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Gonzo Report: Narcotic Wasteland at Brick By Brick
Inspired by addiction, fueled by metal
Narcotic Wasteland is here to melt your brain
The heavy metal coming from the Performance 360 gym isn’t the kind I came to Linda Vista for. While there’s a certain hypnotic rhythm, it looks like a lot of effort. It’s close to Brick By Brick where a quadruple bill features Austrian blackened death metal band Belphegor along with Incantation, Hate, and Narcotic Wasteland. Besides, the trek from the parking spot outside the gym will be exercise, and I don’t want to overdo it. I wonder what the fuck is with all the gyms in this stretch as I pass one called “Werk.” Not much time to ponder as I see the line of metal heads outside the venue. Several are wearing Belphegor shirts, but throughout the evening I’ll see a smattering of Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden gear among the crowd.
Narcotic Wasteland is starting their set as I enter, just in time to see former Nile guitarist Dallas Toler–Wade ripping through their extreme metal songs. And while drummer Austin Vicars is providing solid beats and clashing accents, my eyes and ears are drawn to bassist Kenji Tsunami, who appears to be playing a Chapman Stick, that fascinating other worldly instrument I’ve heard in prog rock like King Crimson, Steven Wilson’s solo work, and of course Stick Men with Tony Levin. But I’ve never heard it used in metal, never mind something moving as fast as what Narcotic Wasteland is laying out.
Later, two bass players, including Tsunami himself, will correct me. It’s not a true Chapman Stick, but a NS/Stick made by Emmett Chapman (creator of The Stick) and designer Ned Steinberger (known for headless Steinberger basses). All I know is that the sound coming out of it combined with the speed at which the hands are moving melts my brain. The further into the set we go, the more the music builds in intensity. Toler–Wade doesn’t need the corpse paint two of the other bands wear to look possessed.
Outside I run into the bassist for local metal band Theosis, Zac Herriot. When I ask when his band will play Brick, he tells me never again because the sound sucked. He adds that it could be corrected and it's the fault of the old regime, but they’ve tried different sound techs with unsatisfactory results. He holds Tsunami in high esteem and attempts to explain the difference between a true Chapman Stick and what Tsunami is playing. I’m obviously confused, so I tell him I’m learning KISS Alive! on bass. He tells me I’m better than that, and I assure him I’m not.
Polish death metal band Hate delivers the kind of music a band named Hate would. Melodic attacks with growling vocals. I’m a little further back from the rapidly filling floor area and notice a slight dip in sound quality, mostly a weak bass signal. It could be my location, but I’m not inclined to move further up as I see Tsunami at the merch table. He also corrects me when I call his instrument a Stick and says it’s an eight string fretless bass. I tell him he’s like Geddy Lee on steroids, and he doesn’t respond. It’s a compliment, but inaccurate. Tsunami has an incomparable style.
I run into my friend Ardi, a man with a seemingly endless knowledge of recent and classic metal. Over phone or text, when I ask him what he’s up to, the answer is always “listening to vinyl.” I’ve stopped asking what he’s up to and just start with, “What vinyl are you listening to?” A regular participant in Record Store Day, he also gets his wax at shows and purchases Hate and Belphegor records tonight. He fills me in on RSD releases I might be into, like Fear Factory and Pink Floyd, before he heads in to see Incantation, leaving me with a bit of FOMO after telling me about a recent Opeth show I passed on.
Incantation, who some call “the truest death metal band left” or some variation thereof, surpass their reputation, pushing the boundaries of the style as they have since 1989. Veterans for sure, but the set isn’t on autopilot, and the response is spontaneous energy returned.
Outside, I introduce myself to a man named Dustin wearing a Blasphemy shirt with “Black Metal Skinheads” on the back print. I ask him what black metal skinheads do, and he tells me they mostly hang out in a graveyard in Canada because they think it’s a portal to hell. He’s not allowed in Canada, and the members of Blasphemy aren’t allowed in the states because of their habit of drug smuggling and assaulting cops. I don’t ask why Dustin can’t cross the Northern border, instead wondering if he’s accused of being racist as the general public ignorantly equates skinheads to racists. He and his friend Michael laugh and say, yeah, but those people are idiots. They introduce me to a man named Elliot who has similar eyewear to me. But he got his tint and frame specifically to look like the dietary self-sufficient serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. His license is a spitting image.
Heading back in, I get a chance to chat with Toler-Wade about the slogan “Inspired by Addiction, Fueled by Metal” that adorns their shirts. I’m anticipating something deep and revelatory when he tells me it was said in a conversation with his mom. He doesn’t recall the context, just that it sounded cool.
Fine!
