Xibalba, Impale Thy Neighbor, and More: SHOW REVIEW

 (This was originally written for school and has been posted here. Enjoy)

Very rarely am I compelled to spend money to go to a show, even if it’s a band I actually care about to a modest-to-high degree. In fact, it was mainly because of this out-of-class assignment that finally got me to get out of my house and go to this show in the first place, even though the venue (The Epicentre) is located only 15 minutes away from my house on bicycle. Furthermore, out of the several bands on the bill, only two of them I actually wanted to see; my buddy’s “beatdown hardcore” band Impale Thy Neighbor, and Pamona’s sludgecore band Xibalba (who also fit under the beatdown banner.) And if we’re being honest, the live metal/hardcore show is really a flawed proposition to begin with (which I've mentioned here before). Metal bands are almost always better in the studio (to say the least) and most metal bands I've seen live, while somewhat enjoyable, just don't deliver their best. Regardless, this out-of-class assignment gave me an excuse to emerge from my hermit den and attempt to have a good time being a scrawny, bespectacled metal nerd surrounded by beefy straightedge hardcore dudes who could kick me across the parking lot for wearing the “wrong” band’s shirt, which I was.

       

After some grilling and snacking outside the Epicentre, all who showed up early to catch the opening bands crowded inside the room, and soon my friends Impale Thy Neighbor took the stage hoping to impress the 100 or so people waiting to be impressed. Truthfully, ITN convincingly play the beatdown style to the hilt; the drumming is primitive and pummeling, the bass is thick and distorted, and the guitar tone is grimy and disgusting coming from guitarist Zino’s menacing Schecter eight-string which delivered some mighty fine breakdowns. The vocals ranged from hardcore-style shouts to brutal death metal growls, and they even got some fans hardcore-dancing in the pit (a “dance” that basically involves a lot of arm flailing and faux-karate type moves.) After Impale Thy Neighbor set things off, Rise Record’s metalcore band American Me was next. Not knowing anything about them whatsoever I had no idea what to expect, but I’m pleased to say that they were indeed very decent. They were incredibly tight; the guitars, bass, drums and vocals seemed to be glued together with no one even slightly out of step with the groove of things, and the songs themselves (while still stuck on some old metalcore clichés) packed a little more punch than your standard uninspired metalcore drivel, almost making me want to see them again. Following them was Fit for an Autopsy, another band that I was oblivious to. Their generic brand of deathcore only had about half the impact on me that American Me had, and American Me, while good, was not necessarily the paragon of originality. One concertgoer must have felt very differently, since he was furiously stomping around in the pit and smashing his huge 6’3” 250lb body into innocent bystanders who weren’t as “excited” as him. Besides some humorous stage banter from their obviously laid back “good guy” vocalist, I didn’t find all that much to enjoy in Fit for an Autopsy.

       

What came after was what I was waiting for the entire night: Southern California’s own peddlers of unrelenting brutality Xibalba. It only took their opening song (the appropriately titled “No Serenity”) to make me lose my shit and headbang with impunity. Breakdown after breakdown, Xibalba lived up the expectations I had for them in a live setting: unbridled energy and aggression, walls of booming guitar sludge, and a barbaric sense of urgency and passion. More people were dancing in the pit than ever, and with their final uber-heavy breakdown on the song “Cold”, even I jumped into the pit and did a dance, no shame at all. After saying bye to Impaled Thy Neighbor and a few other friends, one which I met that very night, I left the building satisfied with hardcore nourishment, and also with a $2 Xibalba patch for my denim vest. Also, no one gave me any trouble for wearing the “wrong” shirt to the show. In my case, it was a “hipster black metal” shirt that could have earned me an uppercut to the jaw, but instead people actually complemented it! This fortunately proves that two radically different scenes in today’s heavy musical landscape can learn to accept each other’s likes and not get into a brawl over it, and because of that me, and my jaw, are thankful.