After stumbling around the country for nigh a month pondering love, barking my shins and consuming everything that crossed my path from flirty glances to pop songs to the entire city of Portland, I have come home. Everything's exactly the same only not, like I time traveled three weeks into the future and am now just a little out of step with everyone here in Bizarro-Brooklyn. Each new venue, human, and sandwich shop that's appeared as if by magic adds a little to my sense of vertigo. Even my cat has grown unreasonably fluffy. On the bright side, flowers are blooming, and it's no longer cold as shit. I found lots to like at SXSW and beyond, and am now catching up on what I missed while embracing the mind numbing uniformity of the desert. Here's some of what I've found.

Cutting Le Rug

In all my travels, I have yet to encounter any event with the delicate balance of body heat, violence, awkward booty dancing and pure joy one inevitably finds at any decent Brooklyn house party. Since finding my inner Paula Abdul at a fête called Gay By Gay Gay, I've been dying to see how my moves have traveled. Brooklyn's Le Rug just entered my consciousness via a post on Impose and made me do a little shake right here in the cafe. Fronted by the moderately insane Ray Weiss, they make music that's messy, spazzy, and perfect for all of your house party needs, and with adorably depressing, topical lyrics like “deregulate deregulate the market / with those profit margins right on target.” Dudes have released 3 EPs in the last 6 months, all of which can be downloaded for free at tamurrecords.org

Starfucker/Guidance Counselor

Portland is a good place to get down, too. It's not Brooklyn, but it does score high in the three categories most important to me: vegan food, d.i.y. shows, and cute boys on bicycles. As it holds far more of these things than I could even begin to enjoy in just two days (try as I might), another visit is probably in my future. Contributing to the place's joie de vivre are Starfucker and Guidance Counselor, who share a drummer and both make crazy fun dance music, with the former spinning samples off vinyl and the latter keeping things interesting with some Foals-esque quasi math rock sequences. At the show I attended, kids were jumping around with such vigor I feared the flimsy house would collapse. They're currently touring the U.S. and Canada together, so check them out if you don't mind waking up with a sore wiggle muscle.

Cerebral Ballzy

If your idea of dancing is actually closer to hitting people and jumping off things, this is your steeze. Besides having the most awesomely bad name, this group of New York miscreants wins the prize for most punk rock performance I caught not only at Southby, but for quite some time before or since then. These kids pack an impressive amount of aggression into their skinny frames as they thrash all over the place and gnash out songs about getting wasted, throwing up, and riding the NYC subway. Tour dates are currently sparse but you can order their new EP Autistic Expression and a kick ass t-shirt that shows a skeleton flipping the bird on their MySpace page, which, I boast, quotes yours truly describing them as "Bad Brains on crystal meth."

These Are Powers

Anna Barie is one of my top five favorite frontpeople in rock. She's up there with Tim "no pants" Harrington, King Khan, and Jared and Cole from the Black Lips, if they melded into one chompy-grilled, mustachioed mega-rocker. Former Liar Pat Noecker slices the air with bright, grindy bass lines and Bill Salas makes all sorts of pounding, ass-moving percussion sounds, both electronic and live. Their new album, All Aboard Future, transports listeners to some sort of dystopic tribal robo-scenario in which we're all taking peyote and fucking on piles of shredded iPhones and worthless currency in the bombed out remains of luxury condominiums. Get psyched; it's happening sooner than you think.

They're playing select dates in the U.S. before heading off on a tour of China(!) so go have fun and tell them I sent you. Be prepared to bang on an instrument, because they usually pass a bunch out. It's just like your elementary school music class, only this time no one will stop you from fighting that bitch in front for the triangle.

Fucked Up

Following through on their promise to release something for each year of the Chinese astrological calendar, everyone's favorite Toronto experimental hardcore group has released the single "Year of the Rat," the third in the series. Unlike Cerebral Ballzy, who distill the elements of punk into a concentrated sock in the nuts, Fucked Up play around with them, adding elements of prog and noise to aid the song's rise and fall like a tidal wave that takes its sweet time breaking and engulfing you. At the song's end, the feedback shrouded voice of John McCain intones "the Secretary of State told me once that you had better be ready to pull the trigger," a chilling reminder of the dark course this past year might have taken. The b-side, "First Born," pulls from blues-based metal while retaining Pink Eyes' (a.k.a. Daniel Abraham's) superior hardcore vocals. An excellent next move for a band that built up momentum with an epic 12-hour marathon show in New York last year which included the WTF moment of that dude from Vampire Weekend singing on covers of Blitz and the Descendants.



