Concert review: BEHEMOTH (Live at Webster Hall) 4-23-16

VIVA BLASFEMIA!- My trip to the City that Never Sleeps

-BEHEMOTH: Live in New York City-

      As a New Haven resident, I am perfectly positioned smack-dab in between two of America’s greatest cities - Boston and New York. These two historic towns typically end up being subsequent stops on a North American concert tour, giving concert junkies like myself the awesome option of being able to choose between either Metropolis for a night out when my favorite band is in town. Typically, I opt to go to shows in Boston- a two and a half hour commute into a maze of tangled streets and horn-happy drivers- and the Boston House of Blues is where I first saw Polish extreme-metalers Behemoth play a long opening set for death metal legends Cannibal Corpse. Though Corpsegrinder and company gave the audience their fill of classic death metal fare, blasting through a lengthy setlist with barely enough break to introduce each song, that February night  was truly stolen by Behemoth. This epic three-piece band opened the evening with such visceral energy and an incredible visual performance that myself (and my friends Luke and Zak, who joined me that night) swore that we would never miss another Behemoth concert as long as we lived. A little over a year passed before the opportunity presented itself again. I woke one cold winter’s morning to learn that Behemoth was to embark on their “Blasfemia Amerika” US headlining tour- playing their latest album “The Satanist” (an absolute gem of modern extreme metal) in its entirety. Like clockwork, the timeless dilemma for a New Haven resident presented itself again: Beantown or The Big Apple? Luke was first on the case and opted for the New York City date, figuring a Behemoth show to be an excellent birthday present for his girlfriend Mary. I couldn’t have agreed more. I could now invite my girlfriend Cheryl, who would be happy to have a female companion to share a first Behemoth experience with. This time, and for the first time, we were on our way to Webster Hall- New York City bound.

     That Saturday, after speeding home from work and scarfing down a DiBella’s sub, I wrangled Cheryl and Zak and we met our Branford companions at the West Haven train station (free weekend parking!) The train arrived promptly and Cheryl and I took our seats in the double chair across the aisle from our companions, all of whom kicked shoes off and quickly settled in for the travel ahead. About halfway through the ride, our empty car was suddenly filled with about eleven British businessmen and women enjoying a short trek to Grand Central terminal and the car was suddenly significantly livelier. Groups such as these, whether cracking jokes or beers, came and went in handfuls. As conversation floated around the speeding steel machine I found it interesting to observe the different types of commuters who use the MetroNorth rail for work transportation. I heard everything from stock talk, politics, work gossip and the occasional foreign language bounce off the walls, forcing me to realize how convenient this service must be to bypass I-95 traffic or as a substitute for driving altogether. Any commuter can sit and pop open a laptop, a book to read, a movie to watch, or start a conversation with a stranger to pass the time productively on the way to work in lieu of the hazardous, fast paced highway commute. Ourselves, we spent two hour sojourn taking turns passing around a Ziploc bag full of chocolate chip cookies and letting the excitement bubble within us like so much Ginger Ale chaser. Luke, Zak, and I had an idea of what we were in for at the Webster Hall (in fact, we’d been waiting for it for a year), but neither of the girls did- and we did our best to hype them up for the spectacle to follow. We soon came to a halt at Grand Central station. Stepping off the train made me realize how easily and truly efficient this commute was- especially for a concert goer like myself. As I inhaled the musky, mechanical New York smell I pictured myself struggling to find parking outside of Boston’s Paradise Rock Club or the House of Blues, and kicked myself inside for not having previously giving this simple train ride a chance. For a little more than $30, I had substituted a traffic-laden full car drive into Boston’s maze of streets for a 2 hour laugh fest with my friends on the rails. We connected with a one-shot subway ride (the 4 Train towards Union Square) and stepped into the evening sunlight a little less than a quarter mile from the venue. In hindsight, everything from the MetroNorth rail, to the Grand Central subway connection, to the walk to the venue fell in to place so perfectly it was almost as if we had walked these same steps before. Fortunately, they lead us right to the marquee of Webster Hall- and none could suppress the chill creeping down their spine as the final cigarettes were snubbed short outside of the venue.

[Zak, Mary, Luke, Cheryl and I in Grand Central Terminal]

    My first complete shock of the night came after I climbed the narrow staircase to Webster Hall’s main floor and found myself at Behemoth’s merch table with no wallet- no money AND no return train ticket. Panicked, I realized that it couldn’t have gone far because I was ID'd only moments ago at the entrance. I hauled ass back downstairs to the security checkpoint to find that precious leather bifold waiting patiently for me in front of a staff member atop her podium. Huge shout out to Webster Hall for having honest, alert employees who even went the extra mile to check my ID when I went to claim my possessions. At any venue, I could easily imagine my wallet being lost and trampled in the dark entryway or being picked up by the “finder’s keepers” type. However this was not the case at the Webster and I consider myself extremely lucky for the honesty and consciousness presented by the staff members at the door. I made a beeline for the bar upstairs, and Brooklyn lager in hand, I stood patiently next to the giant, my beautiful girlfriend, my best friend, and the birthday girl awaiting the arrival of Nergal, Inferno and Orion: the monsters of Behemoth.

