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My Top Five Most Memorable Concerts

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At this point, it's fair to say I've been to a lot of concerts. After recently watching the Wetlands Preserved documentary and finding it difficult to recall a specific highlight from the blur of shows I attended at the eponymous club, I challenged myself to come up with the top five favorite concerts of my youth without reference or research, completely biased by the transcendent experiences I had. (In fairness, too, the hazy Wetlands memories could've have had something to the club's liberal smoking policy.)

Nine Inch Nails @ Webster Hall, 5/13/94
My initial impression of this show was seeing the generator they used to power it parked in the middle of E11th Street. How loud was this going to get? Once perched in the balcony, the intense experience played out more like movie scene about a concert than a real gig. Violently running through material from Pretty Hate Machine, Broken and the freshly released Downward Spiral, Nine Inch Nails was in its raw prime. Dancers writhed on poles, a barrage of strobe lights created trippy illusions, and the balcony shook so hard that I feared it would give out. On Friday the 13th. Trent Reznor was never quite so fuckable ever again.


[Bonus: "The Only Time"]

Jane's Addiction @ Madison Square Garden, 4/24/91
To this day, I don't think any band has ever made a room as big as MSG seem so warm and intimate. Still at the height of their Ritual de lo Habitual popularity, the forefathers of alternative rock recreated the theme of the album—including a huge mural depicting the cover—through a red-hued stage set resplendent with stringed lights and carpets. That freed up the band to dive head-first into a set comprised of "Stop!" "Jane Says" and "Ocean Size" while connecting with the audience in a wholly organic way. Singing along with the majority of the crowd for the entirety of "Three Days" was epic, as was their steel tub drum circle interlude (really!). Good practice for the inaugural Lollapalooza festival a few months later.



Testament & White Zombie @ The Ritz, 8/1/92
Still very much a teenager, this was the first show at which I rode the crowd—during "Alone in the Dark," no less. Surfing through the pit produced an unforgettable sensation of momentary weightlessness, almost as if I was being guided by the song's sinuous Egyptian guitar scales. Coddled during the pre-Limp Bizkit era, male concertgoers hadn't yet started taking it as an opportunity to molest women en masse. And White Zombie were still a local band.



The Ramones @ Roseland Ballroom, 11/10/92
I'd never experienced a concert by a band with such universal appeal before this. Though it was incredible to see the Ramones play a rapid fire greatest-hits set (and if I recall correctly, "Spider-Man"), the people watching was nearly as stunning. The local stalwarts had an innate ability to pull a wide cross-section of NYC's populace out of the woodwork to see them play. Alongside me were skinheads, punk rockers, metalheads in Manowar back patches, pals from junior high school, various freaks, a former camp counselor, supermodels, and 60+ year old women with fur coats over their shoulders. If you wanted to bump into anyone from your past, a Ramones show would have been your best bet. Nowadays, it's Motorhead.



Slayer @ Anytime, Any town, Anyplace
Slayer is up there with sex and pizza—even when things are a little bit off, they're still pretty good. But if I had to choose, I'd say their most momentous shows were on their Undisputed Attitude run. Slayer had a two-night stint at Irving Plaza in early August 1996 and because they were pimping their superb covers record, they padded several cuts into their sets, including Verbal Abuse's "I Hate You," T.S.O.L's "Abolish Government" and Minor Threat's "Guilty of Being White." Leaving the show, sweaty and bruised, my friend and devoted punk rocker Louhawk turned to me and reveled, "Dude, we just saw Slayer play Minor Threat." The bewildered and consummate look on his face said it all.



[Bonus: "Filler"]

PS: This meme is truth.

A Message From Cliff Burton's Dad

Too sweet not to share. I'm sure all parents who had the misfortune of burying their child would want their memories to live on, internationally revered, immortal in their convictions and talent.

This one's for you, Cliff. Can't believe it's been a quarter of a century since your passing.

