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11/19/20

MINISTRY EVIL DOER TOUR {Sept 19, 2004 SLC}




Last night MINISTRY beat the living hell into all of us. 
 The line outside of Xscape was so long that I missed My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult.
 That was the 1st time I ever saw MINISTRY live and boy, was it ever worth it. 
 The pits were so much fun that after a few songs I couldn't just stand there looking on, 
so I went back to the coat check and got rid of my cellphone, keys, wallet, & glasses. 
 Then I went back and had the best time slam dancing w/everyone on the floor. 

  MINISTRY was relentless, the new stuff was just exactly what you'd expect 
or want from them, and the old stuff sounded better than ever live and in our face. 
 I feel reborn. One of the more surreal aspects of the evening was when I 1st arrived @Xscape, 
the line that went around the block passed by these gathered militant fucks for Jesus, 
holding up all manner of banners printed w/legends about burning in lakes of fire, etc, 
and there were a slew of cops standing around laughing their asses off, 
and it wasn't long before it became evident, amidst the screams and sarcastic hollers of "Jesus Saves!" from the line of goths & MINISTRY fans, that these militant Christians were actually from Pennsylvania and were picketing against the Mormons! 
  It made the whole scene all the more hilarious. 
 To know these fucks were protesting the Mormons and not MINISTRY!  

  Once inside the venue, the really surreal part began. Halfway through MINISTRY's set 
when their video camera crew was on the ball enough to go out and film the Jesus fucks 
picketing outside amidst the gathered crowd of losers who couldn't get into the sold-out show. 
 There was one militant-for-Jesus fuck in particular that they focused the lens of their videocam on, and whose familiar face was blown up onto the backdrop screen behind the stage inside the show amidst all this superimposed rapid-fire imagery of War, Death, & Civil Destruction while MINISTRY cranked out one of their industrial anti-gospel parodies. That was one of the high points of the show, it was just wicked seeing the real-time, live picketing going on outside w/ their protest signs featuring badly spelled messages about sinners being purged in the flames of Hell.
 
    All the while MINISTRY cranked out their merciless industrial assault for us. 
 It was like suddenly the lines separating music videos from reality / 
moshing sinners dressed in black / from camo-wearin Jesus fucks / 
and MINISTRY themselves / from all the rest of us attending the show, 
were completely erased in one legendary frenzied performance that brought everyone together 
somehow in a cathartic exorcism of all the madness consuming the planet today.



Our savior Al Jourgensen conjuring ritual sonic magick to dispel evil spirits gathered outside.


~this review was Rescued from the Archives today when Thornswrath received an email from Yahoo stating I had until January to log in if I wanted to keep that old account going. Good thing I did, because inside I found a treasure trove of saved documents, including this one which I'd assumed had been lost forever to the ravages of time. This was definitely one of the best concerts I ever went to. 



2/13/15

seasons of sickness...w/CANCERSLUG
in slc 2/12/15


This is the oldskool T-shirt I scored at the show



Short & Sweet Capsule Review

Cancerslug ruled at The Metro in SLC!
{Setlist cut short to 45 min by the venue}
+ Alex and I think the whole band were fucking sick with the flu!
That didn't stop them from hauling their asses up on stage
and delivering a nasty, short and brutal set of classick CS tunes.

{Attendance was very poor -- maybe 25 peeps by the stage.
It was a Thursday night, and I called all my friends in the Horde,
but Alas, the only one who even considered meeting me at the Metro
was Alex (of The Obliterate Plague, Yaotl Mictlan, Moon of Delirium, BirthVoid).
Unfortunately, he didn't show up -- so I resolved myself to enjoy this show alone.} 

Crowd was pretty lame that night -- 'cept for a very few die-hards up front center, 
fist-pumping their asses off. It's just too bad CS didn't hit up Salt Lake on a Fri or Sat nite.

I got my schwag + rare CS vinyl = Glad I went! And I met the band outside after the show, Mike stood out as being super nice and approachable, made me feel right at ease hanging out with them.  It's just too bad Cassie and Alex were sick af.  Gotta hand it to 'em that they persevered through the terrible weather and the blizzard behind the STORM OF HATRED.
 



