|» Dimmu Borgir 2007 04 20||
Already two weeks have transpired since Wendy and I witnessed the inaugural night visit of Dimmu Borgir. Even still, the event echoes and resonates in my invaluable dark torn heart - pounding mettle. Such a spectacle ensures that the memories remain and the images overlap. I join you to partake in this visual and visceral sinister awakening of pride once lost.
Kataklysm was the opening act. We missed them; as we were ensconced in
a diatribe with ICS Vortex. Judging by the rampant throng of enthusiasts
spending their life's worth at the merch booth, these Canadians left their
indelible mark of catklysimic chilling insanity.
-- chalices of 10
(sorry, no setlist)
Next Up were Roadrunner rampant maniacs - Devil Driver. This brood of brutality were seriously meting out wretched riffage and intense euphony. They drew a sizable coterie of loyal fan addicts, inked and injected with the sacred Devil Driver symbol. Proving that not all who wonder are lost, vocalist Dez FaFara, adorned in his pentagram attire, whipped the crowd into a bullet frenzy; such that I actually witnessed my first true organized moshing pit in ages. In this circle of fire and fear, hardcore skull crushers danced, enraptured and ensnared in the chokehold of this cold chamber of horrors.
Guitarist Mike Spreitzer clad in his Carcass "Heartwork" shirt,
along with guitarist Jeff Kendrick and bassist Jon Miller were tearing
it up onstage - full speed at high level. Devil Driver, never afraid to
hold back the damage, incorporated their repetoire of hits, adding two
new cuts from their forthcoming album - The Last Kind Words - due early
this summer. This led to a melding morass of mayhem with crowd surfers
braving the sonic waves; ignoring a sign which clearly stated - "No
Crowd Surfing". Since this was their first show on this tour, I did
detect some difficulties with the microphone fading in and out between
Dez's disgruntled and grinfucked chants. This in no way faults the performance
of a band who gave it their all, with a procreative pretense, and evil
driving display of vulgarity.
7 chalices of 10
SETLIST: (Thanks to guitarist Jeff Kendrick for this!)
End Of The Line
Unearth imploded with a blast of pure energy, alacrity, and metallic motivation, as these youthful apostates set the standard for another thrash assault and battery. This serious sanctity of brothers had just completed their tour opening for Slayer, now they were, honoured to haunt the shores with the forshadowing furnace fires burning for Dimmu Borgir. Their enthusiasm never subsides, and I recognize their name! The agile Trevor Phipps screamed with acuity for the audience to wake up from their apparent indolence, while Buzz blazed across the stage soloing. At one time he even transversed the lower balcony ramparts on the left and right side; thereby greeting fans incapable of rushing the front stage. His buzzing, flighty yearling potential makes him akin to a zombie on auto pilot.
Meanwhile, sybaritic Ken Susi insouciantly spits water like a geyser or a fountain spring, while flipping a beer bottle behind his back, up and into the crowd of thirsty onlookers. Then there's the sagacious 'Slo' shoveling and pounding his bass strings like a gravedigger caught in the theater of a dream like reverie. The glorious nightmare scenario seemed endless, as I raised my fist and yelled, only to fling my pen into the crowd. Thankfully a kind female fan found and returned it to me. I continued to pent my frustrations and exasperations as Trevor promises us are more before the death cult armaggedon and sordid diabolic attack of Dimmu Borgir - Black hearts now reign!
7,5 chalices of 10
SETLIST: (Thanks to bassist 'Slo' Maggard for this!)
The kings of the carnival creation emerged and the indoctrination commenced. The cry of the cataclysmic children is heard as the progenies of the great apolacalypse erupted on stage, filled with smoke, light, and sulfur. Finally Dimmu Borgir were back in black, and standing strong in boots of rivoted steel. Shagrath and his ilk of inhuman binding disgraced the stage, less adorned in corpsepaint; more clad in shadows. All this kept the crowd spellbound in palatial mourning.
Shagrath whispered like the wind, dressed like a cross between Peter Criss and Blackie Lawless. ICS Vortex and Galder were bane images, like a ghost in the fog. Silenoz with Boli embedded on his guitar strap, and hair tightly pulled taunt and braided like D.D. Verni of Overkill, with pleasure performed diligently. The battery and dynamic drumming of Hellhammer nailed each note. It may have been a few years since their last appearance; but despite the usual Spinal Tap estrangements, they were ready to reign, raising high the heretie hammer. Like a succubus in rapture, they spewed forth one, deathly cult throat evocation and aberration after another. Shagrath was dynamite like TNT with his crowd interorgations and "Oi, Oi!" echoes of dalliance.
Mustis mused over his keyboard frenetics as disembodied voices summoned. Then, Dimmu decided to debut two new scripts from their In Sorte Diaboli enchantment. This was not yet domestically released, but could be purchased at the merch booth that night. First I was encoiled by their Serpentine Offering and Shagrath's wrathful cry, "My decent is the story of everyman - I am hatred, darkness, and despair!" Then after a brief but brutal drum solo, The Chosen Legacy singed like a burnt offering, seething, "In Sorte Diaboli...I voice your rebellion!" As the conniving concept scourged, and the lyrical conspiracy began, I noticed that Vortex's clean vocals were muddle with more microphonic chaos. Damn those PAs! Even still, I was mesmerized by such insight and catharsis.
As the band would exit, left behind were the devotees screaming for more
malice and sacrilegiuos scorn. So Dimmu returned encoring with Spellbound
and Mourning Palace from my favourite of their catalogue - Enthroned Darkness
Triumphant. Then they made the final exit stance - ever grateful for America's
welcome and willing spirit.
8 chalices of 10