Links:
Corrosion of Conformity
Clutch
Sixty Watt Shaman

Baltimore metal fledglings Sixty Watt Shaman were first to light the flame at the Palladium, a popular downtown venue that combines a strange amalgam of architectural elements--gaudy gold ornamentation on green upper walls, with a rosy stucco finish surrounding the main body of the amphitheater. All three gargantuan bands were dwarfed by an ominous brick wall, left over from the age of industrialization and half-painted jet black, which rises towards the ceiling behind a sprawling stage. Undaunted, Shaman delivered a sound that was at times fresh and daring, at others safe and derivative. Frontman Dan Kerzwick summoned a mixture of throaty shrieking--conjuring up images of Pantera's Phil Anselmo--and vocal manipulation that bordered on Middle Eastern, but had difficulty maintaining a high volume throughout the entire set. The bass playing of Jim Forrester was most impressive: he began the night thumping his instrument from an odd sitting position, and was soon after running all eight fingers up and down the neck in a primeval frenzy, producing a flurry of single notes and chords that weaved its way in and around the vitriolic voicing of his counterpart's black Les Paul.

Fellow Marylanders Clutch more than lived up to the word-of-mouth hype surrounding their live capabilities, attacking the stage in a swirling, saturating cavalcade of envelope-pushing rhythms and barked song-stories. Years of relentless touring and a dedication to bringing more to the table than just naked aggression and tired metal riffery have given the band an explosive chemistry and a concentrated focus that drives their torrid live performance. Gearing up for the March release of a new album, Slow Hole to China, Clutch paraded a few new tunes that seemed at first listen to be a revamping of their incomparable take on metal, with possibly an increased emphasis on the deep whirlwind rhythms that they're bound to perfect. Singer and lyricist Neil Fallon, in a drab German Bundeswehr coat and full beard, looked as if he'd just emerged from the bowels of Das Boot. He wasted no time tapping into his Yosemite Sam/Bullfrog from Hell bellow that lends an off-the-wall dimension to his refreshingly perplexing lyrics (for documentation listen to 1998's The Elephant Riders). Tim Sult's docile stage demeanor, sensitive-guy ponytail, and mastery of the free-flowing guitar riff leads one to believe that he'd have no trouble stepping into some Vermont jamband, but his oatmeal-and-molasses-thick tone and murderous chord crunch affords him lifetime membership in Metalheads Anonymous. Equally at one with his muse is drummer Jean-Paul Gaster, whose beats-per-minute reading would have short-circuited the blood pressure gauges at Mass General.

Pepper Keenan led his troops through a draining eleven-song set that covered tracks from their last four albums, with five barn burners culled from 1994's Deliverance. The veteran stomp-merchants were wounded--longtime drummer Reed Mullin was absent due to some recent back surgery--but still strode onward, commandeering their pal Jimmy from the New Orleans hardcore scene, who briefly played alongside Keenan as part of the metal supergroup Down. Musically, COC stuck to what made them one of the more respected, yet sometimes overlooked, heavy bands of the last decade: a gloriously thick and raunchy double-guitar attack making razor sharp transitions that would leave lesser rhythm sections befuddled and out of a job. Mike Dean, looking more Burton Snowboards than Harley-Davidson, played a non-traditional form of metal bass, spurting forth flowing lines of bobs and gyrations that added depth to the full-steam-ahead force of Keenan and lead guitarist Woody Weatherman. His almost jazz-like approach to the instrument, along with Forrester's octopus-like neck coverage and Clutch's Dan Maines' jamming prowess, signaled a coup for metal bass players everywhere, who it appears are finally shit-canning their picks and letting their fingers do the walking.

Moments of transcendence loomed throughout the band's performance of "Seven Days," a COC classic that rises out of a laid-back yet deadly guitar riff, and into a firestorm of Keenan's desperate spiritual struggle and Weatherman's "talking" guitar leads. The wearied frontman seemed to be exorcising demons of the personal variety, as he expelled the lyrics, "Believe in me cause I damn sure don't believe in you." Otherwise loquacious and charming, albeit not your typical Southern gent, Keenan cut a mighty figure at center stage, both with his surprisingly soulful vocals and seasoned guitar abilities. Some might forget that he was once primarily a guitarist who added occasional vocals, until former singer Karl Agell split after 1991's Blind, leaving Keenan with the deed to the band and the lead vocalist job. This potentially career-ending personnel move turned out to be a blessing for both the guitarist--who is no stranger to the necessary dedication required of a serious musician--and the band. Following Keenan's lead, COC has molded a unique hybrid of bluesy metal and punk thrash over their last three albums. With a new album (America's Volume Dealer) that explores shared Southern roots, and a full touring schedule that runs into 2001, COC appear to be tapping into the spirit of brotherhood that ran like a river throughout the glory days of great Southern bands like Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Allman Brothers.