Long & Brutal Review

(This review is more focused on capturing the vivid details of exactly how the evening unfolded, with everything going wrong for me,  more than just a "proper music review," consider it a "snapshot in time," reflecting the troubles that had apparently cursed this tour as the band got trapped in a blizzard while driving through Colorado or some godforsaken, wild western state out here. I had just been introduced to the band by my friend Vinnie Daemon in Pennsylvania, and was completely stoked for it, even while my dismay mounted as I realized none of my crew of die hard friends from the Horde felt up for a Thursday night out witnessing this legendary underground band from Alabama. Oh well. It was their fucking loss.)


   I was so pumped up for Cancerslug to hit SLC, I tried networking the entire Horde throughout this pestilential withered up valley on my cheap ass cellphone, figuring I could generate a solid turnout to a show that just smelled legendary, and who could fucking blame me really--it's CANCERSLUG.  Well not only did every last one of my friends blow me off--nobody showed up, every single one had some lame excuse, well guess what.  The THE METRO cut their damn set short on account of it was "Disco DJ Thursday", if you can believe that bullshit.   To all my friends:  you may have saved yourselves 14 bucks, but you missed a wicked 45-min set despite the lame crowd who just stood there like protein-deficient zombies drooling on their shoes.  I was so pumped for this show.  I wore my contacts so my  glasses wouldn't get shattered.  But if you were only there, you, too, would have stood by stupefied by the few brave souls that gathered in front of the band, fist pumpin' away.  Well, weak turnouts happen all the time, I'm just bummed it happened here in SLC with CS. Next time they dare to play this town, as I desperately hope they will some day (it should really be on a Friday or Saturday night) I'll make damn sure a bigger group of die hards comes with me. 

   Otherwise, the band's short, sharp set kicked ass! They started off their set with a rousing rendition of Die On The Battlefield to some fist pumping from the crowd.  More than once during the intro for the first few songs, Alex mentioned in his usual, sardonic way "you can dance to it . . . you know what that is, right?" as he stared at the deadbeats gathered up by the stage, "you move your body around . . . try it . . . you might have some fun," and he made some disparaging observations about what he must've assumed to be a Mormon crowd (of corpse), so completely lifeless.  Second  song is my favorite off their latest, "Generation Behind." The punk anthem of a lifetime. Me and a couple of others were the only ones who began dancing right then.  I thought to myself surely someone will shove me and start the pit up, but it never came.  If you're reading this you're probably wondering well then why didn't you start the pits--and all I have to say is, one look at these miserable fucksticks was enough to fill me with pity for them.  Oh shit, triggerwarning. 

   Granted there were several real fans front center headbanging and showing their respect and support. But the rest of the crowd (maybe 25 people in all) were over-the-hill sad sacks in their denim jackets holding on to their lukewarm beers, or young kids too a-feared for having strayed that far from their local chapter's teats, I suppose.  I just didn't have the heart to shatter their forlorn world. Besides, there's an art to starting a pit without coming across as a dick. Meanwhile, Alex seems like he may be getting just a tad disgustipated with the lack of slam dancing, and I felt right then and there they weren't going to stick around much longer--and who the fuck could blame them?  At one point, Wolfman made another derisive comment about where were the pitchers etc. Ironically enough, I was going to buy pitchers for any of my friends who showed up, but considering it was a Thursday night, I suppose I should cut them some slack for their excuses.  Well fuck all that.  They missed out on a Cancerslug set, albeit aborted before the dumbfounded dipshits standing around as if they'd never even been to this sort of a show before. 

   I can't stress enough that how disappointed I was that none of my die hard friends showed up--as if I should even hold them accountable for not showing up--cuz if only three of them had done so, we would have had some real fun then. We could've helped to awaken the primal beast inside Cancerslug that was just starved for the shit to explode!  The only thing that's crystal clear to me is that the evening was absolutely not Cancerslug's fault. They gave it their all only to be returned dead stares and the few obligatory shouts and fist pumps at the end of each song from the few true slugs that attended.  Sure, it had mostly to do with it being a Thursday night and everything, I get that, but--fuck The Metro that night! "Disco Thursday?" Give us a break already, Aaarrrggh!  

