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Apocalyptic Blues

CVLT Nation Captures: Mutoid Man & Helms Alee

For four years now, Mutoid Man has set up stakes at St. Vitus for a six buck, sixty-six cents show on 6/6 with six dollar beer from Sixpoint because Satan and party, and I can’t believe I’ve missed three of these bashes already and I’m not even really getting this one right on account of it’s 6/5, but fuck it.

Let’s rage.

Ache

Sometimes, I forget that NYHC is still a thing, but it is, and Ache is all NY and HC with their scorching chug-a-lug circle pit bark, but whereas many of their contemporaries still rely on the tired tattooed thug “reality” tropes to get the bodies rolling on the killing floor, Ache prefer sober anxiety confessionals and teary-eyed shout-outs to Sandra Bland.

 

Helms Alee

I didn’t used to like this band, and I’m hard-pressed to remember why. They’re as turgid and furious as The Melvins if Dale and Buzzo had forsaken their prototypical growling beta male Ozzy bone death racket back in the 90s and let Lorax cut loose, dopesick free and determinate as a focus, moving forward into the red-lit muumuu-less future. Or maybe nevermind all that, because my context for heavy-is-as-heavy-does bands that feature women as anchor, rhythm and fore is alarmingly limited – but goddamn if I don’t now love the shit out of these Seattle sonics.

Mutoid Man

There was a time that Mutoid Man used to be a “members of” band, but that time is tired as the tears on my rectum. Who gives a fuck what bass, drums and guitar/vox have done in their previous iterations if they aren’t delivering the maximum rock and fucking roll over experience with a joy distinct to their absurdly capable parts? Seriously. I mean, I don’t listen to Mutoid Man on the regular, but they may well be one of THE most exciting and excitable live bands on the planet because their oeuvre is wholly dedicated to aural delights, and once they hit the stage their commitment to pleasures of human absurdity is without measure. Shit. Just a few songs into the set, Nick Cageo got his leg tattooed on stage (without losing a note) and then after a few more fury prog parties they decided to close their set with “Purple (fucking) Rain” because that song fucking rules (particularly with a double-bass drum inclusion and Gwarsenio Hall for added shred) and if you can’t understand just how metal the Purple One was then you’re no better than a C.H.U.D.

 

 

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