli for the pictures, and for being so nice.  Also, thanks to everybody for putting up with my gloriously drunken antics.

Monsoon Cobra Gets Intimate with Burning Ghats

I started writing this blog just a few short months ago; you see, I had tied one on one night because I'm such a winner that Friday nights usually consist of 1) drinking alone and 2) falling asleep on the couch.  It's not so horrible as it sounds, mind you; sometimes I'll actually get the gumption to do something that I wouldn't normally do during these lonesome excursions into being quite drunk.  Shortly before Thanksgiving, I was anticipating the year's top 10 lists that were going to be dropping soon, and I decided, in a misled drunken haze, to write my own.  I published it on Facebook and it got a good response from people that I know who are actual writers.  They encouraged me to do this stupid blog, and in a subsequent misled drunken haze I took over the domain name.  And here I am.

But not being a writer leaves me at a distinct disadvantage.

You see, there are lots of things that I am not when it comes to this blog; I'm not a journalist, and don't propose to be telling anybody anything that could be construed as "news" or "actual information" or "not a fart joke."  I'm not a researcher, and therefore write off the cuff, shooting from the proverbial hip so that my writing style matches my lifestyle, which is to say it's crawling with half truths and things that I say just so there will be a continuous river of words falling out of my mouth.  That's the way that I do it.  Lastly, I'm not an interviewer; I don't really know anything about the process, and I don't have the technology to actually take down anybody's words in an accurate way.  I think they have something to record peoples' voices now, but I have no idea what they're called or where to get one, and I'm not leaving my apartment to find out.

However, I have, over the course of my Interbung writing time, gotten a handful of bands to agree to do email interviews with me.  Until just recently, none of them had ever panned out.  But then Burning Ghats sent me a reply to some interview questions I had sent them last month; better late than never, I guess.  So without any further ado (and keeping in mind I have no idea what I'm doing), here's my interview with Canada's Burning Ghats.

 For the uninitiated, who are you and where are you from?

Burning Ghats, From Vancouver, B.C., Canada.

Explain the name Burning Ghats in excruciating detail for those of us who refuse to Google things.

http://www.google.com/

[Nice try, but I'm still not going to google it.-Ed.]

The production from your guys' demo seems to differ quite a bit from the production of Fool's Gold.  What were your ideas on what needed to change going into the recording of Fool's Gold?  Was it recorded, produced and mixed by the same team?

A different band and different tunes, demanded a different recording technique. Oh and we were super broke. Wait until you hear the new one…it’s completely different again.

I clearly can't write interview questions very well.  With that in mind, do you guys have any plans for a new release?  Perhaps a full-length?

We just recorded a new 5 song EP last week.  If all goes according to plan, which it never does, it should be out sometime later this year.  Keep your ear holes peeled. 

The album artwork for the demo and Fool's Gold are awesome.  Who made those for you?

Our bass player Cam Strudwick is an artistic genius and not at all cocky.  You can procure his services here: http://www.strudmac.com. He also answered these interview questions. 

Do Burning Ghats have any shows/tours lined up in the near future?

We play locally about once a month. We have some big plans for this summer, playing some festivals, hopefully crossing the border and going east as well.

As you can imagine, I've got an obscenely large following in the United States who hang on my every word.  Are you guys going to be able to make it to the U.S. so that we might be able to enjoy your live performance and yell slogans at you?

It’s quite difficult for a small band like us to get that far into the U.S., especially with your archaic border standards, but that being said, it’s definitely in the works. You guys have cheep beer right?  [It's cheaper than gasoline now.-Ed.]

I heard that Canada has some rules about really promoting Canadian programming on television and radio.  Did I just make that up?  Have you guys been able to take advantage of that for your own gains?  What was the best children's variety show you've ever played?

You might be half right.  There’s no way we could have been the 16th most played LOUD band in Canada for independent radio for the month of December 2010 without the intervention of some governmental support.  Stephen Harper loves to thrash.

Who handles the songwriting in the band?  Do you guys write as a unit, or is there someone who rules with an iron fist?

Colin and Kevin definitely do the bulk of the writing, then Chad and I come in and screw everything up.

I've never seen a picture of you guys, but I assume several of you have beards.  Whose beard is best?

Personally I like that weird wiry stubble that Kevin sometimes gets when he forgets to shave for 6 months, but Colin’s pure ginger facial sheen is hard to beat.  I think Chad had a bird’s nest in his neck beard one time; that was pretty cool.  I guess since I’m answering these questions, I can vote for myself as beard champion, ‘cause lightening bolt side burns are all the rage in Canaduh. 

I speculated about your probable influences on my dumb website.  Clarify for me who you guys count as actual influences and what Canadian metal d00dz are/should be into.

Of course, everything we do is completely original and has never been considered in the realm of musical possibility before us. That being said, Defleshed, Pig Destroyer and Converge seem to come up quite a bit at practice, and lots of our friend’s bands are just killing it over here. Oh yeah, and polar bears in toques playing hockey.

Give me some insight into some contemporary bands from your scene that we should all also be paying attention to.  Or do any of those actually exist?

I could go on and on about how awesome the underground bands are in Vancouver, but I’m sure I’ll miss someone.  Definitely keep an eye out for Memorial, Anion, Ancients, Silverback Gorilla, Impeders of Progress, Cooked and Eaten, Baptists, The Villain Avian Symphony, Tempest, and of course, me and Chad’s other band, Burn In Hell. 

