Outside the Underground Arts in Philadelphia, a line of people dressed to the nines in black garb waited for the doors to open. A collection of people sported vests and jackets with numerous patches on them, a testament to their devout following of the metal genre. In the middle of the line a twenty-something sold various patches, each one carefully placed on a slab of cardboard. The breezy, chilly night tore through the line. They all waited patiently for the doors to open.
When they finally did, after what seemed like an eternity, the patrons filed in one by one, handing the doorman their identification. They walked through two large gates, down a flight of stairs that curled round and descended again. At the foot of the second flight stood the entrance to the basement. On the right was the ticket merchant, selling entrance to the show for twenty-five dollars. Inside, the patrons made their way to the bar, loading up on alcohol before the nights festivities began. It was an eclectic selection of drinks — various tapped beers and second-tier liquors. Over on the back wall sat the merchandise table, peddling various t-shirts and gramophone records. After the patrons had alcohol in them, they wandered over to the table, dropping hard-earned dollars on band goodies.
The first act to grace the stage was Tribulation, and they played well. Heavy riffs washed over the set, coupled with the urgent speed and intensity. Johannes Andersson’s growls were raw and aggressive. Tribulation is primarily death metal, but there were tinges of black metal mixed in to create a whole sound. Buttressed by the speedy, all-out-attack guitarwork of Jonathan Hultén, the band carried on their half-hour set, full of smoke machines and bright red lighting. The crowd did not seem into it — they were amped up for what would come later on in the evening.
In Solitude came on next. Their new release on Metal Blade Records, Sister, hit quite a high mark in terms of reviews, but overall the band was extremely boring. Their vocalist, Pelle Åhman, looked drunk; he wobbled around on stage and sung inaudible lyrics. Musically, their style is straight “heavy metal” (whatever that means), with added influence from gothic rock acts of the 80s. The crowd was more into it, throwing up the metal sign of appreciation. Their set seemed to drag on endlessly. Their set list mixed some of the old with the new — about halfway through their set they played the title track of the new album, which sounded underwhelming. In Solitude was difficult to suffer through; they are not the great band everyone claims them to be. They might attract a lot of people with their sound, how different it is from the rest of pack, but all-in-all In Solitude is a lackluster band with mediocre musicianship and a sound that translates to dull.
After the Swedish quintet quit the stage, the crewmen began to set up the upside-down crosses on the stage. They took down the giant In Solitude banner that hung behind the drumkit, and moved the props into position. In front of the drumkit, nestled on the back of the stage, stood an altar with various cups and swords placed on top. As the clock drew closer to ten-thirty, the lights went out and over the various cheers in the crowd and the PA system blaring, Watain took the stage. Dressed in their usual attire of corpsepaint and blood, they started their decimation of the Underground Arts. The floor, packed with drunken metalheads, tore open; the pit engulfed stragglers who came there to just see the group perform. One large and very drunk gentleman began to tackle everyone within his reach, dragging them down onto the concrete floor. Some punches were thrown before the Watain crew stepped in to separate the aggressor from his victim. This continued to happen for some time; the pit grew larger in size and bodies crashed against each other, charging one-on-one like soldiers running into battle. Up on stage, Watain scurried through some of their back catalog before playing new tracks from The Wild Hunt. The overall sound was not up to snuff with the album quality, and with the lack of burning items and animal heads skewered on stakes, the whole ambience of the performance could best be described as lackluster. The mics were too low, the bass cranked up too high, and the guitars churned out black metal tremolos that just blended in with the cacophony. Watain is known for their use of props and elaborate stage presence, but here in the basement of the Underground Arts, they were met with flashing lights and the overused smoke machine, leaving very little room for their whole “Satanic” persona to breathe. The raucous crowd ate it up though, even if the set felt rushed and a trifle boring.
The show ended. The bands all packed their gear and props in their tour vans, the merchandise assorted into boxes and put in each van accordingly. The crowd thinned; a few stragglers were left at the bar, drinking away the rest of the evening. Eventually, the doors to the Underground Arts would close. The once inviting gates would be locked, and all that would be left were memories. The patrons would go off into that good night, yearning for another concert and venue, one that would certainly top this.
Watain/In Solitude/Tribulation
The Underground Arts, Philadelphia, PA
October 9th, 2013
Words: Bill Haff