Auntie Sandee has to find a death metal concert. The last concert I went to was a while ago on 14th Street in Manhattan. It was a theater that had auditorium seats sweeping upward, stadium style. At the lower level were the stage and the floor where the boys and girls were slam dancing – is that what they call it? My friend and I sat up up up, away from that shit with other oldsters – I respect old people who aren’t afraid of liking what they like in public.
It was cool looking down at the slam dancers from that level. They looked like Satan’s minions. It’s interesting that some of these bands are middle-aged while the audience is mostly youngsters. This was an Obituary concert. There were two bands I also knew who opened for them, Goatwhore and Krisiun.
Between sets the audio system played the same barrage of death metal groups I have on Pandora. I was in my element. When Obituary came on, fuck that shit, my friend and I ran down the stairs and hit the floor. I screamed my ass off, “Fuuck meeeeeeee!!”
Two days later — whip lash. Dummy me didn’t moderate my head banging. I wondered why the oldsters in the stadium seats seemed only to bang their heads just here and there. They knew better. Every time I think I might outgrow the music, no.
One day last week I was depressed, angry, anxious. I put the music on and it went away. I have it on as I’m writing this. It’s therapeutic. I have anger issues. When I went to that show I was home. So I need to find another concert. I can’t be in my apartment screaming like this and banging my feet on the floor. The concert has to be in the city though. If I had a band it would be this kind of band. I can’t growl, but I think my sister can. She’s young and pretty. She could front it.
At the end of that last show I went to they played Ol’ Dirty Bastard through the sound system – I loved that they crossed two extreme genres like that: