Power Trip
The thrash metal quartet, Power Trip is
less of a band and more of a literal tour de force. To truly critique the
artwork of such a passionate group of musicians, I feel as though it is vital
to not only witness one of their concerts in the flesh, but to also immerse
oneself into the chaos produced by one of their volatile performances. The
experience of a Power Trip show was never more deserved of praise than when
they dethroned the previous Godfathers of aggressive heavy metal, Cannibal
Corpse while serving as their opening act in a venue called the Blind Tiger in Charleston,
South Carolina.
I entered the Blind Tiger
armed with the confidence of a seasoned veteran of the metal scene. I had lost
track of the number of concerts I had attended since my very first. Ever since
I was thrust into my first masochistic mosh pit experience at the hands of the
metal juggernauts, Crowbar a few years prior, I had become addicted to live
shows. This addiction had caused me to drive several hours to attend a concert that
held all the potential to be the epicenter of all that is, “thrash metal”. The
line-up consisted of three groups, Gatecreeper, Power Trip, and the legendary, Cannibal
Corpse. They sound like a trilogy of Rob Zombie films because that is precisely
what sells tickets and albums in this scene. This was a groundbreaking evening
for both of the opening acts (Gatecreeper and Power Trip) as both of them not
only tore this relatively small venue apart, board by board, like it was their
part time job. They were able to cement their rightful places at the helm of
the metal scene, they were able to do so in the presence of the legendary
trailblazers of overtly graphic and controversial heavy metal music, Cannibal
Corpse. They played so rapaciously that the headliner was no longer the main
attraction.
Cannibal Corpse rose from
the obscure underground metal scene of the east coast in the early due to the
mixed reviews surrounding their music. With songs entitled, “Hammer Smashed
Face”, “A Skull Full of Maggots”, and lest we forget the classic, “I Cum Blood”
this band has been stirring up controversy with both parents and politicians
since their inception. There have been many other metal bands that have skirted
on the coat tails of nothing more than shock value, but that is where Cannibal
Corpse had always set themselves apart from their peers. They were a
groundbreaking group in terms of lyrical content, vocal delivery, and creating
a sound that was an absolute onslaught of ferocity. They were nothing like some
of their tongue-in-cheek counterparts, as they backed their disgustingly fowl
image up with a sonic landscape capable of turning any fan of metal music into
a fan of theirs. That’s why they’ve been steadily releasing album after vile album
and touring the world for nearly thirty years. But this particular evening the
mighty were destined to fall. From the moment that Cannibal Corpse took the
stage it was evident that the vocalist, George Fisher was far beyond hammered,
which can be an almost endearing quality for some heavy meatal performances. However,
this display of braggadocios drunkenness quickly lost its romanticism because,
well, there’s nothing artistically arousing about an overweight middle-aged front
man challenging a much younger audience to slew of fist fights. This kind of
“drunk step-dad energy” just doesn’t really translate well after you’ve been
introduced by two authentically passionate performances. It should be mentioned
though, that the other four members of the group remained musically composed
and tight throughout the performance. Even though they seemed equally fed up
with Fischer’s antics, they delivered the same heavy riffs and violent
soundtrack that the fans came to experience. But such is the life of a
performing artist. Sometimes bands tour beyond their genuine capabilities and
become an afterthought of their own glorious heydays. Nonetheless, concerts
such as this one would not be possible had it not been for this group of viciously
descriptive heavy meatal mavericks, who laid down the road work for their predecessors
to expand upon. Gatecreeper being one of the most talented bands ever created
in the vein of their violent death metal forefathers.
I entered Gatecreepers
mosh pit with limited knowledge of this group. By limited knowledge I really
mean that a friend of mine named, Steve had told me moments prior to entering
the venue that they were a talented band and their sound was, “super grindy”. I
did not have the slightest idea what the word “grindy” meant in terms of music,
but I found out quickly. These four long haired gentlemen arose on the stage,
equipped themselves with their instruments and microphones, as the congregation
of us beneath them began to go through the rigmarole of ensuing a proper circle
pit. This usually requires a group of two or larger that take it upon
themselves to migrate to the middle of the floor in the concert hall and begin
to vigorously shove their fellow concert goers out of the way to make a
circular area, that will soon be used for cathartic violence to a live soundtrack.
This process is never truly complete until at least six or seven beers have
been spilled on the same floor that everyone is going start fighting on in a
few moments, and there is always one man who looks like a member of the band
that got lost on the way to the stage. This man will take his beer and pour it
all over himself as if he was WWE’s very own, Stone Cold Steve Austin and shout
something along the lines of, “Fuck yes!” In nearly perfect timing with that
audience member’s encouraging chant, Gatecreeper opened up with the track,
“Craving Flesh” and the entire structure started to fly off the damn handles.
