Live Report: Cannibal Corpse, 1349, and More at the Crazy Donkey, Farmingdale, NY April 25
Chris Krovatin is the author of the young-adult novels Heavy Metal & You and Venomous, as well as Revolvermag.com's “Final Six” blog. The latter book was the inspiration for Deadlocke, a one-shot published by Dark Horse Comics.
On Sunday, I went to the Cannibal Corpse (left), who played with 1349, Skeletonwitch, Diabolic, Carcinogenic, and Lecherous Nocturne. I live in New York City, and the show was in Long Island. Should’ve been easy, right? Here’s what happened:
Location of the Crazy Donkey: Right off 110, across from the airport.
Location Google Maps sent me: Some random fucking suburb in Long Island.
Amount of time spent finding said wrong location: An hour and 20 minutes. I’m a moron.
Number of Farmingdale locals asked for directions: Four.
Final arrival time at the Crazy Donkey: 7:30. Doors were at 6:00.
Bands missed: Carcinogenic and Lecherous Nocturne.
Reason that’s OK: I had no idea that fucking Diabolic was playing!
Diabolic are some old-school shit: God, I was so into that band back in the day.
Coolest piece of merch: Definitely 1349’s satanic Ouija board skate deck. Amazing.
Runner up: Skeletonwitch’s evil goat-headed beer cozies.
First up: Diabolic.
Diabolic’s hometown, according to singer Paul Ouellette: “TAMPA FUCKING FLORIDA.”
Favorite thing about Diabolic’s stage presence: They all look believably pissed off the entire time they play. Like, they want to know why the fuck you think you’re good enough to be here.
Crowd reaction: Calm for the longest time, and then all at once completely rabid. The drunk wagon must have arrived.
Sad fact of the venue: You kind of have to drive here to get here, which means you can’t really get a good mean death-metal drunk on, if you’re getting behind the wheel.
Disclaimer: Revolver magazine asks that you please not get a mean old innards-slurping, skull-fucking, horns-held-high, death-metal drunk on if you’re driving. Please—get fucked up responsibly.
Next in line: Skeletonwitch from Ohio.
Imagined day jobs of Skeletonwitch frontman Chance Garnett: Rock crusher, butcher, satanic dictator, drug tester, inbred desert mutant, firewalker.
Best song of the set: “Beyond the Permafrost”.
Disappointment of the night: No “Vengeance Will Be Mine”?
Noteworthy band trait: Skeletonwitch guitarists Nate Garnett and Scunty D. play guitar leads so damn sweet, they would melt butter over ice cream.
You fucking heard me: Skeletonwitch play solos like buttered ice cream. What of it?
Lamest attempt to make an inside joke: The asshole dressed like Ace Ventura. Oh, I get the reference, retard. You’re still a retard.
Heartwarming sight: The sheer number of kids at this show. Ah, death metal, you will live on forever in the hearts of misanthropic teenagers.
Number of girls eyed predatorily before the realization that they were, like, 15: Two.
General attractiveness of a Cannibal Corpse audience: Woof.
Door number three: 1349.
Smiles cracked during 1349: What are you, some kind of poser?
Baddass historical fact: The band claims it uses the year as its band name because it’s the year a corpse-filled ship floated into Bergen harbor and introduced the plague to Norway.
Weirdest representation of unholy might: 1349 bassist Seidemann with off-black nightgown and nightcap ensemble.
Number of times singer Ravn actually addresses the audience: Twice, barely.
General smell of the room before Corpse: Beer-sweat, kielbasa, and cheap plastic.
Favorite patch of the night: The old-school Sodom, Agent Orange patch on the tall dude with the denim vest and the headband.
Band I can understand my girlfriend worrying about: Cannibal Corpse.
The time to kill: Now.
Amount of time all five members’ faces are visible through their hair: .0528 seconds.
Classic old-school song: “Gutted.”
Awesome new material: “Evisceration Plague.”
Sad announcement of the night: No “I Cum Blood” tonight.
Corpsegrinder quote of the night: “I’ll come over to your house and cut off your mother’s head when she answers the door.”
Now, let’s all admit it: Cannibal Corpse might be the best band in the world.
Scariest moshing: The pit during “Disfigured” was especially insane. I don’t even know to describe it; it was like a mutilated angel throwing up.
Visibility on the drive home: 23 percent due to pouring rain.
Amount of time lost in Queens before getting home: An hour and 20 minutes.
Resolution on attending future Long Island shows: Only if they’re good. Like, Cannibal Corpse–good.
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