New Year’s Eve with Clutch, C.O.C. and Earthride — sometimes life just provides you with easy choices. I mean, really, there was no way in hell I was going to miss this show. The Patient Mrs. and I packed into the car early to get down to Philly well in advance of doors at the Trocadero, where just a couple months ago, I saw Kyuss lay waste to an eager crowd. I expect a lot of the same heads came out for Clutch, and who could blame them?

The thing about this show was that apparently the venue was giving everyone a ration of shit the whole night. From barring entry to those who had, say, recently ingested Robitussin in a recreational capacity, to a long drama involving my photo pass, to putting Earthride on before the listed start-time for the show, it was kind of a rough night, and there was a bit of tension. For my part, I stood on line waiting to get in while some couple cut in front of me and took an obscene amount of time to get their passes while Earthride played the first four songs of their total six (maybe seven) songs, which I watched through the open doorway.

Everyone’s gear backlined behind them, they were pressed to the front of the stage in a single line. Left to right it was Dave Sherman on vocals, guitarist Kyle Van Steinberg, drummer Eric Little and bassist Josh Hart, and I got inside in the middle of their playing “Earthride,” which was killer as always, although I’m legally required to note that the best gig I’ve ever seen them play was at Tommy Southard‘s wedding at Asbury Lanes in October. Still, they gave a proud showing of the Maryland underground, which they’re quickly coming to embody in everything they do.

Although I’ve only noted three of them, there were actually four bands on the bill. Kyng played after Earthride, and as I was busy trying to acquire a pass to shoot C.O.C. and Clutch — which, really, was why I drove the two hours to Philadelphia to the show — I missed them completely. My interest was minimal in the first place, but between pouting and calling in favors, I was otherwise occupied. Maybe some other time, or maybe not. I was just happy that by the time C.O.C. got going it all had worked out.

It was my first time seeing the trio lineup of Corrosion of Conformity. I’d previously sworn off going to see them on account of the lack of Pepper Keenan, but the three of them killed it. Given all the genre-melding that’s gone on since they released Animosity in 1985, it’s amazing how vibrant that material still sounds in its blend of thrash and hardcore punk, and bassist/vocalist Mike Dean, guitarist Woody Weatherman and drummer/vocalist Reed Mullin gave that material its due, staying honest in their portrayal of all sides of their sound, from Slayer to Black Flag to Sabbath, all within the span of a song. Dean and Mullin were notably tight, and Weatherman beat the living hell out of an already beaten guitar, and I almost immediately regretted not seeing them sooner.

The material was a decent mix of new and old. Animosity featured heavily, obviously, and they teased a “Hand of Doom” cover without following through (god damn it). From the forthcoming self-titled album, I’d been hoping for “Psychic Vampires,” but they broke out “Your Tomorrow” and “The Moneychangers” instead, which fit in well alongside some of the classics. Weatherman played through two Orange cabinets, and his tone was thick perhaps to the sacrifice of some of the precision in the faster parts, but sounded just right for “Vote with a Bullet” and “Deliverance,” which was a pleasant surprise and probably their biggest crowd reaction. Dean took the lead vocal and was backed by Mullin and Weatherman for the chorus, which had all the power of their punkier songs and the mid-paced groove that typified the Keenan era of the band.

C.O.C. closed with the title-track from 1987′s Technocracy EP, which was as suitable a finish as one could ask and possibly the tightest song they played. There was a long break while Clutch‘s gear was fired up and checked, and as I was driving, not drinking, I basically just stayed up front and waited for the band to start, which they did at 11:20. I didn’t know what the deal was with how they were going to handle midnight, whether they’d do a countdown or just say Happy New Year at the time or rock right through it or what, but I was willing to trust they had it all figured out. Clutch being introduced as they had been last time I saw them in Flint, Michigan (review here), by Chuck Brown‘s “We Need Some Money,” it was apparent right from the start that the crowd was ready to party. They hadn’t even started to play yet and people were singing along and dancing.

For my part, I stayed up front even after I was done taking pictures. They opened with “The Mob Goes Wild” — appropriate given the chaos ensuing — and were under way with no time to warm up, no time to get going, no build of momentum. Clutch came out, and Clutch kicked it. Hard and right in the ass with a yeti-sized boot. I was waiting for the new song “Newt Gingrich,” the wolfman-centric chorus of which had been stuck in my head for a few days thanks to a hefty dose of YouTube-ing, and when it finally arrived, it was tighter and clearer than it had been in Michigan. It was also one of two new inclusions in the set, and though the other — reportedly-titled “Pig Town Blues” — was harder to get a grasp on, it was also pretty straight-ahead rocking, and a good complement to the bluesy flow of “Newt Gingrich,” which is more typical of latter-day Clutch and in the vein of 2009′s Strange Cousins From the West, the rhythm of its chorus being quintessential Neil Fallon post-Elephant Riders.

“Pure Rock Fury” was a highlight and something I’d been hoping for. The night prior, at Starland Ballroom in Jersey, they’d unleashed “A Shogun Named Marcus,” “Spacegrass” and “50,000 Unstoppable Watts,” but Philly had its share of specialties as well. Fallon seemed to be in charge of the setlist, calling out changes to bassist Dan Maines, drummer Jean-Paul Gaster and guitarist Tim Sult as they went along, switching the order in what was apparently an effort to line up midnight with a lengthy jam. While dueling with Gaster on cowbell, Fallon called out the countdown to 2012; four minutes, then three, then two, then one, then 30 seconds, 10, nine, eight and so on until it was “Happy New Year everybody!” and the band kicked almost instantly into “Animal Farm,” which, though it’s grown somewhat slower with age, lacked nothing for righteousness of groove.

I was glad to catch “Subtle Hustle” and “Mice and Gods” again, and “Freakonomics,” a fully-electrified version of “Regulator” (Fallon had some technical problems with his guitar, but once they got going it sounded great) and “Electric Worry” into “One Eye Dollar,” which finished the regular set at about 1AM. They came back out after a long break for what I had assumed because I saw it on the written setlist next to Gaster would just be “Big News I & II” but turned out to be that transitioning into “The Soapmakers” and then “Cypress Grove” and finally “Burning Beard” (someone please tell me if I’ve got that order wrong). By then, I’d been thoroughly rocked, and the decision to include not one but two drum solos in the encore was bold, to say the least, but though when it was over my feet would barely hold me up, I was glad as hell to have been able to see the show.

Dan Maines‘ tone had been particularly warm, Fallon was on as always, Tim Sult laid it down smooth and classy, and Gaster has more personality in his sticks than most drummers do in their whole kit, but it was time to split out. They finished and the crowd dispersed, leaving behind a disgusting, alcohol-covered floor, some discarded cups, and merch dollars. The Patient Mrs. and I walked the couple blocks back to the car and, at 1:35AM — set about the two-hour trip back north. Were I going to do it again, and I can only assume that at some point I will, I’d probably get a hotel room reserved ahead of time, but if 2012 had to start with me sleeping till noon on Jan. 1, it was well worth the tradeoff.

More pics after the jump.

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I woke up at the hotel in Philadelphia yesterday late, after a disturbing dream of a sexual nature and saw, in the angled mirrors of the bathroom, the burgeoning bald spot on the back of my head for the first time. That was a bit of a bummer, but the day picked up from there. I was ridiculously, laughably exhausted after night one of the Small Stone showcase at The M-Room, but with one more night to go, it wasn’t quite time to punch/crash out yet.

Taking the bus down for the day, The Patient Mrs. met me in town (this weekend is our wedding anniversary) and we loafed around for a bit before eventually settling in to do some work, and then eventually I dropped her off at the 30th St. Station, so she could head back north and I could run over to the venue for the start of the show. I’ll confess that despite having seen the Brian Mercer poster above on more than one occasion, I didn’t even remember who was first on the bill, so when I walked in, it was a bit of a surprise to hear Ironweed playing.

We’ll begin with that:

Ironweed: Of all the acts on the Small Stone roster, they’re probably the one I’m the least a fan of, but I’ll hand it to the Upstate New Yorker double-guitar four-piece anyway and say they were tight as hell. Their stuff is just on the other side of commercially accessible from what I really get down with, but they do it well, and though I haven’t listened to their Your World of Tomorrow album since I reviewed it back in April, I still recognized some of the songs from it. That alone should say something about the strength of their songwriting, wherever how they use it might lie on the spectrum of my personal taste.

The Might Could: Don’t even like Pantera anymore. Despite not being able to stand too close to the stage on account of the formidable body odor emitting therefrom, The Might Could were loud enough that I could’ve probably sat on the on-ramp to I-95 a few miles down the road and still heard them. Both guitarists/vocalists Erik Larson and TJ Childers played through full  stacks, and though I think going on earlier didn’t necessarily suit the band’s performance — bassist Rob Gouldman (ex-Lord) mentioned from the stage several times they wanted drink tickets — they killed. There should’ve been more people there to see it, but the songs, the tones, the mix of Southern, stoner and sludge made The Might Could‘s set stand out. They were loose and clearly wanted to be that way, but sounded even fuller live than they did on their self-titled, and Ryan Wolfe started off a string of insanely good drumming that lasted the rest of the night.

Throttlerod: Kevin White continued that string that Ryan Wolfe started, and added a more technical sense to it, some theory to go with the speed. There were different styles throughout the evening, and with people doing different things musically, it’s hard to say who was the best, but White was up there, whatever metric you might want to use. Aside from rocking, Throttlerod‘s set was fascinating because of the noisy course the band’s sound has taken over their last couple records, Nail (2006) and Pig Charmer (2009). Seeing northerners take on a Southern aesthetic is nothing new, but the Virginian three-piece — which as of Pig Charmer featured Brooklyn-based bassist Andrew Schneider, also engineer and co-founder of Coextinction Recordings, who was absent — have gone the opposite route, adopting a start-stop crunch that’s straight out of the classic Amphetamine Reptile playbook. With guitarist/vocalist Matt Whitehead adding melody vocally, it’s a distinctive mix.

Gozu: Their spot on the bill was a clear indication that Scott Hamilton, owner of Small Stone Records, wanted to feature them to the crowd. Otherwise, Throttlerod has been around much longer and The Might Could, though a relatively new band, have added clout owing to their pedigree (Childers plays drums in Inter Arma, Ryan Wolfe was signed to Relapse with Facedowninshit and Erik Larson was in Alabama Thunderpussy), but to Gozu‘s credit, they earned their spot. One of the best aspects of their 2010 Small Stone debut, Locust Season, was the vocals of guitarist Marc Gaffney, and on stage at The M-Room proved no different. Locust Season flew under a lot of people’s radar, I guess because it seems like Gozu came out of nowhere with it, but the record was really strong, and the memorability of the songs held up. Gaffney, playing through a custom Matamp (I think) with “GAFF” on the faceplate, was joined on guitar by Doug Sherman, whose high-slung guitar, angled ballcap and stage demeanor was right out of the New England hardcore scene birthed in Gozu‘s Boston home. Still, with the two guitarists, it was bassist Paul Dallaire‘s low end that dominated the live mix, and coupled with Barry Spillberg‘s intimidating performance on drums, there was no question the band was where they belonged. They played a new song — I believe Sherman said it was called “Bald Bull” (the referential title would be befitting their modus) — that speaks well of what’s to come on their next album.

The Brought Low: Like Suplecs and Lo-Pan the night before, it was my second time in a week seeing Small Stone‘s NYC contingent trio. Their set was mostly the same as it had been in Brooklyn, but at the behest of Hamilton, they also included “Vernon Jackson” from 2006′s Right on Time, which happens also to be one of my favorite songs of theirs. Still, it was the ultra-catchy “The Kelly Rose” from their aptly-titled third record, Third Record, that I walked out of The M-Room singing under my breath at the end of the night. Nick Heller continued the night of 1,000 tom hits, and Bob Russell and Ben Smith did right by material both new and old. “Army of Soldiers” was again a killer inclusion, and though it was enjoyable on their Coextinction EP, I hope it winds up on their next album, because it’s worth highlighting and pressing to disc. They had a couple classic Brought Low barn-burners going, and that was right up there with any of them. It wasn’t like I was dying to hear those songs because it had been so long since I’d seen the band, but The Brought Low never fail to please, and Philly was no exception. They tossed around a few joshing Civil War references (a new shirt features the visage of Ulysses S. Grant) in the direction of The Might Could, and it was another enjoyable — day I say “fun?” — set from a rock band in total command of their style and playing.

Roadsaw: They were simply too big for the stage they were playing on. It was my first time seeing the mainstay Boston foursome of vocalist Craig Riggs, bassist Tim Catz, guitarist Ian Ross and drummer Jeremy Hemond since the release of their self-titled back in January, and the quality of those songs was palpable standing in the crowd, much of which had stayed late. There was a second or two there where I thought Riggs — who is a madman on stage — was going to fall right off, and likewise where I thought the microphone which he spins from the cable, was going to pop off the cord and hit someone in the head. Neither happened and the excitement was located entirely within the set, which is fortunate at least from an injury perspective. It was approaching 2AM, which was closing time for The M-Room, so they clipped a few songs off the top. Riggs said after they were done that they prefer it that way anyhow, short and sweet, and I didn’t hear anyone else complaining. Since coming back to active duty with 2008′s See You in Hell!, Roadsaw have emerged as being among a small number of masters of the heavy rock form, and between the Roadsaw record and the showing they gave in Philly, I’d say that anyone across the Atlantic who happens to catch them on their upcoming run with Dixie Witch and Sasquatch would be lucky to do so. A near-perfect combination of energy and experience, and probably the most fitting end the Small Stone showcase could’ve had short of a Halfway to Gone reunion. It was right on right from the start.

But when it was over, it was nigh on ridiculous o’clock, and with the two-hours northbound ahead of me, I made a quick exit and beeline back to the car. I managed to cut some time off the trip (am I the only person who races to shave minutes off their GPS?) and, by some amazing coincidence, fell into bed just in time to completely conk out. It was a hell of a week, and a hell of a weekend, but it capped just right. I won’t be able to make the Chicago showcase next weekend, but it’s Freedom Hawk, Gozu, Sasquatch, Backwoods Payback, Lo-Pan and Suplecs on Oct. 1, so if you can make it, consider this post and yesterday’s a hearty recommendation to do so.

Thanks to Scott Hamilton and all the bands for making it a killer time, and to The Patient Mrs. for being the kind of lady who doesn’t mind it when she calls her husband to say happy seventh anniversary and The Brought Low is rocking in the background.

More pictures after the jump.

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I don’t know if being so late to Kyuss Lives! the other night made me more in a hurry to get to The M-Room for the start of the Small Stone Records showcase in the Philadelphia Film and Music Festival or not, but considering that it took me an hour to go seven exits sound on the Garden State Parkway, I was glad to have allotted myself the extra time. It being my second time in Philadelphia in a week, the drive was familiar, and once I got on the Turnpike, not bad in terms of traffic, but it was moot anyway, since (as I found out upon arrival) the first band wasn’t going on until 8:30 or so.

There were a couple years there where I never missed a Small Stone showcase at SXSW in Austin, Texas. It was 2004-2007, and I still consider those to be some of the best shows I’ve ever seen. Memories of those days and nights (hazy at times) came back throughout the course of the evening, but it was a different kind of vibe altogether in Philly. The M-Room is a small place, essentially a bar split in half with a pub on one side and the venue on the other. The space where the bands play is rectangular, and the stage has a kind of divot cut out the right side. For being small though, it’s got decent sound, as I found out earlier this year when I drove down to see Lo-Pan and Backwoods Payback do a show together.

Both of those bands played last night, as did Virginian rockers Freedom Hawk, New Orleanian mainstays Suplecs, and my current home-state heroes, Infernal Overdrive, who kicked off the night. Their set seems as good a place to start the notes as any, so here goes:

Infernal Overdrive: They’re Jersey‘s rock hope. They don’t yet have a record out (it’s reportedly being mastered), but I’ve heard some of the tracks, and if their live show is anything to go by, the thing is going to smoke. Fronted by the classic rock charisma of Marc Schleicher (ex-Cracktorch), they were perfect to start the night off, and their album has quickly become an anticipated release for 2012. As drummer Mike Bennett launched into a solo toward the end of their set, Schleicher — whose brother Keith more than ably rounds out the rhythm section on bass — jumped off the stage and danced his way through the crowd like a stoner rock James Brown. I’ve seen him do it before, but it’s awesome to watch someone have so much fun making good music, and with the show-stopping lead work of guitarist Rich Miele, Infernal Overdrive‘s potential was practically dripping from the ceiling. Killer band. If you don’t know their name yet and you dig the rock, you will.

Freedom Hawk: Hard to argue with straightforward fuzz rock topped with vocals that sound straight off Bark at the Moon, and that’s what Freedom Hawk does best. Their first album, which came out on MeteorCity was a little less realized than the new Holding On, but the four-piece’s development has taken a really interesting course. Like Sheavy before them, they’ve successfully partnered stoner riffing with an early Ozzy Osbourne vocal approach — guitarist T.R. Morton does it really well both live and on record — and their set was strikingly tight. The last time I saw them was a few years back in Manhattan, and they were all around a better band this time, guitarist/bassist brothers Matt and Mark Cave were in tandem enough to underscore the relation, and drummer Lenny Hines very casually kicked ass. Seriously. He was casual about it. I don’t know how else to say it than that.

Lo-Pan: I’ve said an awful lot about Lo-Pan this year, but what struck me most about this set, aside from the fact that I could see Lo-Pan twice in the same week and still be way into it, was “Bird of Prey.” Not three days after seeing Kyuss Lives! do “Supa Scoopa and Mighty Scoop,” and “Bird of Prey” was better. That sounds like hyperbole, but it’s honestly how I feel about it. So much of their material is upbeat, quick — it kind of rushes at you as they play it — and then the big slowdown in “Bird of Prey” is a completely different atmosphere and the hard-touring Ohio foursome have mastered it. Their set, as ever, was a highlight of the night. I don’t even know how many of their shows I’ve caught at this point — frontman Jeff Martin told me before the show started that he’d seen more of me in the last two months than his family — but the songs haven’t lost any of their power for the increasing familiarity, and I find I’m no less excited about Salvador today than I was when I first heard it toward the end of last year. If it wasn’t so much work on the band’s part, you could almost call it magic.

Backwoods Payback: Were the local draw as much as anyone was. The West Chester, PA, two-guitar four-piece play so loose that you think at any point the whole song could just come apart as they play it. What makes them works so well on stage is that it never does, but every time I’ve seen them, it’s looked like the band just wrote these songs an hour ago. They have a freshness and an energy to them, and I’m apparently not the only person who thinks so, as they pulled in the biggest crowd of the night. Of all the bands on Small Stone‘s roster currently (and it’s a packed lineup), I feel like Backwoods Payback could really go anywhere with their sound. They have a kind of country underpinning  that’s bound to poke its head up sooner or later, and frontman Mike Cummings looks ready to break out an acoustic guitar at any moment. They’re a fascinating act to follow, but more than that, their rock is damn heavy. It was a tough spot for them to be sandwiched in between Lo-Pan and Suplecs, but they gave a solid showing, as always.

Suplecs: At one point during their set, Suplecs guitarist Durel Yates made mention of the band’s being used to playing three hours at a clip in New Orleans. Watching them both in Philly and earlier this week in Brooklyn, I believe it. The set they played at The M-Room wasn’t a completely different list of songs, but they definitely took it in a different direction, and where in Brooklyn, I’d been struck by the variety in their material — the jams, the punk, the stoner — last night it was more straight up rocking. “Gotta Pain,” “Stand Alone” and “Tried to Build an Engine” from Mad Oak Redoux were highlights, and they made it readily apparent why they were headlining instead of playing anywhere else on the bill. Having not seen them in at least six years (Tuesday notwithstanding), it was interesting and encouraging to see them as the statesmen of the Small Stone lineup, even though they just put out their first record through the label. They still threw some jams in at the end, and they killed, plain and simple. When they finished, the crowd shouted for one more song, and they delivered yet again. For a band that’s had so much bad luck in their time together — from the dissolution of Man’s Ruin Records just before a European tour to Hurricane Katrina more or less derailing them entirely — you couldn’t help but be glad they were getting their due at The M-Room. Great band. They need to put out another record before half a decade has passed.

I said my goodnights and marched back to my car — parked right outside Kung Fu Necktie about a block away — just in time to see the young woman in parallel parked in front of me back into it. There was no damage, and I’d just gotten a sandwich I was going to have for a late dinner, so I waved her off after only the most cursory of “What the hell?”s and made my way back to the hotel, to futz around with pictures and eventually crash out in anticipation of getting out before noon checkout today. The short version is it worked out.

One more night to go tonight. I’ll have a report at some point tomorrow of tonight’s bands — no later than Monday. For now, there are a few extra pics after the jump, so please, enjoy.

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As I made my way into the Trocadero on Philadelphia‘s Arch Street (apparently right in Chinatown), I asked the mostly-disinterested girl working the ticket window if anyone had gone on yet. Her eyes lit up and she said, “Everyone but Kyuss!” It was a little before 8:45PM.

