Powerfulviolence: Infest Live Review
Infest/Iron Lung/Gehenna/Warcry/Gag
at El Corazon — Saturday, March1st, 2014
by Jim Walkley
At
the outset, Don't Be Swindle readers, I regret to inform you that
vegetarian nachos are no longer being served at El Corazon. Sad but true!
Instead, you may now choose between tater tots, a hot dog, a "Seattle
style" hot dog, or a quesadilla.
Naturally, despite bumming out (hard) over this piece of dreadful news,
I soldiered on. I refuse to allow an
absence of "weekend nachos", as it were, ruin the natural high of
this historic show! Hey, punk rock has
never been easy. (And truth be told, I
didn't want a belly full of artificial cheese, anyway.)
So
there's this band called Gag. They're
from Olympia. Did you read the interview
with them in Maximumrocknroll? I
did. I thought it was great. However, I suspect that Gag as a collective
may not care what supposed "journalists" (is that a thing?) write
about them in "magazines" (do those still exist?) … because Gag can
rest comfortably in the knowledge that when they're asked to, they can bring
it. It's hardcore for the hardcore, as
the phrase goes, and resulted in the first circle pit of the evening. The vocalist threw himself around the stage
in finest rag doll fashion; guitarist Jose (who also handles vocals in the
equally excellent White Wards) never failed to summon a sturdy rhythmic backbone;
the second guitarist didn't muddy up the sound; drums pounded, the bass
throbbed … sonic catharsis achieved! Gag
received quite a bit of hype in the punk scene last year — thankfully, it's
deserved. As you can tell from the
artwork gracing their vinyl releases, this band has a highly developed artistic
sense, which seemingly flows on tap in Olympia and nourishes its many sacred
denizens! (After all, "It's The
Water", as the slogan for Olympia beer once had it; scores of incisive,
thoughtful bands have called Olympia home over the years.) Gag's t-shirts also demonstrate an eye for
artistic detail. Interestingly, in a
strictly musical sense, you might not expect that to be the case, given that
Gag's punk rock resembles a seeming patchwork of early '80's hardcore as it
collides with the elusive
"mysterious" element of a modern throwback outfit such as Hoax. Despite the relative simplicity and even
tradition of their pounding caveman roar, Gag can't help but reveal a deeper,
more advanced shade of creativity in equal measure. Go see them if they play near you!
Warcry
hail from nearby Portland, Oregon. Todd
Burdette, their frontman and vocalist, has been active in music for decades —
most notably, perhaps, in His Hero Is Gone, followed by the now-cult Tragedy;
he's also mixed it up (in his apparent spare time) with occasional forays into
"side projects" such as Severed Head Of State and Trauma. In those bands, Todd usually plays guitar,
but at least on this evening with Warcry, he brought his full menacing presence
to bear on vocals alone. I kept
wondering if someone in the crowd would receive a glancing blow from the
microphone, because when Todd wasn't howling into it, he twirled it like he was
about to lasso something, or he'd wrap it around his neck, then loosen it, only
to throw it around and seize it out of the air.
Todd also pumped his fists relentlessly and flipped off the crowd at
every opportunity. Fittingly for me,
they played "B.S.B.S.F.B.S.", with its rousing chorus of
"Bullshit/bullshit/fuckin' bullshit!"
As Bruce Roehrs might quip: "YES!" That's my favorite Warcry song, but standout
"When Comes The End" sounded incredibly tight and forceful as well,
particularly with reverb and delay drenching the vocals. If you attach negative sentiments to punk
rockers who attain "lifer" status, and you look down your nose at
Warcry as a result of that … well, it's your loss. Warcry are a great band; I felt honored to
see them live. (And yes, I bought the
t-shirt!)
None
other than The Infamous Gehenna took the stage next. Prior to the start of the show, I'd been
sitting on a couch in the back of a side bar at El Corazon, which was
conveniently close to one end of the stage, while their guitarist and bassist
warmed up unplugged on a couch right across from me. The guitarist had sprayed some sort of
lubricant on the neck of his guitar (an apple-red colored guitar which featured
one of those crazy triangle/geometrically-shaped bodies, a sort of variation on
the Randy Rhodes-esque "Flying V.")
I hadn't seen anybody spray oil on a guitar neck like that in years —
usually, that's what you do when you want what's known as a "fast
neck", so you can play a lot of hyper-fast riffs on it without causing
your fingers to bleed. ("What band are
these dudes in!?", I wondered.
