Grand Saturday Slam feat. Dysentery and Other Queer Breakfast Items At Club Oasis

Apologies for running at the speed of Virginia Woolfe, but writing essays hurts, and sometimes renders my fingers immobile for hours at a time, regardless of difficulty or word count. Maybe my brain is going stale.


Fuzzy hair negates fuzzy tone

I’ve heard it pronounced right, and I still don’t know how. So yes, this band was pretty decent, I must say. I’ve kind of grown wary of any band that’s in the Melodeath arena, but they’re good enough not to be avoided, yet I personally am not scratching my arms nervously for another chance to hear them. Is there a new rule that states that every Death Metal band with a fair amount of melody must have no less than two Alexi Laiho signature style guitars?

These guys are what I’ll refer to as Technical Word Metal. They’re technical, melodic, maybe a little blackened, and have an affinity for sesquipedalian loquaciousness. Seriously, just look at that title. Sting is somewhere counting his millions and simultaneously overcome with a mysterious paroxysmal fit of pure lucid ecstasy.


The physically largest band from Massachusetts.

Purple Rayne is a fucken good vocalist, and he filled in well for Joel Slamtzy Pants while he hacked up black bile on the side. I really must question why Rayne doesn’t do backing vocals and stuff, unless he does, and then I look like a right cunt for being wrong. The whole band functioned well as a unit, and told odious tales of old ladies going on shotgun rampages, penis shrinkage, and the amoeba who generously bequeathed upon these gentlemen its fair title.

Mister Pantz stepped in to “guest” on one of the songs, I don’t remember and I’ll not even bother trying. I say, he should rejoin the band full time when he stops dying of syphilis.


Hair plugs were a bad choice.

Shame on everyone who didn’t stick around for these hearty noble men’s set. I had only seen these guys once almost two years ago, it was a relief  to see them again. I been away too long, and it flattened my nose.

Slamming on occasion, Goreality may not look like much at first glance, but man they pack a punch. Every member is on point (the drummer fudged a couple bits, but the less said the better, I may have imagined it), though their stage presence needs a shot of adrenaline. Perhaps the lack of audience is due to some stiffness while playing, although I really don’t want to use that as an excuse. Fuck.


Br00tal Moo Cow

Going to the Slam show, gonna wear a lot of party hats. Oh the dances that were done, the battles that were won. Glorious bloodshed in the name of Composted at water parks, hardcore two-step rhythms, and eating pastries containing infant meat in a fanciful structure of human flesh obelisks.


Invisible Dragon Ball

Instead of a review, I’m going to express my contempt for Dysentery quitting their headlining set after four songs because of a broken bass, which did absolutely nothing to their sound, may I add.


The Language Behind The Name: Rotten Sound

They’re not pretty, and their music sounds like berserkers vomiting anti-corporate sentiment while the Vietnam war rages in the background, but they’re a lot cleverer than they have let on. Or at least that’s what I’m going to say since I clearly have too much time on my hands with which to overthink these things. Moving on.

The Linguistically Performative Nature Of Rotten Sound

I’m sure you all know that a word is made of sounds, so we’ll skip that part of this masturbatory seminar and a shrine to my slowly decaying mental state. Let’s dig into something you may or may not have thought about as far as Rotten Sound’s name.

When saying the word “Rotten” in American English, we are experiencing the word itself by speaking it. How? I’m so glad you asked, because otherwise I would have stopped.

The “tt” when read phonetically in American English is pronounced the same as in “city” or “letter”, where “t” is not pronounced as it is written, transforming into more of an unvoiced /d/. some dialects opt instead for a glottal stop. If you don’t know what a glottal stop is, imagine how a British English speaker may say “woʔuh” instead of “water”, the question mark-ish symbol being the sound made in the throat when the stop occurs. I don’t know enough European dialects to say for certain, but it is my understanding that many European dialects of English (including that spoken by the Finnish) would pronounce the “tt” as a voiced consonantal /t/, taking the letters at face value.

Rotten is defined as “suffering from decay”, and Rotten Sound makes if clear through their music and lyrics that society is breaking down around us without our knowing. Could their name itself be a commentary on decay, with even the pronunciation of words being different from how they are spelled? Is language itself a tool that is devolving and rapidly becoming of less use? The word “rotten” experiences a decay in its own annunciation, as the unvoiced /d/ is much softer than the voiced /t/, and seems to dissolve on the tongue as though it is immaterial.

The linguistic deception of language can be used as a barrier to keep the uninitiated out of a circle of power, depriving humanity of potential, all beginning with simple words and the trickery that comes with. Something as meager as a different dialect can alter one’s opinion of your personhood, and Rotten Sound may have realized this. With that being said, enjoy science, language, art, and a nice bowl of noodles every now and then.

Fast Music For Nerdy People

By my troth sir, if I were to liue this present houre, I will tell true. Let me see, Spurio a hundred & fiftie, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Iaques so many: Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowicke, and Gratij, two hundred fiftie each: Mine owne Company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentij, two hundred fiftie each: so that the muster file, rotten and sound, vppon my life amounts not to fifteene thousand pole, halfe of the which, dare not shake the snow from off their Cassockes, least they shake themselues to peeces 

Inspector Nachzehrer Is Always On Duty

Don’t you hate when the coppers interrupt a perfectly fine basement ritual? Pigs please go home. Obligatory anti-establishment rant is now over. Let’s talk dirty.


Since they only have three songs and no pictures, it sucks that you won’t be able to see the gruesome twosome’s faces, but all I can tell you is that a vocalist from Untombed drums in this band. I must admit, I wasn’t entirely sold on the first song, but the second and third won me back with a quickness. Raw, dirty, and yet melodic Black Metal that sounds like it was simply made to be performed in dingy Allston basements. Check ’em out here if you want a quick roll in the terminal filth of ages.

Welkin Dusk

Dude, he was the only one who knew the way back.

Hot diggity dog, I wasn’t expecting to nearly have my face sanded off. With a name that’s obviously not borrowed from a great Emperor album, I was expecting some run-of-the-mill Black Metal, but was instead served up a platter of hateful Crusty Blackness that made every negative emotion I’ve ever felt in my life seem infinitesimally  small in comparison. Despite some technical issues with the second guitarist, they still plowed on through as if it was all a part of the act. Hell, the drummer/lead vocalist dropped a stick at one point and recovered it without missing a single (blast) beat. And you better bet your sweet bippy he’s better than this goofball. Melding all the best parts of Ramlord-esque Blackened Stenchcore and some straight up Chicago anger produces a volatile substance that not even your thickest beaker can hope to contain. Too bad they’re not “true”, but at least they like pizza.


Yet another band with no pictures, yippee! Another Chicago band following along with WD on a tour, and certainly the oddball in this collective of black-clad bearded men from the North, as they are a Grindcore/self professed “Mincecore” band and seemed to be a bit more chill, at least in appearance, with the guitarist and vocalist showing up dressed and slightly tanned as though he were already several months ahead, weatherwise. Like the Japanese word they based themselves on, meaning “assassin”,  they came in, brutally massacred their set for all of 8 or so minutes, and departed as quietly as they came, not even bothering to do a soundcheck. It was pretty good er… “music”, as the drumming and vocals were the only audible bits in the sound. The guitar sounded like a low pained groaning, so yeah, not exactly gonna recieve high marks for that, but they were entertaining and that’s what matters, not the fact that Hitokiri turns up more Ruroni Kenshin results than any band would feel comfortable with. And now would be a great time to whip this out.


I said turn that fucking bass down!

Your number one source of Vitamin K, the vampyr lords Nachzehrer have since grown tired of normal human flesh, and have decided to turn their eyes to the impure blood of coffins basements inhabited by people of punk persuasions. Nachzehrer are a mean, lean, cold metal machine. Those words should never be used again.

