You could easily attribute the phenomenon of “lost time” to amnesia or alien abduction, and I would love to tell you that I experienced a strange time dilation in the city of Lexington, Kentucky, with no recollection of what happened back on that August day. Bright Lights filled the sky, there were piercing humming sounds, and a putrid stench that filled the venue where no other than Profanatica was playing. After a blasphemous set, they removed their priestly attire to reveal themselves as antichrist aliens here to destroy the reptilian brotherhood of blood disguised as Christians and politicians like Joel Olsteen and Donald Trump— isn’t it much more interesting this way? However, in this particular situation, the answer is pretty simple: those bright lights were just stage lights, the humming sound was the amps warming up with feedback, the stench was just sweaty metal heads. As for the time dilation, I’m no quantum physicist, but drinking beer when you wake up seems to work quite well.
Let’s start from the beginning, my cousin Gaylord and a couple of other friends(David and Nort) were disenchanted with the mundane life of 40 hour work weeks and small-town life. We had been planning an extravagant trip for all of us at the end of summer, which would end up being the last day of The Blood Of the Wolf Fest V on August 4th. This yearly festival is host to many extreme metal acts, and the headliner for this year’s being Profanatica. We thought we’d get up early and drive to Lexington, which is only a two-hour drive. We’d settle in our hotel, listen to the collection of tapes brought, devour pizza, and wait for the festivities to start as the sun sank behind the Lexington skyline. What we had not planned was being drunk by 11 am, and the plan ultimately did not happen.
[Of course, we planned on drinking, why wouldn’t we? We were responsible adults, who deserved a little absence of responsibility, right? Three 30 packs of shitty beer might have been a little extreme.]
It was around 11 am by the time we arrived at the hotel, and we had already drunk enough to get thrown in the pokey for a public intox. Check-in wasn’t until 3 pm, but sometimes they allow you to check-in early, so Gaylord walked up to the front desk to check if the room was available yet. David, Nort, and I noticed there was a restaurant as you walk into the front entrance. Sure enough, there was a fucking bar. It looked abandoned except for a neat, clean-cut bartender preparing for his first customers. I approached him, slightly stumbling, “Slow day?” I asked.
He looked around like I was stupid, “No, we haven’t opened yet.”
“Oh damn, can we get a round of beers?” I actually asked.
“I would, but we’re closed, it’s not even 11, dude.”
“Oh yeah,” I was stupid.
“What brings you guys to Lexington?” he awkwardly asked.
“We’re here to see Profanatica, ” said David.
“Is that a movie or something?” He asked, wishing he hadn’t even bothered, and then pointed out towards the lobby, “Is that Burt-and-Ernie-looking fucker with you guys?”
“Hey guys, we can go ahe— Oh fuck!” Gaylord tripped over his untied shoes as he strutted down the lobby with a stupid grin.
Forgive me— We were stupid.
Against their better judgment, the front desk clerk allowed us to check-in. The first thing we did was unload the cases of beer into the mini-fridge. Most of them wouldn’t fit, because it’s a MINI-FRIDGE! We just threw the rest in the bathtub. David had the genius idea that if they get warm, we can just run the shower over them with cold water.
“Yeah, just add some of the free ice from the machine in the hallway, and it’s like a giant fucking cooler,” he assured us.
I brought my G-ma’s karaoke machine because it had a cassette deck, as well as an auxiliary input to plug up our phones. We brought a bunch of tapes, and the first one we threw in was Diary of a Madman, and Flying High Again was blaring at noon. We were jumping around like it was some kind of hair metal band party Time started slipping, and my last real memory of the daylight was jumping between the two queen beds while listening to the Danny Brown song, I Will. As Nort vomited bile(non-alcohol induced just on command because that’s normal?), David kicked beer cans across the room screaming, and Gaylord shouted, “Dude, what the fuck?! The hotel people are gonna be pissed!” And… BLACK!
The discovery of a set of lost photos allowed us to reconstruct the night, proving we were not abducted by aliens but drank ourselves into oblivion. We somehow made it to the venue at one point that night— I do remember Nort arguing with the Uber driver about the Scoville units of Nashville Chicken, and the driver allegedly called him a dumbass, leaving a poor review. Profanatica did indeed play, although chronologically fragmented, it seemed like it was great from the recovered documentation. Their stage presence and theatrically had a baroque quality to it, while their wall of sound is a blunt force blasphemy emanating blast beats and tremolo picking. In almost climatic thunder, the brutality of the music comes to a doomy halt slowing down in stomping hate. This style is especially accentuated in songs like “Unto Us He is Born” and “Scourging and Crowning” The open chords and distorted bass can crumble the Vatican to rubble, which I think is best defined in the song “Curling Flame.” So, what I can tell you from personal experience—kind of— is that if you get the chance to see Profanatica, do it!