   If you haven’t heard of Behemoth or are unfamiliar with the band, it’s quite necessary to understand a bit of background information that pertains to their musical style and influence over modern extreme metal. Behemoth was formed in the mid 1990's and for several grainy EP's and self-releases, maintained a classic black metal sound. From the Pagan Vastlands and haunting tracks such as "Moonspell Rites" basically codify Behemoth's early black metal ambitions, bt change was not far away. Behemoth did not see much of the spotlight untill their 2000 release “Thelema.6” (“Christians to the Lions”, anybody?), where the band began to mix death metal elements such as growled vocals and jackhammer blast beats into their eerie black metal sound. Since then, Behemoth has not only blazed the trail for the Polish metal scene but has used their extreme image and lyrics to situate themselves at the forefront of a genre that seamlessly blends both black and death metal into one unholy, earthshaking sound. Their lyrics and image play heavily on classic satanic themes: but this is not the bubble-gum, accessible version Satanism found in bands like King Diamond or Ghost. Behemoth is, in a word, serious. A short look at a physical copy of any of their albums reveals a universe of intricate album artwork and liner notes with a coinciding explanation of the context surrounding the creation of each song. I have yet to see a band put an attention to detail to their physical releases equal to that presented on their celebrated album “Evangelion”, for example. 

[Artwork from an early Behemoth release follows the typical norm for a 90's black metal band - you can see this format on the releases of groups such as Darkthrone and Mayhem - both of whom Nergal cites as strong influences. Artwork courtesy of BEHEMOTH.]

Behemoth is visceral, dark, and lyrically intense to the core. Their anti-religious message is methodically produced by an educated frontman: Adam ‘Nergal’ Darski. Darski, a self-proclaimed “heretic”, is the main songwriter for the band and is responsible for both Behemoth’s poetic lyrics and blacked, dissonant sound. He studied History for more than six years at Poland’s University of Gdańsk- enough education to be a certified museum curator. In 2007, Nergal was publicly charged with “blasphemy” after ripping up a Bible and denouncing the Catholic Church onstage which, now, has become a fairly common Behemoth live show feat. He eventually beat the charge in the Polish Supreme Court. Recently, Darski has gained more public attention due to his successfully defeating ‘terminal’ leukemia after receiving a bone marrow transplant. As if success against such a mortal disease wasn’t enough, Behemoth re-emerged with their latest album The Satanist which was universally acclaimed by critics and metalheads alike. The Satanist marked a return to a more black metal influenced sound for the band. Slower tracks like the sludgy intro "Blow Your Trumpets Gabriel" and the epic closer "O Father, O Satan, O Sun!" drone on with a classic simple-riff black metal style. This pace is easily disrupted by fast-paced rippers such as "Amen" are complete with blast beats and guitar solos sure to leave the neck sore. All ears happily feasted upon a slew of progressive instrumental sections as well as the classic black riffage that these Polish shredders have become well known for. Behemoth was proud to display this album on this ‘Blasfemia Amerika’ tour- a 13 city romp across the nation- which the six of us were lucky enough to behold together in the City that Never Sleeps.

[Behemoth takes the stage in NYC.]

     Behemoth’s live performance is exactly what one would expect from the turbulent, cosmically demonic music that spawns forth from the four musicians on stage. it is impossible to pry the eyes from the action on stage. The show is an absolute visual spectacle. The band blasts through riff after riff under dark red lights, which subtly change from cool blue, to a deep purple and, at points, an earthy green as the group progresses from song to song. These simple changes in lighting only amplify the eerie and bone-chilling performance this band puts on. Each member is dressed as if caught between the grave and the throne room - ornately adorned in torn black leather, metal studs and various dangling straps and chains. They all wear their own sloppy, haphazardly smeared form of corpse paint. Their faces appear a blinding white mixed with smears of coal black and ash grey - a placid color pattern that gives all members, especially Nergal, the eerie appearance of being fresh out of the coffin. If Behemoth momentarily picks up the pace for a track or two, Inferno’s intense blast-beat drumming is mimicked by a rapid, blinding strobe that sends the entire venue into a trance of chaos.  Behemoth’s microphone stands are also completely unique in my experience and are certainly a main focus of the stage setup. At the center of the stand is Behemoth’s symbol- the “Unholy Trinity”- a small fire closed within the boundaries of a triangle. Two giant Cobra snake heads grow from this center and wind their way upwards, making themselves perfect guards for Nergal who brandishes his guitar and growls out lyrics from the center of this ensemble. These intricate microphone stands give each band member an air of power, evil power, much as a tyrant king threateningly wields his scepter of choice. At the perimeter both bassist Orion and live member Seth stand well over six feet tall, and command the attention of the crowd from their respective sides of the stage. They switch places only a few times during the entire set. 

[Some deep concentration displayed by the Behemoth frontman.]

One of the things I remember well about my first Behemoth concert in Boston was Nergal's incredible ability to energize an entire venue by himself. Nergal, who appears significantly smaller than his fellow instrumentalists, belts out his demonic vocals with ease and coaxes the crowd into roaring chants - inciting a little chaos of his own from his pulpit. For fan-favorite “Ora Pro Nobis Lucifer”, Nergal adjusts his thoughts to the tempo of the drumming before standing atop a stage amplifier to ignite the audience into chants. With one timely fist thrust into the air, the entire venue follows suit in perfect cadence- “HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY!”

[Nergal offers communion to those within reach.]

This control over the audience is almost mesmerizing to behold and is another reason why the theatrics of Behemoth’s live performance are so memorable. During a small break in the thrashing, chaotic madness of the concert Nergal enters the stage alone, illuminated by a simple white spotlight. He holds, on a golden chain, a dangling censer (an ornate incense burner used by the Catholic Church during funerals) and sways the reeking smoke from side to side across the expanse of the crowd. As if this wasn’t spooky enough, Nergal soon reaches for his handful of communion wafers and approaches the audience. As the hooded, face painted prophet leans over the crowd hundreds of the closest hands are thrust into the space above, gravitating towards the frontman in attempt to take part in this blasphemic display. After a dozen people are given their communion, Nergal turns the soft cookies to crumbs in his hands and tosses the dust into the air. The crowd is in awe - some aghast, some confused, some happily consumed by the presence of the man in front of them. 

[Nergal meditates mid-stage]

[Orion in full costume for "O Father, O Satan, O Sun!"]

