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Live Report: Eyehategod @ Europa, Brooklyn, February 18

Live Report: Eyehategod @ Europa, Brooklyn, February 18

Chris Krovatin is the author of two young adult novels, Heavy Metal & You and Venomous. He is currently working on multiple new writing projects, as well as new material with his local New York metal band Flaming Tusk. He is a contributing writer for Revolver and generally comes off as a good-natured pain in everyone’s collective ass.

On February 18, I saw Eyehategod with Misery Index, Magrudergrind, Strong Intention, and Mutilation Rites at Europa in Brooklyn. Here are my thoughts on the show.

Original plan for the evening: Come a little buzzed, maybe smoke before Eyehategod.
Price of a 32-oz. Big Cup at Rosemary’s Greenpoint Tavern: $4.
Number of Big Cups consumed preshow: 2.
Status upon arriving at Europa: Fucking useless.
New plan for the evening: Stay standing. Chris? Chris, stay. Standing.
First band on: New York’s own Mutilation Rites.
Sounds like: Deafening washes of noise that transition suddenly into charging riffs that would make Kerry King jealous.
In with the band: I work with their bassist part-time at a vegan place in Williamsburg.
What: You think Revolver pays me to cover shows for their website?
Event witnessed upon trip to the bathroom: Dude getting thrown against the wall and frisked by a burly security guard while his friend got his wallet dissected on the sink.
Declaration cackled by Eyehategod singer Mike Williams behind me: “Looks like a bad time to need to take a fuckin’ piss!”
Back patch of the night: The GG Allin back patch with the Leftöver Crack strip patch above it. Fuck yeah, let’s get filthy.
Next up: Strong Intention from Maryland.
Sounds like: Noisey hardcore with some big breakdowns thrown in. Cool and blaring, but not really my cup of tea.
Attempts made to get bassist/vocalist Zac Ohler to remove his shirt: One.
Attempt: Failed.
Number of overpriced cans of Budweiser consumed at this point: 5.
Level of communication possible: Hand gestures, head motions.
Yo, dude: You gotta…you gotta cig’rrete f’me? Frr thissky ride here?
Number of local metal dudes encountered: Bill from Demilitia, Sam from Mutant Supremacy.
Number of Revolver editors this reporter got blazed in front of: One. And trust me, Kory’s seen worse. He hangs with Gaahl and shit.
Rumor going around: Eyehategod won’t be on until 12:30.
Impressive: Guess the club didn’t book another Polish mob dance party like they did at the Immolation/Mortician show.
Next, we have: Magrudergrind from Washington, D.C.
Sounds like: A tenement building being razed by huge rats with scrap-metal claws who fuck their victims to death with pulsating pink dicks.
Current mental state: Waaaay too high for Magrudergrind.
Best thing about being too high for Magrudergrind: It really shows you how utterly punishing their music is. These guys are ripping it up, and it’s freakin’ me out, man.
Merch purchased: EHG shirt with the Black Flag bars done as tabs of Xanax on the back.
Merch almost purchased: Show poster featuring a nude junkie chick on a tombstone being tied-off by death. It’s okay, just a bit literal for my poster tastes.
Next we have: Misery Index, from New York.
Band fact: Misery Index features former members of death-metal empire-smashers Dying Fetus.
Which is why: They sound like they’re going to kill everyone here.
Awards held: Misery Index won my Grimmy Award for Most Virulent Hatred of Mankind.
Highlight of the set: “Heirs to Thievery.”
Hilarious sight of the night: A bunch of EHG fans trying to mosh, five minutes in, and we’re all panting and sweating from all the booze and drugs.
Cigarettes smoked: Five.
Thought you quit: Yeah, me too.
Preparedness to see Eyehategod live: Well, there’s sweat all over my body, everyone dressed in faded black, and I’m slightly ashamed of myself.
Finally: Eyehategod from NOLA.
My name is God: And I fucking hate you.
Sounds like: Snot on newsprint. Glass in your lunch. HPV. Your gums, when some food gets caught in them and they swell up and bleed any time you touch them. Expired pills rattling around in a plastic bottle. An old hunk of fence being blown around a vacant lot. A single sore on a poorly-shaved vagina. The American dream squealing when it sees the cleaver in the butcher’s hands. Yellowed paper on shag carpet. Exhaust fans with blood on ‘em.
Amount of drugs done by the audience the exact moment the band came onstage: All of them. Every last scrap of drug.
Highlights of the night: “Dixie Whiskey,” “30$ Bag,” and of course, “White Nigger.”
Interesting idea: Moshing to this. I feel like the way to dance to this music is to blow Percocet and throw up.
Amazing material played: “New Orleans Is The New Vietnam.” Awesome song, and what a title.
State of drunkenness upon exiting show: Blecch.
Sudden desire to find and do prescription medication: Unadvisable.

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