VIVA BLASFEMIA!- My trip to the City that Never Sleeps
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| -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.
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| [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.
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| [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.
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| [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.
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| [Some deep concentration displayed by the Behemoth frontman.] |
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| [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.
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| [Nergal meditates mid-stage] |
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| [Orion in full costume for "O Father, O Satan, O Sun!"] |
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!
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| [Behemoth confronts the audience during their final encore.]
*all photographs (unless mentioned otherwise) are property of the author and will be treated as such*
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