The whole band becomes a spectacle of their own for the final song off of The Satanist, titled “O Father, O Satan, O Sun!” The stage is dark, undefined, and only through a faint red light can one make out the members of the group now. Wearing floor length black cloaks, three hooded figures have sprouted a large set of horns. The group chugs and growls its way through this epic, progressive song which is well worth the listen for both musical prowess and lyrical intensity. All in attendance stood relatively still to behold this ballad of darkness. Those in the audience that night ranged from seasoned metalheads- (I met two from New York City and one from Long Island who had also been waiting patiently for Behemoth’s return to the States after the 2015 winter tour with Cannibal Corpse) to first-time viewers who were completely new to the concept. Cheryl, who I caught with a curious grin several times, told me that she enjoyed herself thoroughly. “Between the face paint, the snake stands, and the music itself…I wasn’t scared. I liked it a lot. It wasn’t too much,” she explained to me. “The crazy face paint, costumes, and blood matched the music and it wasn’t overdone, it was very dark but it all seemed to make sense.” I can completely see what she is talking about, and the fact that a first-time viewer can notice the comprehensive, fine-tuned performance that Behemoth gives is a true testament to their meticulous creativity. There are no holes in the argument, no lapses in image the entire time. It is rough, rugged, and demonically well prepared.

     Behemoth exits the stage twice that night- coming back for the final time covered in a red blood that stands out in stark contrast against their paint-whitened skin. By this point, I could tell that the show was near closure and I could only wish that it would go on for a bit longer. That, ladies and gentlemen, is my only complaint about the entire night - and I’m sure any band would love to hear that the only disparaging comment made by anyone was that they wanted a little bit more music. They opted to leave out some of their classic tracks- “Ov Fire and the Void” was notably absent- however the show ended with the powerful “Chant for Eschaton 2000” and a satisfied crowd emerged back onto the streets of New York a little before 11 PM.


I’ve got to say, one of the coolest parts of my evening came as I sat on the floor of Grand Central terminal with my friends stuffing our mouths with French fries. Luke and I were bullshitting rather loudly as gentleman-probably 40 years old- in a Behemoth shirt walked by or group. As our eyes locked momentarily, a smile curled up the sides of his face and he stuck out his hand to shake mine. “Did you have a good time tonight?” I asked this gentle stranger.

“Hell yes! Inferno, he signed this drumstick for me. It was wild, man, wild.” Luke asked to borrow the drumstick for minute observations, and as he twiddled the small wooden stick, the stranger must have noticed my perplexed expression. “You don’t recognize me, do you? Remember me?”

I was (among other things) baffled. “No,” I apologized. “I can’t recall…”

“Ghost, man! Ghost in New Haven! I remember you, and this giant over here, telling me you two would be at Behemoth! And here we are, huh!” He laughed.

    Huh indeed. Here I am -  in the busiest train station in the entire country, in the one of the most famous, most densely populated cities in the world and someone I have met but once before recognizes me. Not only that, we were able to hold a small conversation about an experience we both shared once upon a time. To me, this is why I love this metal music scene- the experiences we share in the crowd defy time and space. If you’ve seen a band play an incredible set in Boston you can easily converse with someone who saw the same band in Arizona- “Oh man, you almost died in that pit too?” If the last time you saw Cannibal Corpse was in a sweatbox club in the early 2000’s you might just want to hear about what happened at the sold-out 2,000 person show at the Paramount…unless you were there too. From regional show to regional show, you may meet someone who was in the same crowd as you, spilling beer on your solder or passing a helping hand underneath you as you rocked out atop the crowd. I’m proud I could have shared my experience this night with such a great group of friends. Thanks Cheryl, Luke, Mary, Zak, Nergal, the Webster Hall, Metro North and New York City for a superb night. Until next time…non servium!

[Behemoth confronts the audience during their final encore.]

*all photographs (unless mentioned otherwise) are property of the author and will be treated as such*

Concert Review: GHOST (Live at College Street Music Hall) 4-16-2016

Spirit....absent! GHOST brings their Grammy-winning act to New Haven, CT

[Ghost takes the stage in New Haven, CT]

     I don’t put much stock into awards that denote “good” or “quality” music. However I admit I was very excited when I heard that one of my favorite bands, August Burns Red, was nominated for the 2016 Grammy for Best Metal Performance (“Identity”.) Though I felt that ABR had a strong shot at the award I was not surprised that a bigger, more established band went home with the gold. Afterwards, as a sort of consolidation of grief, I decided to lend my ears to a few tracks from these Swedish metalers named Ghost- if only for fairness’s sake. What I found was an extremely polished sound- clean, melodic vocals and riffs that brought me back to the days of (what has now become) classic metal- in the vein of King Diamond and Judas Priest, yet with lyrics as blasphemous as I have ever heard before. 

     Ghost takes the masked appearance/costume idea to another level- complete anonymity. Though some speculation circles around who the members actually are and which of the instrumentalists are the main songwriters, it cannot be denied that Ghost’s use of hidden identities has reached a level unmatched by other bands and artists who have stabbed at the same device- such as Slipknot. Even a simple Wikipedia search confirms that the only members of the band are lead singer “Papa Emeritus III”, a bishop-like figure who has appeared in three different incarnations (each with a signature style of skeleton face paint), who leads his hoard of “Nameless Ghouls”-instrumentalists-who have all been assigned an element (Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, and Ether) and are only identifiable by a patch sown in identical position on each member’s jacket. Ghost’s demonic costumed image may have grabbed my attention, but it was their insanely catchy, moshy tunes that kept me coming back for more. After purchasing their first and latest albums and spending many a work commute belting along with songs like “Ritual,” “Stand by Him” and “From the Pinnacle to the Pit,” I was incredibly excited to learn that they were making a stop at College Street Music Hall, a young venue in my hometown of New Haven, CT. I let the anticipation build for well over a month before April 16th arrived. The night finally came and with my ticket bought and pentagrams in my head, there I was happily bound.

