For my money, the can't-miss show at Debacle Fest this year is the matinee at Highline on Saturday (show starts at 3 pm), with an aurally lethal lineup including Seattle noise/math duo MTNS and deranged Los Angelenos Sissy Spacek.

Check out Spacek's album Contretemps on their Bandcamp page. The whole thing is less than five minutes, so it's not too much of a commitment—what else can decimate your sense of self and general well-being in that amount of time? I haven't seen them but judging by their records I'm expecting confrontational, batshit-levels of insanity from their live show. One can hope.

And if you've never experienced the spectacle that is MTNS, you are in for a sweaty, chaotic treat. For those who have, I suggest placing bets: How long will it take for drummer Dan Enders to strip down to his underpants? How many amps will be blown by the end of the set? Will anyone make it out alive?

Yes, I'm aware that this Saturday will likely be the sunniest we've seen all year, but I nevertheless suggest spending the afternoon in Seattle's finest vegan dive bar, getting down to some seriously unhinged tunes.

“I want to see all of you go ape shit,” an apparently sober (or you know.. somewhat) Phil Anselmo declared from the stage Tuesday night at the Showbox. The former Pantera vocalist and current label-head, boxing “journalist,” and front man of soulful Southern sludge super group Down sure had his share of die-hards in the crowd – most notably a round 50-something dude with a burly facebeard who, during the openers, kept yelling “Come on Phil!” and “ Show ‘em what’s up Phil!” The band handled knew their audience well, churning out a set heavy in NOLA material, their first record and landslide fan favorite. Onstage, Eyehategod drummer Jimmy Bower locked the band into a solid stoney groove as he sat behind the drum set, complimented by the sheer crunchiness of guitarists Pepper Keenan (Corrosion of Conformity) and Kirk Windstein (Crowbar).

With all this in mind, I gotta say, you know it’s a heavy week when you saw Down and they weren’t the heaviest band you saw. No, that title goes to French eardrum-crushers Gojira and the ridiculously loud yet precise set they played last Sunday at Studio Seven. There’s a reason why this band sells out shows wherever they travel. Ball-bustingly heavy.

Assuming you’ve already decided what your plans are for the weekend, I’m going to suggest a couple shows for those who wish to extend the rage by one more evening. On Monday night, the ghosts of Northwest’s past will haunt the Highline as Devotion brings their uniquely throwback Soundgarden-gone-hardcore sound to Capitol Hill. Tacoma band Shore is opening. If you’re into Quicksand, Jawbox and y’know that whole alternative post-hardcore 90’s thing, make sure you show up early for Shore. Why not? It’s fuckin' free, man.

That same night, across town at the 2 Bit Saloon, you can get your fill of cheap bear and evilness with their weekly “Metal Monday” event where, this week, blackened thrashers Thou Shall Kill will be headlining. Expect nothing less than full-on leather, spikes, chain mail and fake blood. Pretty on point for a Monday night if you ask me.

Canadian duo the Pack A.D. are on Mint Records, the label most famous for birthing the genre of cuddle-core (Cub, Bunny Grunt), but their music seems more like it'd beat you up before it would cuddle you. While the drummer Maya Miller and guitarist/vocalist Becky Black are are often compared to Detroit garage rock (their fourth album was even produced by Jim Diamond, who worked on The Dirtbombs and White Stripes albums), but a few of their songs also reminded me a little bit of the psych-pop-rock of The Mallard.

The Pack A.D. play at the Crocodile with Hobosexual this Sunday, and I got the hot tip from Emily Nokes about how you can always tell a lot about a band based on how they act in their Nardwuar interview:

• KEN Mode raging harder than you.

“You only live once, so just go fucking nuts.”

No, it wasn’t Drake, the crowned Prince of YOLO who penned those words. It was one Mitch Lucker, vocalist of SOCAL deathcore-heartthrobs Suicide Silence. Lucker died last night after a tragic motorcycle accident. The 28-year-old vocalist spent the better part of the past decade building a dedicated legion of fans for his band, and even though they were never really my thing, the sheer amount of Suicide Silence rip-offs that have plagued the metal scene in recent years is a true testament to how influential they became. Rest In Power, Mitch, you fell long before your time.

Whenever a big name in metal dies, it gets me thinking about that eternal question. If the fairy tales are true, and there really is such thing as hell, wouldn’t that be the ultimate venue to see a killer metal show? Imagine watching Cliff Burton tear it up alongside Chuck Schuldiner (Death), Pete Steele (Type O Negative) and Vitek (Decapitated) with mile-high flames surrounding them as your fellow sinners get fucked by Satan’s throbbing red cock. Now that’s fucking metal.

As I sit here typing this out, I’m smearing small bits of smudged Halloween makeup onto my laptop’s keyboard. I tried and tried to get all this grease paint residue off my face, but it’s obvious it will take some time for all the layers I caked on to wear off. No, I wasn’t a Norwegian black-metaller or a juggalo, I was just a straight-up classic skeleton, Cobra Kai style. Whenever Halloween falls on a weekday, I’ve usually been to about 3 or 4 Halloween parties and dressed up enough times to be completely over it, so it’s a surprise to me I even put in that much effort.

Continue reading »