Some Things I Take Seriously... Like Opeth

On Monday, I had no plans to see Opeth and Katatonia over their two-night stint at Webster Hall. But the latter's publicist made me an offer I couldn't refuse... so there I was, interviewing Katatonia for HighTimes.com backstage during the headliner's set when one of my most beloved songs, "Face of Melinda," began.

In my head, I kept thinking, 'It's OK, you've seen them do it live before.' But in reality, it wasn't. So I thank Brian Rocha for trying to hook me up with the second show so I could hear it. Below is our text message exchange. And thanks to Opeth and Katatonia for both putting on such compelling performances. Someone needs to make a best-of reel of Mikael Akerfeldt's hilarious between-song banter.

Slayer Post of the Week

It still blows my mind that a week ago today, I witnessed Slayer live at Yankee Stadium. It's been a few years since they toured through medium-sized venues, and I'm not a huge fan of arenas. Yankee Stadium, though? That was history in the making. And though everyone is surely sick of Big Four coverage, I just couldn't help posting this drum-cam view video. Look at all those metalheads!

BTW: Dave Lombardo is the only member of the band I choose to be Facebook friends with.

RIP Emo's Outside... The Beginning of the End

The Melvins @ Emo's Outside, 11/17/06. Photo by Mikey Brick

Even though it's roughly 1,500 miles away from New York City, Austin's Emo's club has always felt like a second home. Located on Sixth Street and Red River, the music venue has been the linchpin of the downtown scene since 1992, with a large outdoor space (replete with smoke-friendly bleachers) connected to a smaller indoor club via spacious outdoor drinking area, known for its diverse nightly bookings and psychedelic pop art decor. Everyone important—and not so important—has played Emo's. I've forgotten seeing more bands there than I can probably remember, but one particularly epic Melvins show a few years back serves as my favorite.

And now, after catching dozens of shows there, hosting several HIGH TIMES parties, drinking countless Shiners, and two bartender make-out buddies, Emo's on Red River is slowly closing down. This past Saturday, a show by Death From Above 1979 marked the outside stage's last concert. Though the inside space will remain open a little while longer, it too will shut down and the Emo's operation will relocate to Emo's East on East Riverside Drive, which I'm told is the same space once occupied by the Back Room (true story - I once saw Yngwie Malmsteen play there during SxSW).

Downtown won't be the same. I'm bummed, y'all.

The Big Four... and Hating on Metallica

I probably talked shit about Metallica for a full week before the Big Four concert at Yankee Stadium, even though I'd long secured a good seat for the show. And damn it, I felt entitled to. No band—not even U2—have managed to pull such an incredible 180-degree about-face in their values and ethos.

Believe me, I fully affirm Metallica's capitalist right to go modern-day DIY and fly their own G5 plane around. But I don't support the notion that when they tour Europe, they camp out at the Four Seasons in Paris and fly back there every night from around the continent. Just imagine their carbon footprint. And how silly it is that a band that once abhorred music videos now sells "All Nightmare Long" light switch plates on their website?

It all started so innocently. In my early 'tween days, Metallica were my stars, my moon, my galaxy. I first became aware of them in an issue of Hit Parader, thinking these guys must've been really good to be that ugly yet manage to take editorial pages away from Motley Crue and Poison. I sought out their back catalog, and it was love from there on out—until I discovered punk rock as a high school junior. Then sometime between their suddenly suspicious appeal to local guidos via the Black Album and their attack on Napster, I opted out completely.

Did my initiation make me inherently hate their latter day work? Absolutely not. Metallica and I both aged and evolved, albeit in different directions. And that's within both of our rights. I've often thought about the fact that Jesus Lizard's Goat came out the same year as the Black Album, and how different my musical preferences could have been had I discovered them in 1991. That said, I salute Metallica's 30-year longevity and worldwide success.

