heavy metal

V.24 No.31 | 7/30/2015


The Daily Word in Postmen, Boy Scouts & Yahoo Serious

The Daily Word

Burger King is seeing a much-needed boost in sales due to the allure if its "chicken fries."

Who said it: Donald Trump or Mr. Burns?

A postman rescued an injured man who was trapped in his home for a week and a half.

The ban on gay adult leaders will be lifted by the Boy Scouts.

After being in a coma for 6 months, Bobbi Kristina Brown has died.

Fingers Bloody Fingers.

Over the weekend, President Obama did some serious rug-cutting in Kenya.

The cover of New York Magazines features a photo of all 35 of Bill Cosby's accusers.

Yahoo Serious turns 62 today!

Thanks to Geoff Plant for the Black Sabbath link!

V.24 No.29 | 07/16/2015
The Melvins
Mat Hayward


Mainlining the Melvins

Step by step, I wonder into Launchpad (618 Central SW), each foot coming closer and closer to what seems to be a natural unison. I'm late as usual, but the wave of approaching sound sends my brain into an anticipatory flutter. The clamorous BOOM of drums begin to flow into the veins of the ground, straight through my arteries and directly into my heart like I'm mainlining each crash and thump as burning metal into my veins. As the last foot reaches it's destination, I realize exactly what I've stumbled into. It takes a moment, an isolated, but rewarding moment, to realize I'm in a pit of sonic obliteration.

As I look towards the stage, I see three figures, covered from head to toe in scarlet – almost silhouettes – taking the idea of sound to an increasingly devastating level. An explosion is occurring, right before my very eyes, in the form of a human named Terri Gender-Bender. She sways and screams, she strums her guitar like an accelerating hot rod burning off the flesh of god; she rocks! Along with Terri, Jamie Aaron Aux handles bass and Chris Common plays the sticks. It's a finale, a consequence of my tardiness, but it's all I needed to hear, to understand. It's an aural bomb and I'm riding each sonic boom with full cooperation, all the way into the apocalypse.

The band quakes in unison to a litany of head bangs and devil horns, offering sacrifice like appeasement for the immensity before them.

As the last note bends itself into forced cooperation and the feedback of the amps release all the demons everyone was holding in that night, Le Butcherettes finish their set and receive a loud cheer from the crowd. I watch them walk away into the dimly lit background of the alley. I stand in absolute amazement of what I just heard. It's hard to believe that great rock n roll, in it's true trail-blazing form, still exists on planet earth. But I witnessed it first hand, in the form of Le Butcherettes.

The noise dies down and I hit the wall like gravity intends me to. Observing the crowd, I feel a certain camaraderie. The show attracts a variety of black-haired lion manes and sweat soaked battle jackets with scars of experience you couldn't count on one hand. But no matter what the musical affiliation or statement of fashion, we are all there for the same reason. A reason that binds our brains and hearts into motion, anticipating the unadulterated and refined crunch of what is to come. As I begin to delve into the analytic recesses of my mind, I hear the music halt, and a cough-like noise begins to fill the building. It's a sound loop, a repeating exertion of human reflex, as if clearing a palette. I recognize it as the cough from Black Sabbath's “Sweet Leaf” – the song begins to play as I see a robed man take the stage.

Two more men, with sticks and bass, take their rightful places on stage. What appears to be the eye of Horus – patterned into gold on the robed mans black cloak – stares into the crowd, as if to observe the worthy and destroy the undeserving. Aleister Crowley comes to mind, a powerful charisma surrounds the stage. Then a sound, distant at first, grows into a overwhelming cloud of distorted catastrophe. The deep CRUNCH of the first chord sprays black all over my red veins and I know exactly where I am. I know exactly what this is. This is the FUCKING MELVINS!

Buzz Osbourne displays a concentrated focus, Dale Crover begins his smash into oblivion one ball- blasting beat at a time. Jeff Pinkus raises his shivering metal bass into the air, guiding the increasingly kinetic headbanging in the crowd. The crowd thickens near the stage, and and the transformation process begins. First it's a few, then more and finally many begin to scream, sweat and convulse in awkward and intense unison. We continue, forming a sludge as we come together in our love for the brutalization of eardrums and bodies. The sludge grows thicker and thicker, and from each chord comes a melting wave of music that forces our nervous systems to disconnect from our heads – shaking those motherfucking skulls like we're trying to rattle a pick out from the body of an acoustic guitar.

My feet shake and my head bangs. They don't stop for one blinding moment, not even when Buzz Osbourne breaks the sonic wall for a cover of the Butthole Surfers “Moving to Florida.” As Osbourne shouts “And I'm gonna build me the Atomic...” we all scream “BOMB!” in anticipation. He waits, and whispers “bomb”, breaking back into the bass-blasting segments of the song, and demonstrating a masterful understanding of the music surrounding him.

