the power of the riff compels me
By anders pearson 02 May 2002
last night, against my better judgement and in complete disregard for my health, i went down to the roseland with my friend brian and some of his friends to catch a Down show.
<p>brief background: Down is sort of a stoner/southern/rock sideproject of members of several thrash/hardcore bands (pantera, crowbar, corrosion of conformity, and eyehategod). they put out an album and did a short tour in 1995 and blew everyone’s mind. no one heard anything from them again until they released a new album a few months ago and announced another tour. for those of us who have been listening to their first album since 1995 and kicking ourselves for not catching them on that tour, this was an opportunity that couldn’t be missed.</p>
<p>before the show started, i ran into angela, a friend and fellow metalhead from Bates who was trying to scam a drink off someone.</p>
<p>instead of an opening band, they had a projector set up and played about 40 minutes of videos of all the classic rock that presumably forms the core inspiration for the band. black sabbath, hendrix, thin lizzy, kiss, etc. that was interspersed with footage of the band consuming vast quantities of alcohol and pot while recording . </p>
<p>when they finally came out onstage, phil was stumbling and obviously already wasted. as the first song started, i got kicked square in the head by some combat boot wearing, crowd-surfing maniac. i couldn’t see in my left eye for a few minutes. luckily i was so packed in to the crowd that even if i’d passed out, i wouldn’t have fallen down. that pretty much set the tone for the evening for me.</p>
<p>for a band that’s only written two albums, a two hour set list is fairly predictable. they pretty much just played every Down song that they’d ever recorded.</p>
<p>phil really was wasted. after each song, he’d sort of ramble more or less incoherently into the mic for 5 or 10 minutes about how much he hated the record companies and journalists and about how stoned he was. eventually, someone would throw a joint on stage and he’d get even <em>more</em> stoned. meanwhile, the rest of the band would stand around waiting impatiently for phil to get his head together enough to play the next song. a few times he even stopped songs in the middle so he could say whatever had popped into his mind (“wait… stop… i want them to really <em>hear</em> the ending of this song… ok… start again from the drum bit… everybody listen closely…”) by the end of the set, Rex (the bassist) was looking downright pissed at phil. don’t get me wrong; i loved every minute of it. i’d happily pay just to watch phil stumble around stage and rant for a couple hours. he doesn’t make much sense, but he’s pretty funny.</p>
<p>so despite still being somewhat under the influence of a flu with the worst sore throat ever, i found myself spending a few hours in a moshpit getting kicked in the head, crushed, screaming my lungs out and somehow enjoying the whole experience.</p>