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.