     Knowing that floor space would be very limited for this show, I arrived at College Street Music Hall early enough to get myself a good spot in the crowd- on the first tier of the standing room, stage left. Fortunately, I arrived with enough time to catch a good bit of the opening set from Tribulation- another Swedish group. Tribulation, defined loosely as "Black and Roll", played a blisteringly fast set of music clearly influenced by both black metal and classic rock. This interesting blend of styles may have left some listeners a bit genre-confused however this finely blended mix of blackened riffs and rhythmic drumming was extremely well received  by the New Haven crowd. Tribulation’s music carries much of the same dissonance, simplicity, and lyrical content of the black metal genre-staples that no corpse-panted band could be taken seriously without. Several members of the band have also grown enormous dreadlocks giving both guitarists a ragged, torn appearance that suits their stage show perfectly. Vocalist Johannes Andersson nasally growls out lyrics with a classic black metal drawl, but there exists a certain uniqueness to Tribulation’s sound which emanates from the drum set of Jakob Ljungberg, who substitutes blistering blast beats for a steadier, rhythmic rock tempo reminiscent of Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham. During the set, I often found myself bobbing my head in tune, or suppressing the urge to clap in time with the drumming. As far as an opener goes, Tribulation was the perfect band to start this show and was well chosen by the promoters, who luckily snagged them one day after finishing a US tour with black metal icon ABBATH. Those in the crowd less suited to the heavier music scene may have been turned off by Tribulation’s blackened riffs and harsh vocals, but their melody and stage performance was an excellent precursor to the show to follow. By the end of their set, it was clear that the crowd- a curious mix of young moshers, vested metalheads, and trepidatious  “Yale-ies”-were warmed up and waiting for the entrance of Papa Emeritus III and his nameless Ghouls.

[Swedish rockers Tribulation open the show at College Street Music Hall]

     Ghost rips onto the stage with the lead track off of their latest album Meliora, called “Spirit”- a haunting tune complete with enough organ drone to be part of a Church sermon. I'm sure that, for many, the most entertaining part of the show was the stage theatrics and the visual performance given by the band. Papa Emeritus enters the scene and the house lights shine on him from behind creating an ominous silhouette which stands in sharp contrast against the elaborate stage curtain- a mock stained glass window. The shadow slowly floats down from the height of the drumkit and enters the light at center stage; he is dressed like some sort of Satanic Pope- complete with an ornately decorated black robe and a Bishop’s hat- each adorned accordingly with an upside down cross. Papa plays this black Pope role extremely well and appears almost prophetic like while performing, often extending his free hand towards the heavens while gripping the microphone with the other. The Nameless Ghouls must make way for him on stage as he floats from end to end belting out lyrics, his cavernous black robe dragging not far behind. The lighting system at College Street Music Hall deserves immense credit for the truly visual performance that this show presents. The intricate combination of spotlights, color lights and strobe lights flashing rapidly and scanning across the venue in sync with the music gives Ghost a truly eerie control over their music and the crowd itself. 

     About a third of the way through the show, the lights are dark for the first time as the haunting notes of “Circie”, Ghost’s Grammy winning single, ring out over the crowd. The band reclaims the stage, and Papa has made a wardrobe change. He now leads his Ghouls in a black doublet, trimmed with stark white lapels and upside down crosses, and has switched out the large hat for natural, slicked back black hair. This removes the lofty, elevated air surrounding the spectral frontman who shows more personality and involvement with both his bandmates and the crowd for the remainder of the show. I was perfectly positioned to enjoy the small mosh pit that erupts during Ghost’s heavier tracks – with “Absolution” and “Mummy Dust” back to back, I found myself tossed around like a ragdoll in a washing machine. I’m a relatively small guy (for the metal show crowd, that is) but those of us who love to mosh know that there is nothing worse than a bad pit. Fortunately, as the pit grew and shrank between verse and chorus, Ghost’s crowd stayed true to the unspoken codes of the metal scene- no fists flew, no fights erupted, and anyone who fell had more hands in their face to pick them up than they knew what to do with. This made for an incredible camaraderie between those I found myself colliding with song after song, and I can only assume by the cheers and horns in the air that the entire crowd was feeling similarly connected.

     As the show reaches over an hour in length, the lights are black again and three Nameless Ghouls enter the stage armed with acoustic guitars for an unplugged cover of Roky Erikson’s 1981 song “If You Have Ghosts.” During this break from the speed and intensity of the show, Papa takes time to explain the meaning of Ghost as a band, and to specifically introduce these three Nameless Ghouls - Alpha (formally “Fire”- a guitarist), Water ( the bass player, and according to Papa an extremely talented musician who likes to “show off” during practice sessions) and Omega (formally “Ether”), another guitarist. Each Nameless Ghoul is dressed exactly the same- a horned, silver mask and an all-black doublet- which creates a uniformity across all instrumentalists only interrupted by each member’s patch sewn onto the left breast. The audience is coaxed into applause by our demonic frontman after each introduction, lending a measure or two for each Ghoul to display a tiny lick of guitar individuality. 