*[Note: I found out after the show, from one of the slug cult members, that the real reason their setlist got cut short, was The Metro schedules their dance DJ for 10:15--forcing Cancerslug to leave by then!  So that's where the total and complete bullshit came from. Only after the band packed their equipment away did kids start to dance--to the DJ music! WTF.  It's pretty pathetic on a level I can scarcely comprehend. If only CS knew what a contingency of die hards actually dwell in SLC.]  I felt like never stepping foot in that god-awful club again.  Felt like telling all my friends in the Horde not to ever book themselves at this lame ass disco wannabe sorry excuse for a sad clown pancake makeup crusty goth dance club, lol.  I had such high hopes for fifteen minutes til we lose control.  .  .    

   Anyhow, Cancerslug wrapped up their set but quick, seemingly disgusted with the SLC crowd, although that was probably me reading into it too much, cuz there's always more to a story lurking beneath the surface, don'tcha know.  I was fucking mortified and ashamed by the turnout, considering the pride I felt for the underground scene here.  I felt like it was a total embarrassment for Salt Lake City.  I went to the bar feeling ashamed and bought a pitcher for the band after just a few songs--the bartender gave me 3 plastic cups to go with it, informing me that the guitarist didn't drink.  So I purchase an additional pint of the amber beer for myself, and headed straight over to the front of the stage, and placed the full pitcher up there, with the glasses, so the band could clearly see I bought them the beer that Alex had mentioned at the beginning.  Pretty sure they must've drank it after their set and before hauling ass out of there in their beat up Slugmobile van.  To their credit, they were apparently exhausted from driving miles through mountainous crappy weather. "Pneumonia brought us to you" explained Dick Solid towards the end of their set, and before we knew it, they were Hell bent on getting the hell out of Dodge. And who wouldn't respect that. I forgot to mention that Alex introduced themselves as  "Dick Solid & the Ratchettes . . . now that we're not Cancerslug." That was an in-joke.   Even suffering from fucking pneumonia the Wolfman's stage presence was primal and palpable. I can't wait for Cancerslug to return to Salt Lake City, should they find it in their hearts to give this podunk pit stop out west another chance. 

   I don't hold any of this lame Thursday night against them. I could see how pissed off Cassie (their awesome bass player) was; or at least she seemed that way to me. Everything considered, who could blame her?   So I helped the band lug their equipment off the stage to facilitate their escape from this boring pit stop of jerk offs.  Then outside, Cassie showed me their merch, and I bought one of the few remaining die hard vinyls (dark green) of their very first LP release seasons of sickness. They wanted $35 for it (which for one heart-stopping moment rubbed me the wrong way at first, as it seemed a tad steep to me) but I quickly relented on account of the fact I really wanted to help support the band and provide them with a little more hard-earned cash on their way across this desolate western landscape so they could hopefully have a much better time and turnout in the next city (Idaho Falls).  I intended to get two T-shirts because I was bound and determined to hook up my friend Vince Daemon, who turned me on to this fucking killer band in the first place. Cassie did not seem happy with me at all--lol--she just wanted to get the fuck out of that place--and I don't blame her!  I probably came off like a dick myself, because no matter what I said, it was met with turned heads or ignored.  I think they sensed a newbie to the slug cult, or it was just one of those nights. 

   The band was super nice to me after the frigid air between us evaporated. Mike their drummer was so friendly, and I got to hang with Alex Story out in the parking lot, he was extremely cool to me. Like I said, I don't blame Cassie--I would've been fuming myself had I been in their place.  Here's to hoping I catch up with Cancerslug another time in another venue--so we can have some real fun together slam dancing as the Devil intended. Here's to you Cassie *raises beer* and everyone in the band, and all their fans!  I apologized to every member of the band on account of the super lame crowd that night.  

   When their set finally ended, seemingly cut short after 45 minutes--the pathetic excuse of a crowd applauded politely as if they were at some tea party instead. I embarrassed myself by shouting out loud, "I APOLOGIZE ON ACCOUNT OF MY HOSE-HEAD BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN SALT LAKE" which stuck out like a sore thumb when I said it and came across all wrong, so fuck me I guess.   