-Dan Cullity
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Links:
Dandy Warhols

-Mark Teppo
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First up for us was Fuel. Steve summed up the experience as "food for the pimply faced-consumption." I must say that I agree with that one. I summed them up as a borderline buttrock band--and frankly they did absolutely nothing for me. They sort of sounded like basic buttrock when they were movin', with slower tunes sounding a bit like grunge giants such as Pearl Jam, but not nearly as good. At one point they launched into Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" but it was an intro (not noticed as a cover by the teenies) that transformed into a nasty buttrock ballad. However, they were certainly a crowd pleaser--with arms waving to some of the bigger radio hits, like "Something Like Human" and "Far Away" while the lead singer shouted "This is Seattle--look at this shit!"

Moby was up next. I really hadn't heard much from Moby except a few radio hits, and was not sure what to expect. Moby launched into a killer set of music--very original and very refreshing! The music was very epic at times, orchestral, progressive, moving, complex and tight. Moby's techno/house influences were prominent, and I really enjoyed the show. He bounced from vocals, to keyboards, guitar and percussion (including bongos) with ease--a very talented musician, and his band and background vocalist were equally talented. I noted right off that they were a very positive band--upbeat, melodic, and dripping with sunshine. Moby emphasized, and demonstrated firsthand, that "there is music in the world not made by angry white people." Their tunes ranged from house, gospel, to what he called "acoustic disco" to an admittedly bad rendition of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song." They were awesome, and their set was far too short. My favorite quote form Moby this evening was when he was talking about playing a "sexy" tune (the popular "Bodyrock"--what I call an awesome house tribute to buttrock) and said, on the subjectivity of what is sexy, "I think Ministry is kinda sexy." I agree. Moby blew Fuel away, and in fact blew all the upcoming bands away in my opinion. Moby has a great attitude, plays wonderful music, and puts on a fantastic show.

Papa Roach came on next and cranked up the volume! I literally had to plug my ears to even hear this raging rappin' nu-metal band. They have very loud high-end noisy guitars, and I thought that several hundred teenagers on the floor were going deaf at that very moment. For the most part, every song sounded very much like the last and next. Although I literally agonized until they stopped playing, I must admit that Papa Roach is very good at what they do. They were tight, had high energy, and the crowd loved them. The lead vocalist, in between saying "motherfucker" this and "motherfucker" that, had some cool things to say--for example, dedicating their big hit "Last Resort" to those lonely folks out there, and trying to learn to take the negative in your life and turn it into positive. If you are into metal, and particularly nu-metal, you would probably love these guys live.

Green Day was the headliner, and the band I really wanted to see tonight. I am a closet Green Day fan. They are a no-bones happy punk trio, that have been around for a good long time. It is nice to see these guys make it big. Their music is simple, catchy, and punky--even in this big arena their sound was very genuine and raw, like what you'd hear in a small smoky club. I liked the fact that they were not all glammed out, and had retained their roots. Although a punk band, during the show I wondered whether they were always this nice? Well, I spoke too soon, as they started in on talking about fucking, and politics--ripping on G.W. Bush, ripping on Limp Bizkit--I was happy to see that. However, I hate to say it, but when Billie Joe Armstrong gets drunk he can just blab on and on! So there were severe breaks in the music where he had to go off about stuff--"Hey-o!" chants (not "oi!"), "Well, what do you want to hear? Come on?" over and over--I wanted to say "Shut the fuck up and play!" I wanted to hear more music, and less talking. Some of his antics were very cool, though: At one point he assembled the whole band from kids attending the show, and they played an entire Green Day song! After making them all stage dive back into the audience, he said, "Let's hear it for 'The Bombastic Motherfuckers from Seattle'"--and that they were! They managed to play all of their biggest hits, and we left after "Minority." Of course, I would have loved to hear some of their more obscure music too. Overall, I would say when they played, they were great, and they are much better live than recorded.

