LIVE REPORT: DETHKLOK, MASTODON, CONVERGE, AND HIGH ON FIRE AT THE HAMMERSTEIN BALLROOM, OCTOBER 29, 2009

By Christopher Krovatin

Number of security pat-downs before entrance into venue: 14 frisks, a "Pain Waiver," and a full cavity search.

Fun fact of the night: Klokateers have cold fingers.

Favorite tour accessory: Brütal Legend playing stations in the lobby.

Seating location: First balcony.

Thanks, Revolver: No general admission? Cheapskates.

Price of a Budweiser at Hammerstein Ballroom: $7.00.

Favorite quote overhead while buying booze: “Seven bucks? Jesus, why don’t they just cut your dick off…”

First band, High on Fire, sound like: A rhino covered with spikes being ridden by a werewolf into a horde of Lovecraftian monsters.

Favorite Matt Pike stage move: Start playing badass riff, walk up to the edge of the stage, leer giddily, and nod at the audience.

Funny observation: When Matt Pike speaks, he sounds just as gruff and insane as he does when singing.

Surprising observation: There are very few hipsters here tonight. Overall, the crowd is a very metal crowd.

Not that that’s a bad thing: I just honestly expected a lot more of those Kid Robot skinny-jeans assholes loitering around tonight. You know, Mastodon, Williams Street records, they draw that crowd.

Subsequent revelation: I am old as fuck.

Next band Converge sounds like: Holy shit, a building being shot to death, I guess?

Whoa: These guys are really fucking angry!

Dream of the night: That I could ever be as spidery and terrifying as Jacob Bannon.

Best Jacob Bannon vocal part of the night: UNGH!

Final feelings post-Converge: I think my inner-ear balance is all fucked up.

Lucky number three: Mastodon, baby!

Oh, no: “Oblivion?” Well, at least they aren’t doing the whole of Crack the Skye like that last tour.

Oh wait: No, they’re…playing that whole album again. In its proggy entirety.

Also included: An awful black-and-white movie of the retarded story behind Crack the Skye.

In case you didn’t know: Crack the Skye is about a traumatized man who astral-projects but gets his karmic umbilical cord burnt off when he gets too close to the sun and then finds the spirits of mad Russian monk Rasputin who uses the help of three fury-like witches to send the man’s soul through a black hole and into his body so that Rasputin will not have to die. Or something.

Level of retardation: Y’know what? You can figure that out.

Astounding predicament: Going to a show with Mastodon co-headlining, and having Mastodon be the worst band on the bill. This is depressing.

Celebrity sighting: Dethklok guitarist Toki Wartooth wandering through the venue, screaming that he “won’t plays a fuckin’ notes until I finds my Tamogokokis virtuals pet.”

Favorite fan violence of the night: A fat hesher handing Wartooth his Tomagochi and getting shot in the kneecaps for touching him. Classic.

Finally: Dethklok.

Interesting Skwisgaar Skwigelf fact: He is taller than a tree.

Thoughts on new material: Holy shit, this sounds badass. Obviously, the boys have been brutalling down during the writing of Dethalbum II.

Most improved member: Vocalist Nathan Explosion sounds beyond enraged tonight, much more so than on the last Dethklok tour.

Awesome animation song of the night: “The Gears,” a song about the Klokateers, which featured moving backdrops of awesome, Soviet-esque pro-Dethklok propaganda.

Stunning musicianship of the night: Drummer Pickles slamming away at the skins.

Trick of the eyes: Through all the lights and the fake smoke, Pickles looks sort of like Gene Hoglan. Go figure.

Sacrifice to metal: During Dethklok’s closer, a falling light severed my arm, sending blood spraying across the boots of bassist William Murderface.

Boot-cleaner bill at my house the next day: $740.

Worth it?: Dethklok Dethklok DETHKLOK DETHKLOK.