•
Rating: Overwhelming. Phenomenal. Unique.
While I was in the car on the northern ring road, on my way home, I couldn't think of anything else. Without a doubt, this was one of the most amazing concerts of my life. Being just a few meters away from the stage, in front of my idols, made me feel truly alive, and even the constant moshing with those bald and incredibly sweaty individuals seemed unforgettable to me.
Attention: I'm not talking about Machine Head. But let's go in order.
Around half-past seven in the evening, we arrive at Trezzo sull'Adda, after repeated curses and blasphemies due to its untraceable highway access. We calmly approach the entrance of the "Live!," a building that seems to have been recently renovated; the climate is almost Amazonian (VERY sultry and VERY humid), which poses a real challenge to our thirsty throats. A small beer costs 4 euros. (4 euros?!?!?!? thieves!!....)
This, however, doesn't bother us much, as we are eagerly waiting for our "greats" to reveal themselves. The Caliban, a modestly chaotic band, are the best appetizer to enjoy an authentic night of heavy metal: hyper-bearded, hyper-caloric, hyper-beer-drunk (many of these individuals roam the area with a menacing air... many remind me of Gimli, go figure). They provide immediate, brutal, and relatively effective moshing: indeed, not many remain indifferent to their performance (myself included, zero guitar solos). About twenty minutes pass this way. Slowly, even the skyline signals the coming of twilight. Then, finally, they arrive.
Troy Sanders adjusts the microphone and bass. Bill Kelliher comes in without much show, simply grabbing his weapon. Brent Hinds launches into a brief pentatonic. Then he emerges, the human octopus. Brann Dailor.
MASTODON.
"Iron Tusk" kicks off the chaos. I've been waiting for this moment for months. The moshing is fierce, even though this is just the beginning. The sequence of the songs is fast and immediate: "Blood and Thunder", "Circle Cysquatch", "Siberian Divide", "The Wolf is Loose" unleash madness, pure adrenaline. The chills running down my spine are blades of pleasure that immerse me in a new dimension. Every song exudes energy and explosive force; the chemistry between the core phases and instrumental interludes, which are impossible to describe, releases sensations never before experienced. In a way, it awakens the repressed instinct hidden in our souls.
"Colony Of Birchmen" is the most intense moment. Your head doesn’t even respond anymore, you don't even realize you exist as a body, the people around you vanish, and you're alone with your mind, finally free of the physical barrier that until recently prevented you from being yourself. They don't even need to spur the audience; they have no need. These are the most violent forty minutes of my life... even though I'm not really talking about moshing. Exactly: I'm one of the few fools who paid 29 euros to see not the headliners, but the openers of a concert (well, myself and the two brothers traveling companions).
The performance as a whole lasts long enough for an opening band, but it is still too short to fully appreciate the extraordinary power of Mastodon. We wait for twenty minutes behind the barriers and eventually manage to speak with them: the emotion is immense. Having in front of me the monster who until five minutes ago was flying over the drumset leaves me speechless: let alone finding him among the crowd during the Machine Head performance!
Ah yes, Machine Head... they were there too, how absent-minded I am! I'm really sorry if you were expecting an enthusiastic review on them... but, well, I can't say I really care about these Machine Head.
Violentini, this could be a good description.
Salut!
Loading comments slowly
