Last week, I went to see Nachtmystium, who played with Zoroaster, the Atlas Moth, and Dark Castle in Brooklyn, NY. Here’s what happened:

General state of the crowd at the Knitting Factory: Hairy.

General state of this reporter: Hungover, hairy.

Best hang-over cure: Psychedelic black metal, I guess?

Merch consistency: Groovy '70s-style block lettering. Guess these guys do drugs.

Coolest piece of merch available: The Atlas Moth back patches, featuring the phrase “Drop Acid, Not Bombs.”

First up: Dark Castle from Florida.

The skinny: A two-person band, featuring a female guitarist-vocalist and a drummer, that sounds like Bathory having a panic attack after smoking some high-potency grass.

Favorite fashion choice: Frontwoman Stevie Floyd’s shirt, a simple white sleeveless shirt with fake bloodstains running down the collar, like her throat’s been slit.

Best back patch of the show: The dude with the Impetigo patch. Solid.

The difference between a Brooklyn metalhead and a Manhattan metalhead: Brooklyn kids smell better. I know, it surprised me too, but if last month’s Exodus show proves anything…

Noteworthy venue detail: The bar actually has a number of decent beers on tap.

About the old Knitting Factory: If I remember correctly, they did not have a bunch of good beers on tap. If I remember correctly, they had PBR and Budweiser cans, shit like that.

Coming up second: The Atlas Moth of Chicago.

Noteworthy name bullshit: The band is named after a type of large saturniid moth named after the Greek titan Atlas due to its map-like wings.

Sounds like: The titan Atlas listening to Neurosis, then dropping the globe on his back as he’s eaten alive by a swarm of poisonous moths.

Worst thing about the Atlas Moth: They must not know that I’m brutally hungover, as their music makes my brain feel like it’s getting fucked with a hammer.

As such: They’re obviously doing their job.

Available tour poster: Mother Nature, lilly in hand, reels back from a line of blow while the Grim Reaper reaches around and cops a feel on one of her tits.

Drug use worth mentioning: Nachtmystium seem pretty down with promoting the yayo in a way that is often shunned by more extreme-metal bands. Maybe they think it’s too glam.

Drug use not worth mentioning: When I’ve done it, the yayo made me take epic forceful shits all night. I’ll stick to weed, thanks.

Door number three: Zoroaster from Atlanta.

Comprised of: Two big hairy dudes, a wild drummer, and a fourth guy on his knees manipulating a sound box to add that super-psychedelic flare.

The result: Crushing, riff-based stoner metal with throbbing pulse that makes you wonder if you might have a stroke if you stop banging your head.

Coolest band gear of the night: Zoroaster’s transparent orange drum kit. I shit you not, man.

And finally: Nachtmystium, from Chicago.

Sounds like: Master Of Reality–era Sabbath meets Sons of Northern Darkness–era Immortal, with a touch of Varg Vikernes thrown in for good measure.

Intense state of perspiration: Nachtmystium frontman Blake Judd sweating buckets from the moment he started playing.

Sudden thought: Maybe he’s as hungover as I am!

Favorite stage moves of the night: Nachtmystium just lining up, legs spread, and fucking thrashing out as they play. It’s simple, it’s old-fashioned, and it still looks fucking cool.

Song of the set: A tie between “Ghosts of Grace” and the indie-friendly mindfuck of “Nightfall.”

Holy shit: A mosh pit! Brooklyn kids starting a little black metal mosh pit! Ain’t it grand!

Actual hang-over cure: Going up to the front of the stage and pounding my fist against it while headbanging to “A Seed for Suffering.”

Look for: The band’s new video for “Every Last Drop,” directed by Revolver and Guitar World writer/photo dude Jimmy Hubbard.

In conclusion: What an awesome show, but Jesus Christ, I smell fucking awful.

However: B.O. ist krieg.