I can has punk rock and Chinos?

OMG metal!

I know Clio just discussed them, so I'll be brief, but holy fucking shit. Mastodon's Crack the Skye is the noisiest most intricately brainmelting thing that has penetrated my earholes for quite some time. Get it if you have ever liked metal even a little bit at all, or even if you don't! It will make you a better person. Look how awesome:




Hunter is a Brooklyn-based writer currently contributing to Vice, The New York Press, Impose, and The L Magazine. If you email her at hunter.suicide AT gmail DOT com, chances are she'd love to add your publication to that list. Seriously, she's got some time on her hands.

Whether it’s just a big tax write-off, some sort of heavy metal promotion campaign or part of a much grander scheme, I could care less why car-manufacturer Scion and Vice Magazine decided to fly out thirty bands to Atlanta, Georgia for a free festival last February. I hear a lot of noise about corporate companies infiltrating the underground scene (come on now, B9), but whoever can throw around that kind of cash and spends it on names like Mastodon, High On Fire, Boris, Converge, Neurosis, and Baroness is pretty okay in my book. We can talk about politics some other time, though.

After mingling with a horde of gorgeous SuicideGirls in Las Vegas for a week to shoot an upcoming DVD, I traveled down south to witness the destruction that was about to go down at Scion Rock Fest. California ragers Trash Talk were set to play a warehouse show in the ATL the night I arrived, so after the chaos that went on there and a stop at a sketchy liquor store the party was definitely on in room 1918 at the Renaissance.

Upon arrival at the Masquerade the next day, the queue outside was insane. Thousands of metalheads had been waiting outside the venue all morning to get into the fest that had everyone talking for the past couple of months. While Trash Talk set up their gear at the Heaven stage (the other two indoor rooms being Purgatory and Hell), I decide to go outside and check out Kylesa. While I dig their records, the Savannah-based sludge metal band isn’t doing it for me today, just as the sound does nothing for Laura’s vocals. However, some of the tracks off their upcoming release Static Tensions are still haunting me in the best way possible.

Back in Heaven, it’s not the first and won’t be the last time I’ll see blood spilled at a Trash Talk show. Even though their line-up this weekend is incomplete (singer Lee is MIA due to a fractured kneecap), the Sacramento hardcore band is solid and as violent as one can only hope for. They are without a doubt the black sheep among this array of doom, sludge and stoner metal, but a fifteen-minute set is all they need to convince their largely unfamiliar audience. I hurry to catch the last song or two of Torche, who have been growing on me for a while now and seem to get better every time I see them on stage. The song Healer is as catchy as a stoner band can get.

One of the bands I have been dying to see today is Baroness, fronted by John Baizley (known for his iconic artwork gracing record sleeves and T-shirts of bands like Cursed, Daughters, Darkest Hour, and Pig Destroyer). The four-piece is sounding heavier and more colossal than ever, I don’t know if their riffs could get any more epic. I kind of want their amps to go to eleven. The same goes for Boris, which is enough reason for the Japanese experimental rock trio to have reached cult-status over the years. Named after a Melvins song, Boris is absolutely one of the most impressive live bands to play at the Masquerade today. Their droning sound is downright hypnotic, largely attributed to guitarist Wata, who by the way is without contest the cutest girl here.

Although I don’t get to see much of Richmond grind thrashers Pig Destroyer, they shred harder than I remembered and sound about as evil as last Summer’s Carcass reunion. Not so diabolical but worshiped by stoners worldwide for the past decade, High On Fire proves to still be unparalleled. Matt Pike (previously of the hugely influential stoner/doom formation Sleep) has an unreal throat that seems to have been created for the sole purpose of fronting this fucking epic band.



Opening with one of my favorite (and most recognizable) songs, Plagues, Boston hardcore band Converge is in excellent shape tonight. With crushing riffs, bone-chilling vocals and ear-shattering percussion, their setlist has been perfected to shut up even the most critical of Converge fans by including Concubine and The Broken Vow, as well as earlier work such as Locust Reign. Creating a sound that has been imitated by many but mastered by few, Converge have yet to fail me.



After witnessing the blood and sweat shed in Heaven, I join the masses outside to a darker and colder space where Neurosis are set to perform. Being the second to last band, they take the main stage to assault my senses with a wall of sound for a solid 90 minutes. The six-headed Oakland outfit effortlessly integrates doom metal with industrial influences to create a truly unique and macabre ambiance. Formed in 1985(!), Neurosis has continually raised the bar in its genre and tonight proves to be no exception.