Osbourne shreds, Crover blasts, Pinkus pounds and the show winds down to the last song. Jumping from the shadows like the blast of a supernova, Terri-Gender-Bender enters, immediately breaking into what seems to be an interpretative dance to summon the spirits of punk and metal. She aids the Melvins in building the climax of the show. With one last blast of soul and energy, the show ends with Osbourne saluting the crowd like the commander in-chief of sonic crunch.

They all leave their instruments on, generating deafening feedback to drop us all down from the musical high that had been keeping us up for hours. Dale Crover is the last to leave. Like the proverbial bridesmaid catching the bouquet on her best friend's wedding day, I jump into the air to catch the drumstick he throws to the crowd.

I didn't catch it and fumbled with it as it flew to the ground. But I fought for it and came out victorious with a new souvenir of one of the best shows I've been to in a really, really long time. As the band leaves and the crowd dissipates, I walk straight towards to the door, drumstick clutched in hand.

I stroll to the parking lot, attempting to regain my serious loss of hearing, I reflect on the show. So many other people have seen this band, and they have played a myriad of cities and venues. But I now have my own triumphal moment. In the back of my mind, I know – with the utmost pride and certainty – that even if it's just a fragment of the bands long prolific history, I got rocked the fuck out by the Melvins.

V.21 No.39 |


The Daily Word in sound barrier breakage, cop texts and heavy metal India

The Daily Word

On Monday, "Fearless Felix" will jump out of a balloon over New Mexico, and try to fall faster than the speed of sound.

Pre-debate fact checking …

… and what will be left out.

Amorous APD officer pulls teen girl over, gets her number and starts texting.

Are you qualified to be a U.S. citizen?

Arizona Gov. Jan Brewer calls for "righteous anger" over border agent's death.

Todd "Legitimate Rape" Akin has a "dystopian nightmare vision."

L.A City Council banned medical marijuana dispensaries, then didn't.

Arrest of "Innocence of Muslims" douchebag raises questions about free speech.

Mexicans heart Morrissey por vida, and vice versa.

"Tommy never seems to complain, although sometimes he bites Mrs. Bullis."

Heavy metal idolatry in India is often preceded by an engineering degree.

Gadget flashback.

Neo-Nico's deadpan drones.

V.21 No.24 | 6/14/2012
The Scorpions rock you like a geriatric hurricane
Julia Minamata juliaminamata.com

Aural Fixation

The Final Sting

Germany’s foremost rock export performs one last high kick

For more than 40 years, Scorpions' career has spanned a vast breadth over rockin' rock’s subgenres. The band pioneered or played deftly through proto-metal, ’70s anthem rock, regrettable ’80s hair metal and the urgent whisper that is the power ballad. Now, after taking other bands to school for decades, the Scorpions makes one last pass across the world before calling it quits. The “Final Sting Tour” will be filling face holes in Albuquerque on Thursday at the Hard Rock Pavilion.
V.21 No.23 | 6/7/2012
Sean Desmond

Song Roulette

Mike Giant is a visionary tattoo and graffiti artist who, although born in Upstate New York, grew up in Albuquerque. On Sunday, June 10, the San Francisco-based Giant makes an appearance in Downtown Albuquerque at the Blackbird Buvette (509 Central NW). He’s presenting a tea party for his zine, “The Skullz Press.” There will be art for sale, giveaways from his apparel and skateboard company, Rebel8, and ambience provided by Austin-based DJ Daze. The free, 21-and-over party happens from 3 to 7 p.m.

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V.20 No.25 | 6/23/2011

[click to enlarge]

Flyer on the Wall

Alchemusical Emissions

Using pointillism and evil typeface, the artist’s handiwork indicates a show on Saturday, June 25, at the Small Engine Gallery (1413 Fourth Street SW). Metally bands Gnossurrus and Leeches of Lore (along with an opening acoustic performance Dan Gottwald, who will be playing handmade instruments) begin all-ages festivities at 9 p.m. (Jessica Cassyle Carr)

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V.20 No.12 | 3/24/2011

Music to Your Ears

Destroyed Tones

Tenderizor—purveyor of epic heavy metal and subsequent rainbows in the dark—is something of an Albuquerque supergroup. Its five members include Steve Hammond (Leeches of Lore), Raven Chacon (Death Convention Singers, Black Guys, KILT), brothers Mike and Pat Day (Fando, Old Man) and Kris Kerby (Sabertooth Cavity). This week, Tenderizor releases its first record, Touch The Sword, out on Chacon’s label Sicksicksick Distro.
V.19 No.44 | 11/4/2010
“War Pig” by Malachai Mahboub
John Bear

Gallery Review

Art Gets Creepy

I can finally quench my thirst for bloodthirsty humanoid war pigs. Awesome.

Jessica DuVerneay has a definite idea of what Cellar Door Gifts & Gallery should and should not be.

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