I didn’t remember having been at the Trocadero before until I saw the place, then flashes of Fireball Ministry, Clutch and Strapping Young Lad came to mind, though no recollection of how many shows that actually was. One or two, anyway. The place was decently crowded but not overly packed considering the headliner was about to go on, and I made my way up toward the front of the theater to wait for the set to start.

And wait I did. Kyuss Lives! — the remarkable three-quarters reunion of desert rock gods Kyuss that features vocalist John Garcia, bassist Nick Oliveri, drummer Brant Bjork and guitarist Bruno Fevery — wouldn’t go on for another half an hour at least. I wasn’t especially bummed at having missed MonstrO or The Sword, but the crowd spent an awful lot of time spent waiting for Garcia to come on stage and tell them they don’t seem to understand the deal. And just like when you’re so hungry at a restaurant and you’re waiting, and you think maybe your order is screwed up somehow, that you’re going to get the wrong food, or nothing at all, that the little slip with your meal written on it fell off the thing and is sitting on the dirty kitchen floor, I started to worry something was amiss, that Brant Bjork had slipped on a banana peel or something and pulled a calf muscle and couldn’t drum or something equally ridiculous and unlikely/likely as that.

Guess that means I fell for it. Granted, on the scale of the 15 years it’s been since Kyuss last toured, the wait for Kyuss Lives! to take the stage last night wasn’t all that bad, but the anticipation was excruciating. And not just for me. The whole audience — a mostly-dude mix of stoners, rockers, guys who were there the first time and younger-types who weren’t, peppered with the occasional patient girlfriend and/or female actually there to enjoy the music — seemed tense with it. Maybe that’s me projecting.

They opened with “Hurricane” from 1995′s …And the Circus Leaves Town and sounded right on from the start. They could’ve played anything and it both would have been perfect and not enough, but it was a solid set — more than an hour, not quite 90 minutes, if I timed it right — and though there was no “Demon Cleaner,” cuts like “El Rodeo” and the more expected “Gardenia,” “Thumb” and “100 Degrees” covered a lot of ground.

Oliveri took backing vocals on “El Rodeo” and several others, and though he was a little loud in the mix initially, his voice meshed well with Garcia‘s. His legal problems notwithstanding, he sounded good and looked good on stage and seemed glad to be there. He and Bjork were practically a band unto themselves in the rhythm section. I’m pretty sure I’ve said this before, but Brant Bjork is the Godfather of Desert Groove, and playing drums in Kyuss Lives!, he made it look almost effortless, like at any moment, he was about to kick his feet up and take a nap while also ripping through “Allen’s Wrench” in the encore. Solid doesn’t even begin to cover it. The dude is something special.

Presumably, Garcia knows that, and likewise for Oliveri and guitarist Bruno Fevery, otherwise he’d have gotten other people for the project. For his part, Fevery held down the songs well. His hair hanging in front of his face for most of the set, the Belgian six-stringer kept a low profile compared to the draw of the other three in the band, and while he seemed impatient in the several extended jams the band took, his sound fit well with the songs. No complaints, is what I’m trying to say. Invariably, he didn’t have the sense of freedom with the material as might the dude who helped write it initially, but it was a more than respectable showing, and I think he won over most of the crowd as the set wore on.

The high point, for me, anyway, might have been “Whitewater” from Welcome to Sky Valley, if only because I didn’t expect it. I mean, you pretty much know you’re going to get “Green Machine” — and we did, in the encore — but I didn’t see “Whitewater” coming, and the crowd singing along to Garcia‘s “Aah-ah-ah, I am home” chorus made it seem like that was all the more the case. It was beautiful, and a little lonely, and more beautiful for being a little lonely — much as I’ve always imagined the Californian desert to be. I missed my wife and wished I wasn’t there alone.

It would be pretty easy for me to slip into wax poetics and talk about the grandeur of getting the chance to see these guys play these songs, since I never thought it would happen, but I think it’s important to remember it’s a rock and roll show, even if one that obviously meant a tremendous amount to the crowd assembled to see it, myself included. I will say that a telling moment came about during the break before the encore. The audience was chanting “KY-USS! KY-USS!” and it went like that for a bit, but was gradually overtaken by the even louder “KY-USS LIVES! KY-USS LIVES!” I was glad to have seen it.

Oliveri introduced Fevery to the crowd during the encore saying something to the tune of, “This dude rules and he’s from Belgium.” They jammed out “Molten Universe” before Garcia came back out to close the night with “Allen’s Wrench.” I remembered being on the side of the stage at Roadburn and watching as Orange Goblin‘s Ben Ward joined Garcia Plays Kyuss for the song. This was a different experience, being in the audience in Philly, but more than a thrill, all the same. I was a little surprised when it was over, but the house lights came up at about 10:35 and the place cleared out.

I made my way back to the lot where I’d parked, shelled out a whopping $7.50 for what in Manhattan would’ve cost me $20 plus a tip and hit the road back north with the ball game on the radio. I was in the driveway before 1AM, which is rare to say for the return from Philadelphia, but even if it had been five in the morning, it would be worth the trip. Say what you want about hating reunions, the dudes just being in it for the money, or whatever. I saw John Garcia, Nick Oliveri and Brant Bjork do a set of Kyuss songs last night, and I don’t care what else was happening in the world, it’s not gonna beat that.

Extra pics after the jump.

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It was my first time at Saint Vitus. The bar, in Brooklyn‘s Greenpoint neighborhood — the mere fact that I didn’t have to be in Williamsburg on a Friday night was enough to make it worth driving into and through the city in the rain – is still a relatively recent advent, but it’s quickly become a hotspot for heavy shows featuring quality bands. My trip in to catch the revived Pennsylvanian trio Pearls and Brass was the first of two nights in a row I’d be spending there.