[Papa Emeritus III introduces his Nameless Ghouls]

[Papa addresses the masses]

     Several times during the night, when I found myself taking a small break from the rhythmic brawl in the center crowd, I began to consider how difficult it was going to be to assess this concert. Typically, I like to begin an analysis of a band based on the skills and abilities I see showcased by individual performers. However after watching these introductions, it dawned on me that tonight, there are no individual performers- that is to say, no names and faces at least. As the three Ghouls strum away to the tune, Papa digresses into a lengthy explanation of why exactly Ghost uses these hidden identities and the way it helps an audience focus on the music as a whole, a fully composed end product, instead of separate elements created by individual skill. For me, Papa’s digression during the acoustic number was enlightening, especially considering my typical tactic for dissecting a band is to do the opposite- view what each individual member contributes to the sound by themselves. Upon further reflection I began to really believe that that Ghost’s music, with its film-score symphonics and demonic aura, is actually easier analyzed as a whole, just as Papa described. Some members of the crowd were not pleased with this lengthy dialogue about meaning. Several times during this foray into acoustics I heard calls from the crowd of “Play some music!” or “Stop talking and get on with it!” which is completely understandable. We are all here to hear music. However, a concert is, at heart, a performance. Papa’s speech during “If You Have Ghosts” was lengthy, but informative. I mean, he is the Pope, after all. What kind of leader would he be if he didn’t speak to the masses while on stage?


     Though some may be turned off, even isolated by Ghost’s demonic message, none can deny that it fits perfectly well with their eclectic stage performance. Their final song, live staple “Monstrance Clock”, was proceeded by a seethingly blasphemous dedication to the female orgasm, which even had Papa Emeritus cracking a smile on stage. For me, this satanic message works the same as suspension of disbelief in literature or a film- one must accept the lyrics and melodies for what they really are- music- and nothing more. If a random stranger had walked in just as Ghost was leaving the stage, they would have heard the crowd chanting along “Come together, together as one!” “Come together, for Lucifer’s son!”- impious words escaping the mouths of everyone in attendance. While we all sang along, the Namelees Ghouls file off of the stage and eventually the lights are back on. It is almost as if the world is back to normal and we are all safe again. This band has the ability to walk on stage, scare the hell out of everyone with a demonic message, yet leave to a crowd cheering after them to pray for the devil. In my opinion, this is a truly successful concert and a job well done.

[A Nameless Ghoul eyes the crowd at College St.]

     I am sure that anyone who had a poor opinion of a metal show, or had wary expectations of what went on at these strange gatherings, left New Haven that night with a completely different perspective of this environment. The crowd itself was one of the most diverse I’ve seen at a show in a long time, and, while I stood by the exit in my denim vest, I saw several flocks of confused 20-somethings in polo shirts leaving with perplexed looks and sideways glances at their similarly stunned friends - however there was not an unhappy face in the house. Papa Emeritus’s frontman abilities are demonic and vulgar enough to merit applause from even the most black-blooded metal head yet humorous and approachable enough to be enjoyed by a first-time concert goer. The Nameless Ghouls add excellent support and the music they create is at the same time haunting and inviting. At the end of the night, I left with an incredibly positive impression of the band, the venue, and the concert as a whole. Ghost’s excellent set, which mixed heavier riffs with some more catchy and classic-metal melodies, was amplified tenfold by the incredible audio and visual capabilities of College Street Music Hall. There was unity in the house on that April 16th- no matter who we were all worshiping.

[Ghost, AWESOME merch. An epic tee to add to my collection!]

*all photographs (unless mentioned otherwise) are property of the author and will be treated as such*

Concert Review: August Burns Red (Live at the Regency Ballroom) 3-21-2016

August Burns Red Live: A Fan's Review

[Jake Luhrs, lead singer of August Burns Red in San Francisco, CA]

When I discovered that August Burns Red, one of my all-time favorite bands, was playing a show in San Francisco during my brief stay there, it was a coincidence I could not deny - and there I was happily bound.

     August Burns Red - with their blend of intricate technicality, progressive melody and punishing heaviness- create music so unique the untrained ear struggles to pin them into one genre. Something tells me that this is all part of the plan. In the past decade, their music has evolved from a sound lost in the mass of early 2000’s metalcore to a polished brutality that leaves swarms of fans stuck somewhere between banging their heads and ballroom dancing. When it comes to performing live, even the untrained listener cannot deny the spectacle that is August Burns Red in concert. I found them on tour with Between the Buried and Me at the Regency Ballroom in San Francisco, California, and I was not disappointed. In fact, I was satisfied beyond belief.

     Lead singer Jake Luhrs patrols the stage with an electrifying personality: a stage presence that blends the explosive intensity of a child on Christmas morning with the refined passion of a preacher at the pulpit. Fans truly react to this no-holds barred attitude: Luhrs does what he wishes, as he wishes, and is truly himself on stage. One of the most memorable aspects of his performance is always his unique choice of a corded microphone- which is used to its full potential. He whips his toy in gigantic, controlled circles feet in diameter, catching it just in time to make his next lyric without skipping a beat. This continuous catch and release is truly a stage spectacle, and I myself found my head following the microphone in its revolutions, mouth agape. Luhrs is so well trained at his feat that he knows just how far to move the stage guard before he begins. If this isn’t his favorite stage pastime, it is defiantly dancing.

     

     Jake’s acrobatics are only complimented and surpassed by the energy of his bandmates. Bearded bassist Dustin Davidson and barefoot lead guitarist JB Brubaker make their way around the stage during the show, each occasionally stepping onto one of three risers to deliver backing lyrics or their personal dosage of guitar madness (at one point, Davidson jumps from riser to riser to riser, covering the stage in three large bounds- all while playing.) Both are extremely talented musicians. Davidson and Brubaker have a sixth sense of who moves where and when - evidence of their near decade of collaboration together in ABR. For “Everlasting Ending,” a song written by Davidson, the two switch instruments, swapping bass for guitar, each handling the others with a dexterity that matches their own. That’s musicianship.