-Jennifer Johnson
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Links:
ROHT
Betty Already

Another local band, Prozac Staple was up next. I knew when I saw the nasty dreadlocks on the bass player that we were in for it. Dreads on hippie suburban white boys is just one of those things that makes me cringe... Then they started and their "dancer" started twitching and flailing all over the place. ROHT et al. summarily deemed him "the Gimp." This dude (obviously not on Prozac) looked straight out of the lead twitching monk role in the cult film Begotten. It was very hard to focus on the music, as the Gimp was entirely distracting. To give them credit, they sounded better when you were not looking at them--they had a decent but typical metal growling sound, and could play their instruments. As a band, they seemed very young, and I can only hope that they find their place in music and work on creating original music within their talent, that does not sound like everyone else.

I was pleased to see that an enthusiastic crowd and good hair was arriving for ROHT--real punks, mohawks, color, Discharge logos, and the like. ROHT started with a new song "Patentable" dedicated (most embarrassingly) to yours truly. They then played a great selection of tunes off of Rant and the more recent The Product of Indecision, such as "Broadcast," "Machine Gun" (dedicated to George W. Bush and the Republican Party), "Art" (dedicated to the hated boy Art of Everclear), "Roadkill," "Hello Nicotine" and "A Song for the Rock Critic," amongst others. They encored with an old song and crowd favorite "Dear Betty"--taken from a published suicide note that simply read "Dear Betty, I hate you. Love, John."

One of the highlights of the show was a personal dedication of "Rock Critic" to Earpollution's own Mark Teppo--ROHT's favorite rock critic. [click on the following links for those reviews: Rant and The Product of Indecision. --ed.] In fact, after dedicating it to Marky Mark, Thor matter-of-factly told the audience that eP could "suck my ass" and then launched into "Rock Critic," singing "I don't wanna be liked by you." I cracked up! Pretty much everything that ROHT does, as far as I can tell, is flippant, and meant to grate and antagonize, and no doubt target certain issues or persons. This is one of the bases to their allure. In fact, in talking with him later, Thor says that he likes to write nasty songs about people who make him mad, and to ridicule. I do think this comes across very well live, as the short introductions to the tunes in addition to the lyrics and energy offer insight to the sarcastic mind of ROHT. As with many rock and punk bands, ROHT is very entertaining and much more powerful live. The gestalt of ROHT is thrust at you to chew on and spit out. Check them out live.

-Jennifer Johnson
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Sex Mob/Zony Mash
@
The Rainbow
December 16, 2000
Seattle, WA

Links:
Sex Mob
Zony Mash

So it was with much excitement that I made my way to the Rainbow recently to catch Sex Mob here in Seattle. They were playing a two-night stand with local jazz jamsters Zony Mash, and it was also the occasion of the re-opening of the Rainbow. Must say, kudos to the Rainbow's new sound system and the booker tagteam of Brian DeWaide and James Kirchmer for finally building something respectable out of the venue.

First up: Zony Mash, made up of keyboardist Wayne Horvitz, Timothy "Son of Zappa" Young, Keith Lowe on bass and drummer Andy Roth. The players have impeccable credentials and their tight-fitting jazz funk grooves left nothing missing. Nothing missing, that is, except my enjoyment of it...something I can't really explain why. They're all fantastic players and the sounds and songs were more than good enough, but after each one I kept feeling like I was trapped listening to hippie music for jazz aficionados. Good music, bad listener? I dunno...

What I should have known is that it would bleed over into Sex Mob's set. Wolleson and Scherr's groove was right on, thankfully, but Bernstein and Krauss's playing just wasn't hitting the mark for me. Too much noodling and not enough chemistry. Krauss had a shirt stuffed in his alto to mute it and I felt like it was distracting, not adding, to the dynamic. I just wanted to shout, "Yo! You know you gotta shirt stuffed in your horn?"

The third set was a jam between Sex Mob and Zony Mash. Sax monster Skerik also joined the fray along with other musicians. Things picked up at this point; the music finally caught up to the groove Wolleson and Scherr had laid out earlier and I finally got caught up in the music. Sex Mob and Zony Mash represent some of the best musicians both coasts have to offer. Each contain members who could play circles around contemporary "pop" artists with both hands tied behind their backs. Sometimes I get caught up in that fact and lose sight of the music; most of the time I get caught up in that fact because of the music.

-Craig Young
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