The door outside unmarked, the bar appropriately dark and the DJ spinning mostly ’80s metal when I walked in, I knew I was in the right place. The Saint Vitus homebrew ($4) is light and crisp and goes down easy. It was the kind of beer you could easily spend a night with, and doubtless they picked it as their flagship for just that purpose. I didn’t see brew-works anywhere (though they’d probably have room in the basement if it goes all the way back), and the place is split between the bar up front and the stage room separated by a thick curtain in the back.

I dug it. I dug the layout. I dug the fact that it was easy for me to get there from Jersey (if you’ve ever been to Europa, you already know how to get there), and I dug that it wasn’t peopled by assholes either of the heavy metal or hipster variety. There was some of that element — a group of people seemed to be having a photoshoot toward the end of the bar after the show — but it’s unavoidable, and if a place like Saint Vitus is going to stay in business, it’s that crowd’s disposable income that’s going to let them do it. In any case, cool room. There was a copy of the Holy Diver vinyl on display behind the bar, and that’s automatic points in my book.

The sound in back was decent as well, which I first got to experience with the avant/noise-making outfit Eleven Twenty Nine. The trio were instrumental, two guitars and a drummer, and all three members of the band seemed to be working in not only a different time signature, but a different time zone. It was the kind of noodling self-indulgence that you can either read as super-progressive or noise for noise’s sake, and either way, an odd fit for comradeship with the riffy Serpent Throne or the sweet tones of Pearls and Brass.

Serpent Throne took over following a short break and that was where the show really got on track. When last I saw them, I was getting embarrassingly drunk in their native Philadelphia and they were opening for Solace and Pentagram. That was quite an evening on multiple levels, but at Saint Vitus they proved no less engaging. Rather, with their third album — White Summer/Black Winter, which was reviewed earlier this year — behind them, they seemed relaxed and able to settle into the grooves their riffs inevitably led them.

They had several highlights to their set, but the unnamed new song they closed with hit especially hard. They’re not really doing anything that’s never been done before, but the interplay between the guitars is interesting, and as they’ve developed as a band, their songs have gradually become more intricate. They sound like they’re having a lot of fun, and they looked that way on stage as well. With stage banter that centered largely on the freeing of the West Memphis Three, a jovial atmosphere was set.

When Pearls and Brass announced their reactivation toward the end of last year, they did so with a show in the bar of a hotel (at least I seem to recall that was the situation) in their native Nazareth, PA. I tried to get advance tickets to that show, but it quickly sold out, and so I was even more eager to see them at the Saint Vitus bar. Their sunshine blues rock was three or four years ahead of the curve when they released their last album, The Indian Tower, on Drag City, and so I expected they’d pull a decent audience in Brooklyn, and they did. I don’t think there was any threat of the show selling out, but the room was crowded anyway, and the people who showed up knew what they were there for.

Myself included. I’d been a fan of Pearls and Brass since they released their self-titled on Doppelganger Records in 2003, and so the chance to see them now, eight years and one reunion later, was exciting. Guitarist Randall Huth and bassist Joel Winter, whose shared vocals came through low in the mix, played right into Sunn amps and made the most of the tones therefrom. The songs they played carried across a lighthearted Americana despite their distortion, and with drummer Josh Martin‘s punkish backbeat, there was never any energy lacking in the performance.

It was a joy to see them after so long. As I stood and watched their too-short set (though the last song they played was at least 10 minutes long and had multiple movements) progressed, I remembered hearing the Pearls and Brass record and feeling like I’d stumbled on something really special. They were tight like a band who’d never gone away, and should they decide to record new material, I can’t see them having any problem aligning themselves with Tee Pee Records or someone like that should Drag City not be able to put it out. The aesthetic having caught up to where they were half a decade ago, I’d be eager to hear where they went next on a studio album.

The Jersey-bound drive ahead of me, I left almost immediately after they finished. I’d made the drive into Brooklyn with one headlight, and decided to change the broken one before I headed back, which took a humiliating amount of time (big American hands, tiny Swedish spaces). That feat finally accomplished, I hightailed it back to the valley and caught as much sleep as possible, ready to do it all again the next night for Totimoshi.

As per usual, there are more pics after the jump.

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Every time something like this happens, I say the same damn thing: It’s a special kind of asshole who steals shit from a band’s van. Even more so, it’s an even more special asshole who steals the van altogether. Come on, you can’t even carry their stuff off as you take it? You’ve got to get the whole vehicle too? It’s a fucking travesty. The complete inventory of everything taken is here.

My best hopes to recently On the Radar-ized Philly smashers Sadgiqacea that they get their equipment, merch and vehicle back, and that whoever stole it is apprehended and brought to justice. Here’s the news and contact info in case anyone can help, even by sending the band your support or helping spread the word:

Achtung metal legions – we need your help!

Yesterday, Philly doomhaulers Sadgiqacea had their tour van parked on 13th and Carpenter in South Philadelphia when it was stolen around the hours of 12-7PM. Everything they owned was in the van, including all of their merch and gear. Total estimated loss of gear and merch is about $8,500. This duo is one of the hardest-working bands to ever come out of the (215), and are amazingly talented musicians on top of being genuinely sweet, good-hearted guys. This couldn’t have happened to two less deserving people. If you’re located in or around the Tri-State area (PA/NJ/DE and NY) please keep your eyes peeled, and get in touch if you hear or see anything.