[Dustin Davidson gets down in San Francisco]

     
     Unlike many contemporary bands who rely on their live staples to get the crowd involved, ABR has a noticeable passion for their new music. During this show, they played five songs from their latest album “Found in Far Away Places,” including the Grammy-nominated “Identity.” FIFAP was a true resurrection of heaviness for the band. This is much thanks to guitarist Brent Rambler and drummer Matt Greiner, whose steady tempos drive the crushing breakdowns that the pit enjoys so much. As much as ABR’s music has become synonymous with JB’s sonic melodies, the head banging department is solely owned and operated by Rambler’s calculated chugging. He remains relatively silent throughout the show, but his contribution is all but unnoticed. Brent shreds effortlessly song after song, making sure that those in the crowd with their horns in the air have something to bang their heads to. Matt Greiner, one of the most accomplished drummers in the modern metal scene, is the band’s unspoken hero. I was disappointed that the lighting and my position in the crowd put Greiner in shadows for the duration of the show - he truly deserves a spotlight. Fortunately, he gets one towards the end: laying down an impressively long drum solo that runs the gamut from groovy jazz tapping to blistering blast beats. This versatility pervades ABR’s music- a ship which goes from traveling at breakneck speeds to lolling upon the waves at a second’s notice- with Greiner standing (or sitting for that matter) steadfast at the helm.

[Matt Greiner performs his drum solo]

     
     The versatility of this band is undeniable. In a second you may hear the group playing sections of music so melodious you could find them at a wedding or bar mitzvah, then rapidly switching to crowd-chanting choruses that unite the venue in song. At the end of the day, it’s energy. Energy. ABR brings energy to the stage at an unmatched level. It does not stop until the final song is over. They close out their night in San Francisco with fan (and my personal) favorite, “White Washed,” a song I have seen them open with several times. In my own personal experience, I have seen them use the same song to rip onto stage and close in memorable fashion. That’s musicianship.

[ABR in action]

   
      I was fortunate (or perhaps, just desperate) enough to meet up with Rambler, Luhrs, and Brubaker after the show near the tour bus where I waited patiently. I had the opportunity to speak at length with Brubaker and was able to delve into one of the minds behind the music I enjoy so much. We discussed what it meant to the band to be nominated for a Grammy award and why the nomination itself was perhaps more important than the win. “We were on tour in Kansas when my wife called me and told me were nominated. I called my mom, she was crying,” laughs Brubaker, “We basically found out the same way all of our fans did.” As far as the award ceremony itself goes, I gained the impression that it was somewhat of a whirlwind for five regular guys from Pennsylvania. “The Academy is a hard thing to parse through, especially for first time goers,” Brubaker said. I commented on the fact that they arrived there in style (driven by LAFD in a county firetruck) and asked about the award ceremony as a whole. “It was unbelievable to be there. It was an honor,” he noted, “but at the same time it is strange to have to pretend someone you’re not for hours on end…the suit and tie, you know?” And the closed-toed shoes, right JB?

     I was fortunate enough to meet Jake Luhrs as well and explain to him how important the music of his band is to me personally. Specifically, I mentioned the song “Beauty in Tragedy.” In early 2014, I lost my uncle (and namesake) Andrew Janz to pancreatic cancer. My father and his brother had been very close in their upbringing but had been feuding for decades, including my entire life, leading up to the decline of his health. In the final five or six months he was alive, my father stood by his brother’s side and helped him with everything from transportation to the hospital, to in-home care, to the eventual funeral arrangements. In my reality, which was very much removed from the pallor of mortality, his death was a strange and truly ethereal experience. A relative of mine was now gone, sure. But this was much different. I am named after this person, and in a way, I am this person incarnate. The only other Andrew Janz in the world has died, and for the first time in my life my own mortality was whispering in my ears. But what was it telling me? Am I meant to live up to this name, to fill these shoes? How is that possible if I have never known this person, but for stories and anecdotes? For a while I saw no direction, felt lost, and had no idea how to deal with this conflict within myself. I struggled mightily with these thoughts and for weeks they were all I could think about when my mind was idle. It was around this time that “Beauty in Tragedy,” and the lyrics written by Luhrs, began to take hold and grow true meaning within my heart. A spoken word section of the song:

“Tomorrow, the air will be a little colder. But I’ll be sure to breathe for the both of us.

And the nights may be a little darker. But I’ll be sure to carry the torch to warm the hearts that never got to feel yours.

I can’t hear your voice, I can’t hear your voice, but that’s okay. Cause I can feel you in my heart.”

     It slowly dawned on to me that there was no need, no pressure on me to fill shoes. I did not have to ‘live up’ to the name I was given and I should feel nothing but protection and admiration from the person who I know is watching me from beyond. The words in this song helped me brew coherency from confusion: I began to think with direction again. In life, the most positive thing I can possibly do is take the love and acceptance I’ve learned from others and pass it on to those closest to me. Carry the torch. Light the way for others who might be wrestling with themselves as well, because you are not alone. Though my uncle may not be here anymore his soul, spirit, and name will live on through my actions every day.

     When I explained this to Jake, he thanked me for sharing my story with him- a story about how the music of August Burns Red has helped me through an extremely difficult and perplexing time of my life. What I didn’t get the chance to say, in our brief conversation, was THANK YOU, Jake. Thank you, and your bandmates, for creating music that is positive and inspiring.

     Thank you all. Rest assured I’ll be seeing you all again soon. Catch me in the front row.

[Jake Luhrs and I on Van Ness Ave. (The Regency Ballroom in the background)]

*all photographs (unless mentioned otherwise) are property of the author and will be treated as such*

Where's Johnny?: Questions left over from "The Shining"

Sometimes I wonder what exactly drove me to sit down and watch “The Shining” as a young boy. Perhaps it was at the suggestion of my father, or perhaps I had come across the iconic cover- Jack Nicholson’s gristly grin peering through a cracked doorframe-somewhere in a doomed Blockbuster, in a section I probably shouldn’t have been in. Whatever the case, Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 masterpiece has remained one of my favorite films (I still make a point to watch it yearly in the fall.).  This time around, I immersed myself in the world of Jack, Wendy and Danny Torrence and their family time snowbound in the Overlook Hotel to avoid intense feelings of claustrophobia on a 4 hour flight from Chicago to San Francisco. What keeps me coming back to this movie time after time? Simple: the burning questions I am left with when the screen finally goes black. Am I being nitpicky? Probably. 

