Live DC: Misery Index @ The Cat

January 18, 2008 by Sexy Fitsum  Send to a Friend

Except for seeing Misery Index listed as show opener to 930 club metal showcases — and not actually having heard them ever — I had no idea who King of Heresy or Time of The Wolf were. But I knew that shit was metal — black, death or grind — and that’s all a brother needed to mark his damn calendar.

Ever since Warehouse Next Door closed shop last year, local metal shows in the district had hit derthville. But if this show, and the Sword/Valient Thorr/Black Cobra joint earlier this month (DO NOT sleep on the black cobra) were any indication, it was looking like The Black Cat back stage is the place where the slack gets picked up. Not only was the show quality, it was locally grown, free-range flavor and there wasn’t a passive uninvolved body in the place.

The saddest part of my night — and trust me, there’s a list — was missing all but opener King of Heresy’s last two songs. From what I understand, these guys change their name A LOT. Like eight times already. So I guess I’m lucky to have found them at all. Another curious trait was their sporting a singer/keyboardist who’d make you go from “what the fuck’s with the synth?” to “nice touch” pretty quickly. He used it to uniquely awesome effect, where that shit could have totally gone the wrong way big time. The last time I heard keyboards in this context was at a Morbid Angel show in Toronto back in ‘90 and it made me wonder if I ever wanted to fuck with Morbid Angel again. That and the bama Nazi skins who were staring at me like I was a fuckin unicorn. Anyway, those keys and the mic stand-attached beer holders stoked my fancy. Two or three of the dudes had them. I don’t know maybe I don’t get out enough, but I was impressed. I’m lookng forward to that McLean, VA house party they’re playing later this month. Hello ociffer.

From the way the crowd got all swoll for Time of The Wolf, this was the band people came to see. I’m told that they’re known mainly from all the area basement and house parties they play. That’s about as real and intimate as you can get; no stage, no real space, no barriers. Funny. I noticed a lone mic stand on the floor in front of the stage, making me wonder if heroically bearded singer Orion (his father was a sailor) really really rocked it like that; all up in the crowd, that is. Then a roadie/friend-of-the-band guy picked it up and walked off and I thought nothing about it. Until Orion actually got all up in the crowd shortly into their set, barking full-throated like he was putting a motherfucker in his place. His vocals sound pretty close to my man from Goatwhore — all possessed and straight outta Lucifer’s birthday wish. Or something. The two guitars, bass and phenomenal drummer behind him were pretty vicious with their shit throughout. Orion stayed off stage for a good little bit, mostly bent over assaulting the crap out of his mic, while a pit with as much smiles and good-nature as anything, broke out and died almost as quickly, just inches away from him. Sometimes surrounding his ass. By the second or third track, the bass player popped his A string, and played the fuck on until dude from King of Heresy loaned him his. between the three performances, TOTW’s had the best band-audience synergy , with audience feedback ranging from synchronized fist pumpage to loner head-bangin. After their set, the stage was totally overtaken by fan-friends, parents and scurrying roadie dudes trying to clear the gear out and prep for the headliners.

Not sure if people were worn out or just scared, but Baltimore’s Misery Index closed out the show to a slightly smaller crowd. If you’re familiar with tour mates Beneath The Massacre (I know. You probably aren’t. I’m just sayin …) think: same high degree of grind and overtly political commentary, with far less noodly guitar lines. The drumwork is equally astounding; like Billy Cobham on meth on Billy Cobham on crack. That was not a copy-paste error. Trust. Super nimble and blasty. Blasty? Yes, BLASTY. Both guitarists were straight losing their minds song after song. The one with the burgundy rig (click’n’see) was head banging so hard his fanning hair actually affected room temperature. And that’s another point: even at quarter capacity, the backstage was hotter’n an oven. I had to ask Chuck the next night if this was like a cost-cutting thing because I was down to my white tee and sweating pretty profusely. But back to the guitarist, who was pretty huge on getting the crowd amped, doing windmills and hopping about. It was the kind of rad shtick you’d see at a larger venues, where the crowd response would come in major decibels and hundreds of outreached mitts. There was some chat about the other guitarist having just gotten out of the hospital. Who knew? These kids were solid professionals and intensely skilled. Intensely intense, really. Here’s a clip of them playing Bottom Feeders from that night.

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