   I had to empty my pockets at their van of all the cash I had left on me--$68--after having bought the band a pitcher to boot.  The legendary turnout I had expected just wasn't in the stars that night. But I ended up with a killer patch and a shirt and the die hard vinyl, which was  supposed to end up being a total of $70-- but Cassie saw the feverish desperation in my eyes and cut me a couple of bucks slack, bless her heart, so we cashed out and they hopped in their van and tore out of there.  Can't blame 'em one bit for wanting to just move on down the road to (hopefully) a much better venue and crowd, in Idaho Falls. My friend Russell Kummer (drummer of Eternal North, RIP) told me later that he caught the show in Idaho and that the club was packed and everyone had a fucking blast.  I really should've convinced my friends to drive up for that show, it would've been totally worth it.    

   So I had a somewhat disappointing time with a small crowd of dead beats, but we got to listen to a killer sounding set, and that's all that really matters.  The band was super tight and on point that night.  Their set, albeit cut short, was stark and raw rock and roll fury. I'm so fucking stoked I decided to give em all my money to end up with this vinyl LP because it is fucking killer! There is no doubt I made the right choice. Seriously the most coveted item in my collection. I'm listening to it now--gotta flip it over to side 2 in fact, for some lessons in death!  I had half a mind to let Alex carve the crescent moon crossed by a lightning bolt that signifies CS right between my shoulder blades with his knife, as a sort of penance, but thought much better of it, haha. Had this show taken place twenty years ago back on the East coast, maybe. By the time I caught up with this band, I was already too old and jaded. That's a good thing cuz honestly the last thing I really need is some ritual scarification at this point in my life. Just being there in the flesh to witness the Wolfman and classic seasons of sickness lineup is something I'll never forget.  I owe it all to you Vinnie.    

     And hey, Vinnie:  nope, I didn't snap any pics goddamnit, because my cellphone is a sorry piece of shit. Neither did I have em sign my vinyl, another fucking mistake, but tbh just meeting them was enough for me.  I'm damn lucky to end up with this flagship die hard first original LP pressing from the band.  A legendary underground item if there ever was one for this sick and rotten jaded age.  Nothing again will be alright. For you and I are on this road to Hell. Relax and let it burn. Your fear and pain now are setting like the Sun.  Fuck all of you, I'm done.






   





10/21/13

melt-banana bring their Playstation Grindcore to SLC



Late Sunday evening on October 20, 2013, melt-banana stepped up on stage and blitzkrieged Salt Lake City's URBAN LOUNGE with a fury reminiscent of a couple of Pokemon's on methamphetamines.  I couldn't possibly tell you which song they started off with, nor the titles of any of the songs they tore through last night. Suffice it to say I believe they've engendered a new genre, "Playstation Grindcore", and all the hipster bearded kids with earplugs and horn rimmed glasses seemed to like 'em well enough.




This is Onuki. Her vocals may be described as a spastic cartoon creature on helium plugged into an electric socket. She held this weird palm pilot gizmo with multicolored lights and a blue glowing ring on it in her right hand, sweeping it around and holding it at odd angles, until I realized it must have a movie camera function. I think it's a weird Japanese iPod mutation which she records their live performances with, because she kept aiming it towards her bandmate, Agata.




It occurred to me that Agata may actually wear his surgical mask not for any aesthetic reasons, but in order to prevent him from contracting any viruses from having been exposed to large international crowds every night while they're on tour. Whatever the reason for the mask, it looks sick as all get out and has become a trademark image for this post punk psycho Nintendo grindcore band.




The main complaint was the loss of their original bassist, Hamamoto. It's really too bad they've been stripped down to a two-piece. However, the two remaining members of this freakish outfit truly delivered the brain melting blastbeats and psychokinetic guitar attacks courtesy of Agata. I heartily recommend melt-banana if one is in need of staying awake late at night or has perhaps run out of coffee or crystal meth. On the other hand, if one values their hearing and wishes to keep the tympanic membrane of their inner ear from being eviscerated, one might choose to either wisely bring earplugs, stand far away from the speakers, or simply bow out from attending their shows. 



 

 As for the rest of us whose Cochlear nerves have withstood torrents of inhumanly loud grindcore and other variations of extreme metal without seeming to have suffered much from it, I urgently beseech thee to get thyselves to the next melt-banana show and let the exterior layers of your psyche be blasted away into another dimension. I'm glad I went despite the fact it was a Sunday night and I had to be at work early this morning. It was considerably better than going to Church.