Here are just a few of the questions that I (and viewers like me) have been left to ponder since the film's release more than 35 years ago. This review contains spoilers.

1. Does Jack tell Wendy about the Hotel murders?
     

     In one of the first scenes of the movie, Jack is being interviewed for the winter caretaker position by The Overlook’s owner, Stuart Ullman. Towards the end of the interview, Ullman begrudgingly discloses to Jack “something that has been known to give people second thoughts about the job”: a former caretaker named Charles Grady brutally murdered his wife and two daughters with an ax during his stint as the hotel’s winter caretaker. Ullman speculates that it was a classic case of "cabin fever" - a reaction to the isolation induced by being snowbound in a remote location for five months. Jack is, surprisingly, unfazed by this gristly information. Similarly, he believes that his family will not be affected by this bit of history either. He claims that his wife, Wendy “a confirmed ghost story and horror film addict […] will be fascinated.” But does he ever tell his wife about the murders?
      About halfway through the film, Jack's young son Danny appears in the Colorado Lounge with torn clothing and some mysterious bruises around his neck. Wendy immediately blames her husband to his previous history of abusing their son. She takes Danny and runs off screen, while Jack hallucinates drinking at the bar in the Hotel’s Gold Room. His vision is broken when Wendy bursts in the room in a fit of desperation. She tells Jack that Danny disclosed to her that he was not assaulted by his father - but had his clothing torn by a “crazy woman” in one of the hotels rooms - which begets many questions for a nit-picker like myself.

    First off, why does Wendy immediately assume there is a living, breathing intruder in the hotel in this scene? They are, after all, alone and snowbound in the Overlook. If Wendy is truly a fan of ghost stories, it wouldn't be much of a stretch for her to assume that the hotel is haunted. However, she does not. It appears that Wendy is completely in the dark regarding the Grady family murders. If Jack had informed his wife about these gruesome events, Wendy might have begun to assume that something supernatural is taking place. At the same time, there is the possibility that Jack did tell his wife about the murders. Unfortunately, this tale may have become just another ghost story for his wife- a fiction lost in the endless sea of fables and horror movies she enjoys so much.

2. Does Jack shine?

     Throughout the movie, young Danny sees visions of things to come and things past in the hotel – a skill that Overlook chef Dick Halloran (Scatman Corothers) terms ‘shining.’ Eventually all of Danny’s visions come to fruition - everything from his father getting the caretaker job, to the iconic tsunami of blood that flows forth from a set of red doors. Because of their prophetic nature, viewers interpret Danny’s visions as valid - a true skill - as opposed to the wild imaginations of a child or a myth from a kooky old cook. Interestingly, Jack has similar visions throughout the film, many of which also come to fruition. He hallucinates a meeting with Lloyd, the bartender, and even conspires with Delbert Grady, the Overlook’s infamous former caretaker, to murder his wife and son. Jack and Danny both interact with the same “crazy woman” in room 237 (Danny’s interaction is implied-takes place off-screen.) In Jack’s interaction with this apparition, the form transforms from a beautiful blonde woman into a rotted, decayed corpse in his arms. If both Danny and Jack interact with the same crazy woman- does Jack shine, too?

     One interpretation of this conundrum is that the crazy woman from room 237 is not a shine at all. She is one of the spirits trapped timelessly in the walls of the hotel and both Jack and Danny have merely interacted with the same ghost. In this case, Jack does not have the ability to shine. Another theory that supports the idea that Jack does not have the ability to shine is that Delbert Grady, who inspires Jack to follow in his footsteps, is meant to represent the part of Jack’s mind that is succumbing to cabin fever. This subconscious spiral manifests itself in a person that Jack is familiar with - the caretaker form the ordinal ghost story. In this interpretation, Jack is only conspiring within himself to murder his family the same way that a schizophrenic might interact with voices in their own head.

     In contrast, Jack may have a very vivid shine while snoozing at his desk in the Colorado Lounge. Wendy shakes him awake from a screaming nightmare: he recants and tells her, in horror, that he had a dream in which he murdered both his wife and son, chopping them up into little pieces. Though he expresses intense terror and resentment of this vision, viewers cannot deny the similarity between this vision and the murders committed by the former Overlook caretaker. This dream could very well be a view into the past (or the future) a vision eerily similar to the way that Danny shines. The schizophrenic self-coaching hypothesis also does not explain how Jack escapes the dry storage closet after being locked in by Wendy. In the film, Delbert Grady converses with Jack through the door of the dry storage about how he has failed in his task to murder his family and complete the process. Jack convinces Grady that he will do what must be done, and the door is unlocked. Jack is free. But how? If Grady does not exist but as voice within Jack’s head, who unlocks the door?

Like father like son.

3. How did they keep young Danny Lloyd from the movie’s plotline?

     One of the most famous trivia tidbits from “The Shining”’s production is that Danny Lloyd (film: Danny Torrence) was kept uninformed about the gruesome nature of the film he was a part of throughout production. IMDB even goes so far as to state that director Stanley Kubrick was instrumental in keeping the 6 year old Lloyd distanced from the horror of the film. The question that remains for me is, how was this possible?