There is no denying that Mastodon has become one of metal’s leading American heavy metal bands since the release of their 2002 debut Remission, and the Grammy nomination wasn’t a coincidence either. While the Atlanta natives aren’t typically my metallic cup of tea, they conjure an intensity that cuts through flesh and bone and the majority of their peers can only dream of. With three records under their belt and a highly anticipated LP due on March 24, Mastodon is in good company when Neurosis guitarist and vocalist Scott Kelly joins the band to perform Crystal Skull. After nearly two hours of pure fucking metal, Scion Rock fest has officially come to an end and blown my mind from start to finish.

Nine years since the festival's beginning, ATP returns for what seems the most eclectic edition to date. In September Hunter gave you a review of ATP NY, three months later it's time for another report but from across the globe.

Curated by Melvins and Mike Patton (whoever's idea that was deserves a pat on the back), the three-day rock resort at Butlin's holiday camp would be nothing less than what Thurston Moore once described as "the ultimate mixtape." Ranging from experimental to country to hip-hop, this was well worth making a roadtrip from Amsterdam, The Netherlands to Minehead, UK (wherever the fuck that may be). And with nearly fifty bands playing over the weekend I was sure there would be no sleep for the wicked!

After checking in (visitors as well as artists stay at on-site apartments, hello afterparties!), I headed to the Centre stage to catch the last few songs of Melvins 1983. With a line-up featuring Buzz (a.k.a. King Buzzo), Dale, and the band's original drummer Mike Dillard, the band played songs that have been around longer than I have. I was more fascinated by Buzzo's hair than anything else (it's not unlike a permanent electric gray cloud, and it's all kinds of awesome), but from what I saw and heard the set was good, too.

Big Business sounded colossal as ever. While initially a two-piece, the guitarist for Harvey Milk joined the wall of sound for the second half of their show. (Toshi Kasai who was added to the the band's official line-up earlier this year was nowhere to be found.) Following the stoner sludge, Detroit rockers The Dirtbombs were a sight to see with twice the drums and bass than your average garage band. Frontman Mick Collins' voice oozes soul and is responsible for the lion's share of this band's charm.

On the stage next-door Torche was all stoner and doom, hypnotizing the crowd with their epic riffs. I really dig them, so this caused me to miss most of The Locust's set, but the San Diego quartet decked out in their usual insect costumes still gave me shivers. After over a decade of experimental noise, several line-up changes and side-projects, I am surprised yet stoked they are still doing what they're doing.

As much as I like heavy metal disco, I flee the Irish pub after seeing my friends getting shit-faced on Guinness and playing air guitar to Slayer for some well-deserved rest. The next day is going to be a good one.

Before leaving the apartment on Saturday to check out some music, I watched the 70s horror classic The Omen, as well as Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, which gave me the creeps for the rest of the day. I'm into the fact that even the television programming was part of the festival, and can just envision Buzzo sitting in a control room picking out his favorite movies and random video clips. Unfortunately I missed out on country singer and guitarist Junior Brown who I later heard was one of the highlights of the entire festival. I head over to the Red stage to see Teenage Jesus & The Jerks, and although I really want to like them, I can't get into Lydia Lunch's moody and atonal no-wave. Some of my friends are head over heels for it though, so I guess it's a matter of taste.

After an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet (I fail at four slices, by the way) it's time for stand-up comedian Neil Hamburger. This absurd character's jokes are so terrible they're good. Easy targets such as Paris Hilton, Michael Jackson, Britney Spears and his own audience all get flamed by the bespectacled anti-hero, and even SuicideGirls won't escape his anti-humor. With something along the lines of: "What do a bowling ball and a SuicideGirl in the gutter have in common? You have to clean out all three holes." Hamburger hits a little close to home, but I can hardly take offence.

Fifteen minutes later human beatbox extraordinaire Rahzel, formerly of The Roots, owns the stage like it ain't nobody's business. With nothing more than a voice and a mic Rahzel flawlessly mimicks The White Stripes' Seven Nation Army, Snoop Dogg's Drop It Like It's Hot, and Wu-Tang Clan's Ain't Nuthin' to Fuck With. It's fascinating how when you close your eyes you can barely tell the vocal percussionist apart from a live band. I'm impressed.