Contact email is
sadgiqacea@yahoo.com

Facebook
http://facebook.com/sadjuhkaysha

It’s a formidable group of bands. Expect more to come on this, but wanted to put the lineup out there in case anyone’s looking to make travel plans. Good stuff:

The Small Stone Showcase @ The 2011 Philadelphia Film and Music Festival

Friday, Sept. 23, 2011 @ The M Room:
Suplecs
Backwoods Payback
Lo-Pan
Freedom Hawk
Infernal Overdrive
The Might Could

Saturday, Sept. 24, 2011 @ The M Room:
Roadsaw
The Brought Low
Gozu
Throttlerod
Sun Gods in Exile
Ironweed

For tickets, and more info please visit: http://www.phillyfmfest.com and/ or http://mroomphilly.com/

When a band’s logo comes complete with its own pronunciation guide, you know you’re in for a phonetic treat. Not to be confused with the happy-giqacea you might find elsewhere, Philly guitar/drum duo Sadgiqacea specialize in oppressively dark and bleak post-doomcore, all lumber and crash and heavy and pummel the way the kids like it these days. There are some vague touches of psychedelia in the far-off echoing clean vocals of “Nature’s Antidote” — the second of two crushing tracks Sadgiqacea donate to the cause of a split with Phanatic countrymen Ominous Black — but mostly they’re just mean and dark, and that works out just fine.

The two songs were recorded, mixed and mastered by Mick Mullin at Super 8, whose impressive discography includes Total Fucking Destruction, Fight Amp and Javelina, and in about 13 minutes, they effectively cloud the mind in a wash of malevolent sounds. Even the surf-esque opening guitar lines of “Thy Will be None” feel as though they’ve been run through a hellish alternate dimension, and as the vocals once again change from yells to echoing clean singing, there’s an underlying melodicism that I can’t imagine Sadgiqacea won’t continue to develop going forward.

In the meantime, there’s enough low end in their sound to likely please everyone but bassists, and enough of a genre mix happening in the material to hold even the most fickle of attentions. You can check out Sadgiqacea on Thee Facebooks here, or if you’d rather not travel, here are “Thy Will be None” and “Nature’s Antidote,” courtesy of a fancy-type Bandcamp player:

That Small Stone is headed back to Philly for another showcase that falls on the weekend of my wedding anniversary isn’t much of a surprise, but that the label is packing up the show and taking it to Chicago the next weekend is. Info is nebulous as of yet, but the label sent over some preliminaries via the ever-trusty PR wire and I wanted to get them posted right away, because I know these shows are going to rule.

Check it out:

We are busy planning two Small Stone showcase events for you in September/October 2011.

On September 23 and 24, we will be taking over the Kung Fu Necktie in Philadelphia, PA, as a part of the Philadelphia Film and Music Festival… And, on September 30 and October 1, will be heading on over to the Double Door in Chicago, IL.

We do not have a final lineup confirmed yet, but each city will get a combination of 12 of the following acts from the list below:
Backwoods Payback
The Brought Low
Five Horse Johnson
Freedom Hawk
Gozu
Halfway to Gone
House of Broken Promises
Lo-Pan
Luder
Ironweed
The Might Could
Red Giant
Solace
Sun Gods in Exile
Suplecs
Throttlerod
Tia Carrera

And for you folks in Europe, we did not forget about you either, as Dixie Witch, Roadsaw and Sasquatch will be starting their tour across the pond on September 23.

Even if you didn’t realize it, you’ve probably run into some of Brian Mercer‘s artwork. Maybe it was the cover of the last Zoroaster album, or the posters for any number of Small Stone showcases (last year’s in Mercer‘s native Philadelphia comes to mind), including this year’s SXSW, or t-shirts and posters for the likes of YOB, Lamb of God, Black Tusk and countless others. Mercer‘s art, with his meticulous attention to detail, careful lines and intricate patterning, seems to embody the best elements of the bands he’s working for. The thick black spaces that contrast the often colorful designs and the rich yellows, reds and blues that show up carry with them a weight that’s right in line with crushing distortion and fuzzed out tonality.

He’s been working under the Mercerrock banner since 2002 (website here), and I was surprised to learn through our email exchange that Mercer didn’t attend art school. It’s remarkable, since his aesthetic is so cohesive and his work executed with such precision and consistency — I guess I just thought that’s what they taught you. In any case, he’s picked it up on his own, and as more and more acts and labels are requesting his work, he’s quickly becoming one of rock art’s rising stars in the modern poster revival. Some folks just have it… and then they work really hard on top of that and are successful. Funny how that happens.

His love of the music shines through in the interview below, and at the end of the day that’s what matters most. His recent work for the Metalliance Tour is the excuse for the conversation, but more than that, I wanted to get a sense of where Mercer was coming from as an artist, who inspired him to get his start, and how his style developed over his years working for bands. As you’ll see, his experience is as distinct as the material it’s led him to produce.

Q&A is after the jump. Special thanks to Steve Seabury for facilitating.

