I’m Not Really A Photographer, But Thanks. Cannibal Corpse at The Met

Once again, I would like to give props to my boi Keith Chachkes for getting me into this here show for free as well, which I spelled wrong in the previous post, but I’m not going through the trouble to edit that. There be spiders. Here be my sweet photo pass/bracelet.


Local dudes Bog Of The Infidel opened up this shindig, and they play Black Metal. I am unwilling to take pains to elaborate any further, so we shall move on. Hour of Penance play Death Metal of the sacrilegious variety, and are Italian, so I can talk about them more in depth.

Hour Of Penance are one of those bands that I dig, but can’t see where all the massive hype comes from. Personally, I prefer their classier symphonic offshoot, Fleshgod Apocalypse, but even their latest release has taken a dip in quality. Hour Of Penance are good, but since I’m alone in not bristling with excitement at their mere existence, I can’t expect the same in a live setting. They were tight, heavy, and energetic, like their technical brand of Brutal Death Metal should be, so they fulfilled at least that base set of requirements.

HoP delivered as far as getting the crowd pumped up, but the crowd was playing shoulder-tackle tag, so clearly this isn’t my scene. I took the opportunity to perfect some of my dance moves of the non Hardcore variety, so there’s that for productivity.

Up next were ex-Fetus toothgrinders Misery Index, bringing the brutal in a more meaningful fashion.

Baltimore’s Misery Index are angry, and it shows in their music, as well as the types of pits they get. One had to be on the lookout for the odd mosher that didn’t know that intentionally hurting others isn’t how it’s done, viz. a fridge-sized bastard in a Cannibal Corpse tour shirt knocking everyone down, and a guy running around karate chopping to “Traitors” with no regard for those near him. To say nothing of the odd piggybackers going around punching people in the back of the head. Whatevs, I got free beer after.

Misery Index may have had a crowd full of damn fools this time around as opposed to that time in New York, but the music was top-notch, as always. Blasturbating and smashing the patriarchy one anti-Capitalist//pro-Death hymn at a time.

And now for the fun part: Ugly longhaired guys (some drunk) making a mess. Cannibal Corpse themselves and their crowd did splendidly in equal measure.

For this set I headbanged harder than I have in years, and my neck responded with “fuck you”. Even though I’ve seen them before (Summer Slaughter to be exact), I didn’t quite feel the power of simple barbaric Death Metal from so far away. Separated by a barrier and sweaty security guards, to say nothing of the actual distance from the stage, I enjoyed it, but I felt like it was missing something crucial. Now, The Met is a little dive-looking place in Pawtucket (a.k.a. Nowhere) Rhode Island with no barriers, no security to speak of, and the capability to touch band members’ dicks, if such is your game, baby. Being front row to headbang my medulla out just about blew Summer Slaughter’s performance into the forgotten regions of Cybertron. You haven’t lived till you run the risk of knocking head against headstock while seeing a band that’s so well known that everyone who’s anyone at least knows their name.

Indeed, Cannibal Corpse keeps it simple, and they have been for many years, and we love them all the more for it. With song titles like “I Will Kill You”, “Born In A Casket”, “I Cum Blood”, and of course, “Hammer Smashed Face”, you can’t expect anything more than unfiltered audio gore to be blasted from the speakers into the expectant faces of all the moronic headbangers and moshers present.

When doubting the potential intensity of a bunch of screaming Death Metal fans hepped up on goofballs, just know that the Spaniard received a bloody nose during “Elbow Hammer Smashed Nose Face”. A fallen warrior he may be, but spare not your pity or tears, for he gave his nose to the cause of Death Metal-dom. Peace be with ye, fair prince. Even though this was two weeks ago I’m sure it still hurts.

Picture 12

It’s not often that I may be caught working this hard this fast interspersed with my normal amounts of procrastinating and slacking. However, I shall weather the storm and post daily until this decathlon of agony is complete, because you, reader, blew me once and I am extremely grateful. Ugh.


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