Live Report: Nachtmystium at the Knitting Factory, New York, September 19
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.
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.