"They look like hardcore kids, but that riffing, it almost sounds
like death metal …") Come to find
out, it's Gehenna — band of myth and lore; band with "notorious"
vocalist Mike Cheese (who actually seems like a really nice guy … but keep that
a secret); band of devious intelligence; overall feral, and long-lived,
practitioners of Holy Terror. Try the
following experiment, if you will. Take
a Gehenna LP off the shelf, let the creeping darkness of the cover art filter
into your senses, then flip it over and read through the song titles. It's quite a daunting experience. A few of these song titles stick with you for
years: "Mescalinpsychosis"; "Spiraling Into My Demise"; "The
Choking Sands"; "Covet Thy Crown" (which the band played
tonight!), and many others. With the looming,
starkly intimidating shadow that Gehenna's art casts sonically, I half-expected
to choke in fright as Cheese stormed the stage in an (imagined) destructive,
suicidal rampage — a true disciple of G.G. Allin, perhaps? Such was not the case. Gehenna's set seemed almost murderously,
methodically controlled; in a manner of speaking, they didn't have to be overly
demonstrative as they slowly twisted the proverbial shiv in your side. The band brought tight, professional drumming
(unconfirmed rumor: Gehenna's drummer that evening also played on Infest's No
Man's Slave), with brutally fast and efficient guitar that somehow never
descended into pure metal; fluid bass playing that kept everything grounded;
finally, and most importantly, Mike's vocals sounded as strong as if the band
were playing in 1995, not 2014. An
all-around impressive set for a deservedly legendary band. Gehenna closed with a Discharge cover, and
the crowd went appropriately nuts.
Iron
Lung followed — what an incredible force this band was, is, and likely always
will be … they had me from the very first moments of opening song
"Sexless//No Sex," which was just as heavy and raging in real life as
in its recorded version. The sound was
jaw-dropping; literally staggering. I
immediately rushed forward to be a little closer, personal safety be
damned. Iron Lung drummer/co-vocalist
Jensen Ward wore a genuinely scary Von longsleeve emblazoned with skulls,
pentagrams, and assorted homages to Satan, in the general spirit of what I'd
expected previous band Gehenna to summon musically. Yet the old cliché that "appearances are
deceiving" holds true, because Jensen is in fact humble, approachable, and
just plain nice in person, regardless of the "evil" vibe he might
send off to a square. He also has a rare
sense of humor. Jensen's between-song
banter lightened the mood considerably and made many in the crowd chuckle. "Well, now … here we have a bunch of
students, just learnin' the game … yeah … all except one" — to paraphrase
one of his comments, followed by: "Spending mommy's money — because
community college doesn't pay for itself!"
That might not read as funny as it sounded in the moment, but Jensen had
me laughing constantly — and it was welcome!
Not to mention, he's also an absolutely fantastic drummer, dead-on
accurate, hitting with furious power while simultaneously screaming bloody
murder into a mic by the drums … who knows how old he is, but Jensen's
ceaseless energy could put a 21-year old to shame. Iron Lung guitarist Jon Kortland occasionally
joined Jensen on vocal duties, but mainly focused on that surgically accurate
guitar playing, his hands a blur, with an enviably meaty, thick, heavy
sound that can also be found on any of the band's many records. I have to see Iron Lung again! You should do the same (they tour a lot, so
you'll probably get the chance.)
Finally
… at long last … it was time for Infest.
A heartfelt thanks to Mike Crow of Inimical Records, Jensen Ward, John
Pettibone of El Corazon, and all those who helped to realize a Seattle show for
one of hardcore's modern classic bands.
As the members took the stage, I noticed that Matt Domino, Infest's
guitarist, had some of the thickest forearms that I'd ever seen … he looks like
he could bench-press a car, then pick it up and throw it half a mile! Well, I suppose that's all the better for
playing those riffs (yes, those riffs! — you know the ones), in his offhand,
effortless fashion. Domino spent their
set positioned next to his guitar cabinets, an immovable object amidst a
churning sea of stage-divers. Yes, of
course the crowd went totally ape — it's Infest! You have to laugh at that admonishing sign on
the wall at El Corazon: um, does that white stencil actually read "No
Stage Diving"? Haha, indeed! Vocalist Joe Denunzio was just as curiously
tan as he appears in photos, and equally as expressive, contorting his face
into pantomimes of anger, hatred, and that certain joyous feeling that arises
in converting all of that negative energy into passionate performance. Bassist Chris Dodge deftly avoided dozens of
stage divers; when the band would crawl through that sludgy, feedback-drenched
flipside to their lightning-fast powerviolence, Gag guitarist Jose could be
seen doing his best "creeper" dance, arms dragging near his feet as
he lurched about the stage, only to fling himself at the mercy of the front
row. Infest drummer Bob Kasitz proved
(as if any proof was needed) that he's one of hardcore's best musicians — man,
this guy can play! Dodge often turned to
face Bob's kit, intent on keeping the rhythmic grounding of the band in place
despite the absolute chaos roiling throughout the club. Musically, Infest's set was a revelation,
with each successive song somehow topping its devastating, mind-melting
predecessor. Believe it or not, but the
Infest live experience is just as awesome as this review would have it — and
that's no hyperbole. You have to see
them for yourself!
After
a triumph like this evening, one's mind begins to wander to the next challenge:
convincing Lack Of Interest to play Seattle again. However, let's not get greedy. As it is, the sheer power of this Infest show
might just be enough to carry Seattle for months to come. Who needs the Super Bowl when you have
hardcore punk on such a peerless level?
