And so I did, to the Engine Room to see High On Fire tonight. I missed all the other bands, but who cared? Not I, for there are few other modern acts who can compare to the triune metal juggernaut that is Joe Preston, Des Kensel, and Matt Pike. Dave went with me, 'cause I'd talked to Matt Pike on Monday and he added Y.T. plus one to the guest list, and Dave had a good enough time to purchase a High On Fire shirt of his own. I'd forgotten that he'd actually gone to see 'em with me a couple years ago or so, when I first gave Matt Pike a copy of Axis Mundi Sum and, amazingly, earned his respect for the writing therein. It's pretty much because of AMS that Matt has remembered who I am and has, ever since he read and enjoyed the book, put me on the guest list and had a couple drinks with me whenever High On Fire is in town. I had a good time shooting the shit and shooting Jack Daniels with Matt, who made me feel kinda bad for not having published anything since AMS, but fuck, that was minimal.
Enough of the groupie shit. HOF is a band that's sounded fucking killer every one of the five or six times I've seen 'em, even in places with notoriously shitty sound like the Engine Room (vide my previous comments about the Nile show a couple weeks ago). Why is this? I don't know for sure, but I attribute it to the simple fact that High On Fire fucking KILL. Green Matamps, a stripped-down drum kit beaten like an unruly Roman slave, Pike's possessed axework, Joe Preston's way-too-impressive-for-a-dude-who-plays-with-a-pick bass guitar... holy mother of fuck, man, those three know what they're doing, and they just fuckin' do it. I missed half the show for the hair flailing in front of my face, and I ain't talkin' about some stranger's.
Shit, what a solid night. I walked away happy, then went back when Dave discovered that his new shirt was missing (we actually recovered it in the parking lot, amazingly), then stuffed myself on Ruchi's, and now I'm stretched out on the ol' bed, grinning like a Cheshire cat with horns. I wish y'all could've been there, but I did manage to snag a singular piece of memorabilia for the Mick, 'cause I said I'd try, and by Christ, I did... courtesy of my acquaintance with Matt Pike.
Really, y'all, you need to trust me when I say shit's good. I know some of you do, but not enough. So be it; not all can answer the battle-cry of "COMETH DOWN HESSIAN!"
P.S. Pardon the awful structure and/or syntax of this entry. I'm just drunk, tired, and excited enough not to worry about how well I come across in expressing my thorough happiness with the evening. Again, I really wish y'all could have been there. Why the hell weren't you?
No comments:
Post a Comment