And then I made my way to the Bronx. The near seven-hour concert began at 4:00pm, and the wraparound lines to get in foretold my company for the day, 54,000+ BMI-challenged metal fans wearing a nearly split amount of Metallica and Slayer T-shirts. The first of the Big Four, Anthrax, were already onstage and despite having the home team advantage, churned out a sonically flaccid performance to a quarter-packed stadium that included oldies like "Metal Thrashing Mad," "I Am The Law" and "Indians," with its irresistible "Waaaaar Dance" breakdown. I never thought I'd miss John Bush so much.

Next up were Megadeth. In the days prior to the show, rumors percolated that there was a chance they wouldn't play given leader Dave Mustaine's neck injury. Soon related stories emerged, from Exodus booking flights as replacements (I would've preferred Testament) to having ambulances on standby to escort the cantankerous ginger straight to the hospital for surgery immediately following their set. Mustaine ultimately pulled through and performed a nearly triumphant set, at times looking visibly in pain. Though some complained about their set list—not enough off of Peace Sells... But Who's Buying, too much newer material—I thoroughly enjoyed Megadeth. They were technical, precise and riveting when playing "Holy Wars," "Hangar 18," "Peace Sells" and "Symphony of Destruction." Even with his health on the line, Mustaine still managed to make a few political statements. To that end, playing "Foreclosure of a Dream" instead of "A Tout Le Monde" would have been more apt. Get well soon, Dave. Sorry for all the schadenfreude.

As dusk set in, Slayer finally emerged and then came the moment I'd been waiting for: to hear the "Slayer!" chant echoing throughout Yankee Stadium by the thick crowd and all the sweet subversion it brought. By far, Slayer were the loudest, the best sounding and the most relentless act of the day. Even the New York Times couldn't front on the fact that they blew Metallica off the stage. Bathed in red lights, their hour-long performance was a well-concocted greatest hit selection that plowed through "Chemical Warfare," "Dead Skin Mask," "Mandatory Suicide," "Disciple," "Silent Scream" and my beloved "War Ensemble." Not even the absence of guitarist Jeff Hanneman (Exodus' Gary Holt subbed and did a fantastic job) deterred from their laser focus. No bullshit, all pounding metal. I headbanged. To quote a first time witness: "I was waiting for Satan himself to show up."

It was nearly time for Metallica. Surveying the packed house before their set gave me a proud feeling, reminiscent of my very first concert—the Headbanger's Ball Tour '89 at Madison Square Garden's Felt Forum, featuring Helloween, Exodus and Anthrax—and how it awed me to be surrounded by so many like-minded people who understood all the ostracizing and prejudice that came along with having "different" musical tastes and wearing black T-shirts emblazed with skulls.

Despite the nostalgia, I wondered how many songs I'd manage to last through. Four? Less? The majesty of Metallica opening with "Creeping Death," followed by "For Whom the Bell Tolls" and "Ride the Lightning," could not be denied. But during "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)" something happened. I found myself disconnected and unmoved, associating the song with its ominous presence in the Paradise Lost documentary, rather than the track on Master of Puppets that exposed the band's fervid side and completely drew me in. And quite frankly, after seeing Some Kind of Monster, it was difficult to ignore the connection between psycho-speak and James Hetfield's whole "Do you feel good? We want to make you feel better!" banter. That was the moment it crystallized that any emotional connection to the Metallica "tribe" I once had was gone forever.

Though I'm glad I caught the second-ever live performance of "Orion" on my way out (I hope y'all have realized that Robert Trujillo is by FAR the coolest dude in the band these days), it disappointed me to learn that the last two songs of Metallica's main set—the marquee, signature songs they saved for last—were "Nothing Else Matters" and "Enter Sandman." [And seriously, did "Blackened" need the accompanying laser show? The fucking song is called "BLACKENED."] Still, considering I stayed for 10 whole songs, I'd like to think I gave them a chance to recapture my attention and faith, but it's clear they belong to the masses now. So I dub thee unforgiven.