As I was being tossed around like a one-hundred-and-fifty-pound meat puppet in
one of the most ferocious pits I have ever been caught in. I had never seen
anything quite like it from an opening act. I realized what Steve meant by the “grindiness”
of this band. Their sound is the rhythmic equivalent of throwing meat into a
wood-chipper and I mean that in the highest regard possible. The guitars
sounded so sharp that they were able to penetrate my solar plexus and leave
enough room for the bass lines to shake up my internal organs. The drums were
so invasive they made the soundwaves feel heavy, heavy like nothing I had ever
felt before. My brain was vibrating like it was riding shotgun in a rusted out
pick-up truck down a washed-out dirt road. I was taking elbows, and other
flying body parts, to the face in this mess of people. I was being put in a
trance by the rhythmic fluidity that was being produced by one guitarist (Eric
Wagner), one bassist (Sean Mears), a drummer (Matthew Arrebollo), and a
vocalist (Chase Mason) who was running the whole show by spewing inhuman sounds
into a microphone. They laid down a solid thirty-minute set that left me
drenched in sweat and with an unceasing ringing my ears. Besides receiving a
stellar cardio workout and the early signs of tinnitus from the members of
Gatecreeper, I also received an opportunity to bare witness to an incredible
performance. As I choked down a cigarette outside and came to terms with just
how amazingly “grindy” that concert was, I realized that my night was far from
over. The second opening act, the maniacal quartet from Dallas, Power Trip were
the real reason that I drove three hours to Charleston, South Carolina. And
they were about to lay down a show that might as well have just left my brain
inside of a blender.
Power Trip was touring in
support of their sophomore album, “Nightmare Logic”. At the time, that album
had burrowed its way deep into my heavy rotation of music. It’s safe to say
that I listened to that record once a day for nearly ten months, from the time
it was released on February 24, 2017 to December 3, 2017, when I had finally
had the opportunity to have one of my favorite works of art displayed before
me, in real time. To say that I was excited for this concert would be nothing
short of a massive understatement. But all my ideas of grandeur in terms of what
this performance could possibly contain, were shattered by the unbelievable
display of outright savagery that ensued as soon as the boys from Power Trip
opened up with the title track from, “Nightmare Logic.” The persistent whine of
Blake Ibanez’s guitar strings being bent far beyond their intended position on
the fret board, was quickly met with a brutally animalistic screech from the
depths of vocalist, Riley Gale. The crowd recognized the intro and lost their
minds in a fashion that seemed even unprecedented for a metal show. There was
no mosh pit during this set, there was an all-out brawl. We were constructing
literal walls of human beings, as we all scrambled for an opportunity to get as
close to the stage as humanly possible. This was the type of concert that makes
the venue owner look outside his office window, immediately pick up his phone
to call his insurance company, and file a claim on the whole establishment.
This concert was quickly evolving into a manifestation of the exact same
intensity and energy that is felt when listening to a recording of Power Trip. Each
and every passing song gave way to more and more beautiful absurdity. The song,
“Soul Sacrifice” made me feel as though I may have to do just that in order to
survive this display of brute force. When they played, “Firing Squad” I was
under the impression that Chris Ulsh was going to play right through his drum
set and possibly fall through the face of the Earth, if he hit those rhythm
sections any harder. During, “Cruxifixation” I felt as though I was being drug
under by a current of Chris Whetzel’s relentless bass lines. And then it
finally happened. They played “Executioner’s Tax (Swing of the Axe)” and any
remaining sense of normalcy or civility was lost. I have never in all my life
experienced a display of unadulterated energy quite like what I felt and
witnessed for those three minutes and forty-five seconds. Blake Ibanez and Nick
Stewart created this unbelievable back-and-forth with their guitars. The intro
to this song sounds like a sinister conversation being had between two heavy
machine guns. While Power Trip was in the midst of ensuing the kind of violence
that is usually met with police officers wielding riot shields, I landed any
which way but gracefully at the feet of the Gale, as I had just been thrown up
on stage. He lent me a helping hand and up to my feet. He put the microphone in
front of my face and we both delivered a howling chant of, “Swing of the Axe”,
from the chorus of the song, before I jumped off of the stage. As I rushed to
the edge, I looked out into the sea of unruly people that lay before us, and I
understood why these four guys from Texas perform with every ounce of authenticity
that they possess.
There is something so
satisfying about witnessing the underdog get a taste of victory. But when you
see the underdog become the new alpha before your very eyes, that will
drastically shift your perspective. Heavy metal concerts are already cathartic
enough for those who choose to attend them, but this show was something
special. This show was the most unfiltered artistic expression I have ever
seen. What was intended to be a night of showcasing the past accomplishments of
Cannibal Corpse, became a spectacle of the musical advancements made by a
couple of bands that they helped influence. After one thirty-minute set Power
Trip took up their roles as the prodigal sons of thrash and ushered in a whole
new idea of what should be expected during a live performance.