As for the last band of the night, Soulsavers (with Mark Lanegan) provide a beautiful atmospheric set laced with electronica and Johnny Cash-esque vocals. I am very happy with the discovery of this UK band and by the time they are done it's three o' clock in the morning. An hour or so later I find myself at a party at Mastodon's apartment with members of The Locust and some girls who don't look amused having their party crashed. Time for bed I say, and shortly after my departure the rest of the party gets thrown out so I can't say you missed much.

On day three the first band that can keep my attention is the Butthole Surfers (sometimes just referred to as the Buttholes) from Austin, TX. This band has been around forever (1981 is forever in my book) and acquired somewhat of a cult status in the past few decades, which I totally get after an hour of punk rock psychedelia.

Next up is Mike Patton's brainchild Fantomas, performing The Director's Cut which is truly beautiful and haunting. The band's take on soundtrack theme songs from movies like Rosemary's Baby and Twin Peaks are nothing short of genius. But that's no surprise with a line-up consisting of Patton, Buzzo, Dave Lombardo and Trevor Dunn, is it? Meanwhile in the Red room ambient hip-hop crew Dalek (MC Dalek and producer Oktopus) are busting out their intelligent rhymes and hypnotic verses, but I don't stay long because Mastodon are ripping the Centre stage to shreds and this I need to see. With guitarist Bill Kelliher missing (he was hospitalized about a month ago due to an unidentified illness) but replaced with Buzzo and two (!) extra drummers (Coady Willis and Dale, both from Melvins), the Mastodon/Melvins formation fucking killed it. I am not even a huge fan of the so-called "new wave of American heavy metal" (that is a real term) but this was definitely one of the highlights of this year's ATP.

Before the highly anticipated Melvins set I managed to catch the first couple of songs of The Black Heart Procession. The violin, keys, and singing saw (!) added to singer Pall Jenkins' melancholy voice and moody melodies are exceptionally beautiful. Although I would have loved to stay, I could not be at ATP and miss out on Melvins so I join the masses for a great half hour of sludge / grunge / rock. Buzzo's appearance may be reminiscent of a wizard in his black cloak and cloudy hair, but his guitarplaying skills are extraordinary. Backed by double drums and Jared Warren's (Big Business) basslines, Melvins are in excellent shape.

The Damned is another band I'm looking forward to see in the flesh, but the 70s UK punks can't seem to convince me that they haven't passed their prime say, thirty years ago? (Circa Smash It Up, before their goth phase). Their "fuck the system" speech doesn't work in their favor either. Luckily Kool Keith and Kutmasta Kurt have a better idea. With a blinged-out scarf (?) draped around his head and shoulders, the eccentric MC that goes by many names (Dr. Octagon, Dr. Dooom, Black Elvis, Spankmaster and Mr. Nogatco, respectively) keeps it real, flowing rhymes to the beats of his masked counterpart behind the turntables. For the last band of the night (and this weekend, sadly), North Carolina hardcore band Double Negative proves to be an excellent choice. Loud, fast, and pissed off (I think they like Black Flag), frontman KC is raging in the crowd more than on stage.

Around four in the morning Tomorrow's Parties suddenly seem to be tonight's, but thankfully the next edition of ATP (The Fans Strike Back) is already taking form with names such as The Jesus Lizard, Devo and Sleep. I daresay the party isn't over yet.

Converge--longtime leaders of the underground hardcore punk, metalized scene with 15 years under their belt--still holds reign with their ever-progressing stature and sound. Mastering the ideals of social and political change, everlasting discovery, and always a surprising melodical approach, they have managed to meld their own personal experiences and musical influences into a beautiful arrangement of noise that trickles like specks onto a canvas revealing a lovely distinguished portrait.

No Heroes, the follow up to Converge’s sophomore Epitaph Records release, You Fail Me, paints a brand new picture with slight familiarities to past albums such as Jane Doe, though it’s still fresh enough to lure the listener in. This spiraling, mood-shifting album is less brooding reminiscence and more screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs to free yourself from the binding turmoil of existence. The album's raw emotion and brutal intention swallows the soul and brings tears to the eyes as your heart races with hunger to hear more. Fortunately, the song “Grim Heart/ Black Rose” gives you 10 minutes to wallow in your angst ridden dream state and encourage you to sit in the dark and dye your hair black.

Be sure to check out No Heroes, take a peek at their website, listen to sound samples of No Heroes, support their label, Deathwish, and gaze upon the rich luxurious painting skills of Jake Bannon. One of them is bound to mesmerize you.

Converge will soon be touring with Some Girls and others in a city near you.

Tip: Check their website listing of albums they're in the market for--they may trade for some Converge merch, pretty freakin’ cool!