According to my site traffic, you guys are the hottest new sensation on the Interbung.  How have I personally changed your life for the better?

The gift of focus through hate is the gift that keeps on giving. [I assume this means that they hate me, which is puzzling and acceptable.-Ed.]

Have you had any labels interested in you?  What is next for Burning Ghats in general?

We turned down Sony and Warner cause they wanted us to grow beards.  We’ve got some things in the works for the new EP…keep your dicks crossed.

Thanks for taking the time to answer my asinine questions.  Say something in Canadian for us American pig-dogs to marvel at.

Arguably an intrinsic human trait, mankind loves to organize, classify and create “the other”. This preference has, for the majority of human history, defined societal construction by a small number of naturally occurring and constructed classifications. Physical development in humanity’s earliest beginnings, through to family lineage, race and religion have all defined the organization of civilization and culture.  Escaping or molding any of these roles on a personal level has been virtually impossible and even with the organization of thousands still took decades or even millennia of development, evolution and strife to transform.  Just love, man. Just love. [I had this translated, and it means "Come on, baby, just the tip."-Ed.]

I'd like to thank Burning Ghats for their time and I look forward to hearing any new music that they can sling at us, so stay in touch, my Canadian Bro-Slices.

Go to Burning Ghats' Bandcamp page and procure yourself a free download of their Demo and the subsequent EP, Fool's Gold right here.  And if you're feeling saucy, there's a sweet new cassette comp available for the low low price of $3 that features many of the bands mentioned above.  Support metal!  Or wait a couple days for when you can steal it.  Whatever.

3 Inches of Blood--Fire Up the Blades

In my work life, I am forced to become another man in order to keep from alienating my coworkers; so that they are not driven to insanity, I am forced to leave my crunchy, crusty tastes at the door and deal with listening to hip hop, bubblegum pop rock from the 60's, and worst of all, the scourge of all music, reggae.  You see, like most reasonable people, I sit quietly and deal with whatever music is playing around me whether I like it or not.  But God forbid somebody walks back into the shipping area while I'm alone, when my iPod is cranking out the choicest tuneage from the crustiest death metal, hardcore and grind bands the world has ever known!  The complaining starts immediately.  "This is lame," they say (translation: "I'm frightened of your awesome power and sweet taste in music").  "Put Bob Marley back on," they say (translation: "I'm white and want my poor taste to appear eclectic.")  "Why do they scream so much?" they say (translation: "I'm a man with a vagina.")

But, just recently I've found the solution; a solution so ingenious that I feel horrified at myself for not having been so clever in the past.  It keeps everybody happy and allows people to enjoy The Heavy without being able to complain about their vaginas being irritated with the horrible screaming gentleman on the speakers.  That solution: Motorhead Radio on Pandora.

Pandora is a great tool to have at work because, if you're like me, your iPod appears single-minded to the casual observer (it seems that nobody can tell the difference between Morbid Angel and Between the Buried and Me without having a sharp ear).  So we find something that is middle of the road, that nobody will immediately object to, and rock that shit indefinitely.  Motorhead radio has it all: Maiden, Metallica (from their first four albums when they were so, so good), Megadeth (who I never much cared for but who always have the sweetest guitar solos) and Priest, among others.  It's wonderous to me how old Metallica is somehow universally enjoyed--or at least tolerated--by even the least tr00 among us, and everyone is happy.

This plunge back into the olde days of metal has been making me long to listen to some of the stuff that I either used to like or that I have liked forever but no longer have the gusto to listen to.  3 Inches of Blood fall into the latter category for me; I've loved this band for so long I can't remember a life where I didn't have some retarded shirt with a viking on it to wear to shows.  What a ride it's been...*start flashback*

Nick picks up Andy at Andy's house in Bakersfield, California.  Nick, a precocious scamp with big ears and goofy glasses, sits in his new car, a 1991 Toyota Corolla.  Andy enters the passenger door.

Andy: What up, dude?

Nick: Nothing.  I just found this music by this band called 3 Inches of Blood.  They're like a novelty band that takes itself completely seriously.

Andy: That sounds retarded (Andy brushes his ridiculously long hair out of his eyes with a look of scorn that only a high school student can bring to his face)

Nick: I know it sounds like that, but listen to it.  (Nick puts in a dubbed cassette tape--an archaic technology even at this early time--into his tape deck.  "Destroy the Orcs" from the demo tape of 3 Inches of Blood pours out of the speakers)

Andy: Radical!  (Just then, the two are greeted by a strange gentleman at the driver's window)

Some Guy: Hey dudes!  Surf's up!


Andy and Nick (simultaneously):  Cowabunga!

And then we went to a beachfront sock hop.  And that's exactly how it happened with literally no exaggerations.

 "Hopefully these girls will go steady with us.  I'd really like to get Marcia pregnant!"

Fire Up the Blades is 3 Inches of Blood's strongest effort.  Though I instantly fell in love with the over-the-top fantasy of their first album, Advance and Vanquish, they tone down the fantasy for Fire Up the Blades, resulting in a far better album from start to finish.  Additionally, they ramp up the double bass attack and provide their most aggressive album performance, especially when compared to the relatively anemic Here Waits Thy Doom, which is the first album without second singer Jaimie Hooper.  And he is sorely missed.

If you've skipped out on listening to 3 Inches of Blood, you're missing out on one of the maybe four bands in recent history that can fully pull off clean vocals, and you're being a dork.  Don't be that anymore!  Follow your nose to where the Night Marauders hang out.