Metal Clubs

Over the weekend, I decided to emerge from the cavernous dungeon that I wait out my existence in and make a long overdue trip into the city to catch some live music. One of my favourite local bands was playing an after midnight basement gig and I thought I may as well grace the pit with my presence and get my dose of exercise for the month. The gig was going to be held on a Metal Club night, which essentially means that doors open at 8PM and a number of No-name bands play short sets till the early hours of the morning with the support of a DJ and cheap booze.

It was going to be a swinging party.

I’m going to level with you. I had never been to one of these nights before. I was a bit apprehensive of attending a night where it seemed the live music was just a distraction from drinking and actually (shudder) socializing with people and the bands seemed to be playing second fiddle to a guy spinning records. However, time hasn’t been fair to the guys in the band. They are in the twilight years of a 25+ year career and all they have to show for it is a somewhat respectable underground reputation and an hour long set at 1 in the morning to maybe 150 pissheads at best. So I thought I may as well get down there and show my support for them. Plus I figured that if everything else sucked, at least the 5 dollar spirits would help me get through the night.

Due to a birth defect, I’ve always been robotically punctual, which naturally meant that I arrived precisely at 8PM; giving me 4 hours to kill until the band I came to see took the stage. What I wasn’t prepared for was the absolute shitload of Falseness that I was to behold upon arriving at the venue...

Fat ugly chicks dressed in corsets and lace, pretending to be sexy for the flashing lights of the clubs photographer. Gauged scenebros with sleeve tattoos and bright fluro shirts awkwardly karate kicking on the dancefloor. Gangly Goth weirdo’s with cakey white makeup, black lipstick and those colourless contact lenses casually sipping on Vodka Slushies. A pierced beyond all fuck DJ with a multicoloured Mohawk spinning tunes from choice bands such as Bullet For My Valentine, System Of A Down and Korn.

The pit looked like this. Just more multi-coloured.

I stood aghast; my eyes bulged out of my head in a hideous mix of disgust and horror. It was like an amalgamation of everything that was wrong with the world. If you had of liquefied everyone in that room, you would have had yourself pure, concentrated falseness so potent that it would even shrivel Joey De’Maio’s Balls of Steel.

What kind of wretched hive of misery had I unwittingly stumbled into?

This would be the ultimate test of my spirit. I was a lone Metal warrior facing off against the multi-headed Hydra of falseness in a battle of supremacy to see who would outlast the other.

Armed only with my crossed arms of disapproval and fuelled by pure Irish whiskey, I set off to battle, staring down my opponents and silently judging them with all my might.

I quickly established that the vast majority of the crowd was not here to see the band. Given the fact that most of them were on first name terms with each-other, I could only assume that these were the clubs “regulars”; a bunch of losers that go to the same club every weekend, talk the same shit, and wait out their meaningless existences while climbing over each-other like a bunch of blind puppies in a cardboard box. And my god, how they climbed over each-other. The goth guys were clinging to the fat chicks; the scene bros dragged along their blonde, bimbo girlfriends who looked completely lost, and all anyone could talk about was their sex lives.

It really struck me that for all the effort it took them to look “different” and “provocative”, all they seemed to want to do was drink booze and listen to shitty music just like any regular douchebag you could find in any regular nightclub. Anyplace. Ever.

After the first band took the stage, I realised that it was going to be a long night. The house erupted in vacuous applause as the resident heroes started their set. I don’t remember their name, so I’m just going to call them Fat Green Day cos that’s what they looked and sounded like. A bunch of overweight dudes in eyeliner and bright red ties playing some shitty A Day To Remember mix of Pop Punk and Core.

The kids seemed to lose their shit to Fat Green Day

Being the stubborn bastard that I am, I was determined to enjoy myself, hell I’d already forked out to get into this dump and I wasn’t going home without seeing the band I came to see. So, I invented a little drinking game to keep me amused. Every time the band launched into and open stringed breakdown and started banging their heads in unison, I would take a shot of Whiskey.

Needless to say, after the band finished, I was properly Munted.

The rest of the evening is something of a blur to me. I do remember some actual metalheads showing up later in the night. Grizzled ancients who had probably been with the band since day one. I’m assuming these guys had long since learned not to show up to these events too early. I still have much to learn, I guess.

I also remember completely losing my shit when the band I came to see finally took the stage. As an unexpected bonus, I was so drunk by that point that I couldn’t really feel anything anymore. So I was able to dish out some ample punishment to these falsies in the pit without having to worry about any negative consequences...

Until I woke up the next day with the mother of all hangovers and my ribs bruised beyond all fuck. I’m still not sure how that happened; I may have started a fight or something... I don’t know.

In all honesty, 9/10^th’s of that evening blew massive donkey chunks, it was only copious amounts of alcohol that prevented me from leaving in a huff before the band took the stage. If you want my advice, the next time a band you like is playing a Metal nightclub...

Don’t. Fucking. Go.

(or at least be prepared to put your Liver through merry hell)

Hails

Mattasacre