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One listen to the conscious “War Pigs” reference that caps off “Controlled by Lunar Forces” on White Summer/Black Winter (Translation Loss) and it’s all too obvious that Philadelphia instrumentalists Serpent Throne know full-well what they’re doing. Their third album overall following last year’s The Battle of Old Crow, White Summer/Black Winter is not only a continuation of the four-piece’s fetish for vinyl-ready ‘70s-style LP artwork, but is also a tour de force of classic rock, dropping riff-led nods like the above-mentioned with ease while integrating them seamlessly into the sans-vocal Serpent Throne sound. The pace varies throughout, if not the approach, and though they never quite hit the same kind of unhinged bluesy playfulness as the first Cactus record or the same cowbell-ly vibe of some of their Mountain climbing earlier work – their strengths more evident here in the Iommi-driven “Riff Forest” – they pull off an individualized sound within a well-established aesthetic.

That’s thanks largely to the guitar work of Demian Fenton and Don Argott, who trade leads fluidly throughout White Summer/Black Winter without ever losing sight of the groove thanks to the stalwart efforts of rhythm section Colin Smith (bass) and Sean-Paul Fenton (drums). The percussive Fenton and Smith make a highlight out of a break on the six-minute “Pagan Eclipse,” showing some versatility from the straightforward rocking earlier into White Summer/Black Winter, as on opener “Headed for an Unmarked Grave” or the extended and stylized title track which immediately follows it. Acoustic guitar work blends well among the electric leads, which are prevalent enough so that I don’t find myself pining for vocals or feeling like they should be somewhere they aren’t. That’s a double-edged sword, though, because it makes a song like “March of the Druids” busier than it might need to be – at least until the cymbal-wash/percussion break that presumably represents when the titular march is taking place – but is also one of Serpent Throne’s greatest strengths. If those leads weren’t there, they’d be missed.

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At the Second Saturday Record Show in scenic Wayne, New Jersey, this past weekend, I ran into a buddy I know from there who puts on noise shows up in Nyack. Now, I’ll rarely check out a band based on their name alone, but when he told me the act who recently played for him was T.O.M.B. and that the acronym stood for Total Occultic Mechanical Blasphemy, what the hell choice did I have?

Next time you’re looking for a litmus test to see how tr00 you are, I’d suggest hitting up “Brazen Endurance” on the one-man outfit’s ultra-necro MySpace page. While on a personal level I prefer the gloomily ambient “Maz ov tha Damd,” the drum machine ping and far-away screaming — not to mention the blown-out megacrust of “Unholy Utero” — create an atmosphere that makes most black metal look like KidzBop, and if you told me there was a guitar on “Forbidden Calls Invoking Poltergeists,” I’d probably believe you, but otherwise I’d swear that noise is just howling agonies in the darkened snowy forests of the night.

Or some such.

Tongue-in-cheek black metal cliche aside, T.O.M.B. deliver exactly what their name portends, and while it’s not really my thing in terms of what I’m going to put on in the car for the ride home, I can appreciate it when it’s done well — or at least done poorly on purpose and for effect. Hoist a claw, behold the grimness that is Total Occultic Mechanical Blasphemy, and tell ‘em some dude who likes stoner rock sent you.

These’ll be for sale at the show at the Millcreek Tavern on Sept. 24-25. Artwork by the venerable Brian Mercer. Click the image for the full size.

It’s the weekend of my wedding anniversary, but man, the lineup for Small Stone‘s Philadelphia showcase is pretty badass. True, I’ve seen most of these bands, but I don’t imagine House of Broken Promises are going to make a habit of being on the East Coast, Backwoods Payback are buddies, Solace kill every time, Red Giant‘s got a new album coming, I’d really, really like to hear some of the material from Sasquatch‘s third record live, and the Millcreek Tavern has their own home brew. Looks like it could be another test of The Patient Mrs. living up to her name.

Here’s the news from Small Stone:

Small Stone is pleased to announce that we will be doing two back-to-back showcases at The Philadelphia Film & Music Festival in September. Our events will be taking place at the Millcreek Tavern which is located at 4200 Chester Avenue, University City, Philadelphia (215-222-1255). And, now for the lineup:

Friday September 24th: Dixie Witch, The Brought Low, Throttlerod, Lo-Pan, Sun Gods in Exile, Backwoods Payback

Saturday September 25th: Solace, Roadsaw, Sasquatch, House of Broken Promises, Gozu, Red Giant

Philly five-piece (now four) Deathbeds seem to be interested in offering as little bullshit as possible on their latest EP, No Funeral, so I’ll see if I can’t follow suit in my review. Originally released in an issue of 300 green 7” vinyls by Young Lungs Ltd. in January, the band has it up as a pay-what-you-want download and No Funeral also got a cassette pressing (it’s the latest) of 50 courtesy of Be at Peace Records. So it’s out there. There are three tracks – “No Funeral,” “Tyranny of Will” and “Eighteen Hundred and Froze to Death” – and you’re done in just under 12 minutes. On the off chance you’re interested, I got the cassette so I could play it in my car.

Deathbeds occupy the curious space between stoner riffing – generally thought of in more of a rock context – and heavier, more aggressive music. Vocalist Mike Murro definitely has a -core feel to his growling, whether it comes from deathcore, hardcore, metalcore or whatever the kids are calling it this week, I don’t know, but he changes up the approach with tradeoffs to high-pitched screams that remind me of a new school interpretation of Chris Barnes, but, you know, over doom. The guitar work of Stephen Edelson and Eric Saccomanno (the latter no longer in the band) offers few frills but plenty of memorable riffing, offering a lockstep groove for the rhythm section of Chris Cherasaro (bass) and Dave Cherasaro (drums) – gee, I wonder if they’re related – to fill out with suitable rumble and crash.

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