Nachzehrer are a Black Metal band from the Boston area, boasting some of the meanest and truest howls that sound like they’re coming from afar even if they’re only 6 feet away. They mix their black magick arts with the intensity of Thrash, so if you see them, please mosh to be annoying. Or don’t, you might find yourself bloodless. Just sit back and watch them blast and shriek their way through a set that will woefully be cut short if the BPD has anything to say. My money’s on the neighbours calling the cops because they felt the evil aura around the Box Fort that night, and needed to stop it two songs in, lest there be demons crawling out of the basement in place of drunken and broken humans. Always fear the pig.

Ramming Speedwolf at What We Talk About When We Talk About Scraping Your Knee


Well thank you very much, WordPress, for changing the layout of the posting thing while I was away for over a week. Now you’ve made this about 3 times as hard, yay! Grumblings aside, I solemnly swear I was up to no good.

Led To The Grave


Led To The Grave plays Thrash/Death Metal with a touch of Black Metal, and that’s about all there is to know, really. Nothing spectacular or mindblowing, you’ve heard it all at some point. If you haven’t, then make these guys your number 1 until you hear Revocation. It’s a simple blend of extreme metal styles, with tremolo picking, blasting, chunky headbangers, etc. I’m not saying discount them altogether, but don’t despair if you’re not entirely wowed by their fare. See, I can’t even come up with anything amusing today, so let’s keep this rock block rolling. If blocks can roll.

Ancient Filth



Oh fucken’ hell. Is there ever gonna be a show where the band themselves or the crazed punks don’t destroy at least one thing? At least this time the damage was minimal, with only a bag of discarded newspapers being kept in the bass drum being ripped open by the rabid wolverine they call a vocalist. And I can officially say that I’ve scraped both knees from this place, the first time being two weeks ago during Barn Burner. I bungled a jump hardcore, but it don’t matter, cos it don’t need no water.

Yes, this band always brings the fuckin’ ruckus, in case you haven’t heard. Listen to me for a change.



F is for Friends Who Take Silly Pictures Together

 Speedwolf is Motörhead on some form of stimulant drug. It’s hard, it’s raw, and it makes you want to drink, but from joy and not sadness. Speedwolf live up to their name quite well, as they’d go great on a mixtape with the words “Break The Speed Limit” scrawled messily on it in sharpies or the blood of some clown that made the mistake of challenging your manly self to a bottleknife fight. WWTAWWTAU is a tiny space with no cooling or ventilation, and a lot of people were moving around as though in a non-lethal blender, so naturally following the intensity of Ancient Filth with the non-stop crowd-surfery and headbangery of Speedwolf made the air become too soupy to breathe. Damn human meatbags producing heat and such. This is my first exposure to Speedwolf, and I think I’ll allow the infection to spread further through my nervous system.

Ramming Speed


Positively electrifying

I missed Ramming Speed since I saw them open up for something at the Great Scott. Yeah, I can’t remember, and I’m too lazy to go look, so fuck off. All I know is that I’m glad to report the energy level here was enough to fry a few land mammals, because when I saw them the most they got was a bit of headbanging and a few superstitious folks warding off the evil-eye for Jove knows why. This time around it was crowd-surf fest 2012, and there was rarely a moment where I was able to just rest without having to worry about a Doc Marten to the back of the neck.

Ramming Speed are either one of the thrashiest Hardcore bands or the most hardcore Thrash bands, mixing Thrash and Grind with skank and circlepit rhythms that would make D.R.I. and Napalm Death brofist with pride. Speaking of D.R.I., I have perfected the art form of the Skankin’ man. I nearly fell and broke my neck slipping on beer while doing it, but that must be the all-important secret. Near death experiences are a must if you wanna be hard.


Protective bubble not included

We laughed, we cried, we avoided arrest by the Boston Pork Division, and all was well. Here’s to hoping this venue survives to see the fall of civilization.