     On a less serious and less interpretative note than my other nitpicks, this remains a question of logistics for me. The Wikipedia Page for Danny Lloyd is even so bold as to state that "[Lloyd] was lead to believe that he was acting in a drama film about a family that lives in a hotel." Sure, Lloyd may have been kept off-screen for the particularly terrifying scenes such as Halloran’s ax-murder and Jack’s lumberjacking of the bathroom door, but there are several distinct scenes from the film that make me wonder what pretenses were put in place to dissolve the aura of a horror movie. A great example of scene in which horror themes are particuarly unavoidable is the timeless “redrum!” scene. Here, while talking backwards in a gargled demonic voice, Danny picks up a seven inch steak knife and slides his small thumb along the length of the blade. What was the justification for this? Shortly after, Wendy begs Danny to “Run, run and hide!” from his slowly approaching maniac father. In subsequent scenes, he runs away from his father who chases after him wielding a bloody ax...a drama movie about a family who lives in a hotel? These are just some of the things that make me believe that it would have been hard for the young Lloyd to not put two and two together. Is this just another production myth surrounding an already mystical film?

     Interestingly, unlike other child-stars who skyrocketed to fame and misfortune after their first roles, Danny Lloyd declined the beckon of the silver screen and turned down a career in acting. Lloyd only acted in one film after his performance in “The Shining” (Will: The Autobiography of G. Gordon Liddy [1982].) What were the reasons that the now well-known Lloyd decided to refuse fame and fortune? It becomes clearer to me when Lloyd is compared with other child stars: Macaulay Culkin ("Home Alone", "Home Alone 2") for example. At age ten, Culkin was the focal point and sole star of the Home Alone film franchise. Heck, his open-mouth gape on the original movie poster is almost as famous as Culkin himself. Lloyd, on the other hand, was playing third fiddle to Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall in “The Shining.” Perhaps not being the top-billed actor created a completely different environment for the young actor. To utilize my comparison to Culkin further, Lloyd was sheltered and removed from the plot of his film. Without sounding too harsh, one could even say that Kubrick used Lloyd for exactly what he was good for-prolonged scenes of concentration- and not much else plot-wise. Culkin in “Home Alone” would have experienced the exact opposite treatment on set. He would have been coached, trained, and immersed within his films because he was the star. In this comparison, one can see how the attention that comes with being a “star” could keep a child in the acting business, while merely being an “actor” in a film you know little about might change a young child’s perception of the occupation. Either way, last I read, Culkin was smoking 60 cigarettes a day in a London flat and Lloyd was a science teacher in the Midwest United States. Maybe declining the spotlight wasn't such a bad decision after all.

Director Stanley Kubrick (center) keeps a close watch over Lloyd on the set of "The Shining."

4. What’s next?
     I think that the question that gnaws the mind the most after finishing “The Shining”, is simple. What’s next?

     “The Shining” is filled with strange anachronisms, a literary term that Dictionary.com defines as “an error in chronology in which a person, object, event, etc., is assigned a date or period other than the correct one.” Jack Torrence and his family continually find themselves trapped in a world that mixes past, present, and future, somehow implying that all three can take place at the same time. This bone-chilling prophecy of eternity peeks its head in different points of the movie, one of the most prominent being the bathroom exchange between Delbert Grady and Jack Torrence. Skip ahead to this tense confrontation between the two at 1:27:00 for some of the finest acting you’ll ever see from Jack Nicholson.

___________________________________________________________________________
JT: Mr. Grady, you were the caretaker here. I recognize ya. I saw your picture in the newspapers. You, uh, chopped your wife and daughter up into little bits…and then you blew your brains out.

DG: That’s strange, sir. I don’t have any recollection of that at all.

JT: Mr. Grady, you were the caretaker here.

DG: I’m sorry to differ with you sir. But you are the caretaker. You’ve always been the caretaker. I should know, sir. I’ve always been here.

_____________________________________________________________________________
    

      Has Jack always been the caretaker at the Overlook? Some interpretations of the film make this possible. One device that shows this as a potential explanation comes in Jack’s choice of weapon during the finale - a fireman’s ax - the same weapon used in the fabled Grady murders. By using the same weapon to hunt down his own family, Jack is either replicating the steps that Grady took in his gristly espionage, or Jack is Grady himself, and the story is being told for the first time, again. The Overlook presents several more of these strange, anachronistic ideas throughout the film. In the finale, Wendy runs frantically through the empty hotel corridors, periodically encountering strange party guests and eventually stumbling back into the Colorado Lounge to find the once elegant room filled with cobwebs and fully dressed skeletons. If we just saw the characters in the same room, beautifully lit and decorated, how can it suddenly appear as if untouched for decades?

     The twist-ending of the film is perhaps the most perplexing of these anachronisms. If, say, the screen faded to black as Wendy and Danny growl into the distance in the Snowcat, there might be less questions to answer from a cut and dry happy ending. The family escapes with their lives, but will they readjust to a new life, sans father, back in Boulder? Will Wendy remarry? Will the cops be able to put the pieces together? Fortunately, these melodramatic questions are overshadowed by head-scratcher that is Kubrick’s twist ending. For more than 35 years viewers have been left mouths agape by the film’s final shot: a black and white photograph that shows a man who appears to be Jack Torrence amidst a crowd of party goers: July 4th, 1921. Shivers trickle down my back. Perhaps Jack has been here all along, and the gristly murders are repeated continuously as time passes. One final question remains for me, however. We learn that Grady succeeded in murdering his entire family before committing suicide. If Delbert Grady and Jack are one in the same, the prophecy has been fulfilled before. However, in the retelling of these events that is “The Shining,” Jack Torrence fails to murder his family and perishes by himself in the cold. With the prophecy left unfulfilled, does the evil at the Overlook finally rest? For me, it is interesting to note that this is far clearer in Steven King’s novel, “The Shining.” The entire hotel explodes due to a boiler malfunction, thus eliminating the hotel forever. As far as us movie-lovers are concerned, the Overlook Hotel may open again next May.

Here’s to hoping they have a good maintenance crew.