We chat about our mutual love for bands like Mercyful Fate when the inevitable headbanger conflict surfaces. Judas Priest or Iron Maiden. I have no idea where this need to decide on one comes from, as most of us love both, but it’s been present for as long as I can remember. I prefer Maiden and he’s a die-hard Priest disciple. Priest’s Turbo album, commercial and featuring the band with poodle perms, is usually my mic drop moment for these debates. But he likes Turbo. One can’t reason with someone who likes Turbo. It’s a smirky conversation he’s likely had many times, and the man knows his stuff. He’s excited for Narcotic Wasteland’s new single “Fentanyl Zombies” to be released in a few months, and so am I, so back to common ground.
Belphegor brings the extreme Satanic elements with both the music and the stage set. It’s hard to do black metal without becoming a parody, and they’re one of the few bands that can pull it off. But the giant skulls in Pope hats are, well, old hat and just remind me of Ghost, the Nickelback of metal. The crowd, for the most part, disagrees with me, though one person walks out to the smoking patio proclaiming, “It’s too Belphegory in here.”
I’m even further back from the stage when a vocalist approaches the mic stand shaped like giant garden shears. He could be saying something in his native Austrian, summoning Old Scratch, or giving his family's cookie recipe. The sound from where I am is sub-optimal, and I’m more interested in the dude standing with an armload of leather accessories at the entrance of the women’s bathroom. His face is forward in a submissive trance, and several women ask if he’s OK. The one who wears the leather in the relationship emerges with the help of security. Whether she’s resistant or unable to walk on her own is a mystery, but she’s outta there and so am I.
I’ve been feeling a pull to leave as Belphegor wraps up. Not so much a disturbance in the force, but a magnetic draw whose source is revealed near my car. The dude with the bacon hot dogs is just setting up and I’m first! I defiantly eat the heart attack fuel on the steps of the gym.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: Narcotic Wasteland at Brick By Brick
Inspired by addiction, fueled by metal
Gonzo Report: Narcotic Wasteland at Brick By Brick
Inspired by addiction, fueled by metal
Narcotic Wasteland is here to melt your brain
The heavy metal coming from the Performance 360 gym isn’t the kind I came to Linda Vista for. While there’s a certain hypnotic rhythm, it looks like a lot of effort. It’s close to Brick By Brick where a quadruple bill features Austrian blackened death metal band Belphegor along with Incantation, Hate, and Narcotic Wasteland. Besides, the trek from the parking spot outside the gym will be exercise, and I don’t want to overdo it. I wonder what the fuck is with all the gyms in this stretch as I pass one called “Werk.” Not much time to ponder as I see the line of metal heads outside the venue. Several are wearing Belphegor shirts, but throughout the evening I’ll see a smattering of Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden gear among the crowd.
Narcotic Wasteland is starting their set as I enter, just in time to see former Nile guitarist Dallas Toler–Wade ripping through their extreme metal songs. And while drummer Austin Vicars is providing solid beats and clashing accents, my eyes and ears are drawn to bassist Kenji Tsunami, who appears to be playing a Chapman Stick, that fascinating other worldly instrument I’ve heard in prog rock like King Crimson, Steven Wilson’s solo work, and of course Stick Men with Tony Levin. But I’ve never heard it used in metal, never mind something moving as fast as what Narcotic Wasteland is laying out.
Later, two bass players, including Tsunami himself, will correct me. It’s not a true Chapman Stick, but a NS/Stick made by Emmett Chapman (creator of The Stick) and designer Ned Steinberger (known for headless Steinberger basses). All I know is that the sound coming out of it combined with the speed at which the hands are moving melts my brain. The further into the set we go, the more the music builds in intensity. Toler–Wade doesn’t need the corpse paint two of the other bands wear to look possessed.
Outside I run into the bassist for local metal band Theosis, Zac Herriot. When I ask when his band will play Brick, he tells me never again because the sound sucked. He adds that it could be corrected and it's the fault of the old regime, but they’ve tried different sound techs with unsatisfactory results. He holds Tsunami in high esteem and attempts to explain the difference between a true Chapman Stick and what Tsunami is playing. I’m obviously confused, so I tell him I’m learning KISS Alive! on bass. He tells me I’m better than that, and I assure him I’m not.
Polish death metal band Hate delivers the kind of music a band named Hate would. Melodic attacks with growling vocals. I’m a little further back from the rapidly filling floor area and notice a slight dip in sound quality, mostly a weak bass signal. It could be my location, but I’m not inclined to move further up as I see Tsunami at the merch table. He also corrects me when I call his instrument a Stick and says it’s an eight string fretless bass. I tell him he’s like Geddy Lee on steroids, and he doesn’t respond. It’s a compliment, but inaccurate. Tsunami has an incomparable style.
I run into my friend Ardi, a man with a seemingly endless knowledge of recent and classic metal. Over phone or text, when I ask him what he’s up to, the answer is always “listening to vinyl.” I’ve stopped asking what he’s up to and just start with, “What vinyl are you listening to?” A regular participant in Record Store Day, he also gets his wax at shows and purchases Hate and Belphegor records tonight. He fills me in on RSD releases I might be into, like Fear Factory and Pink Floyd, before he heads in to see Incantation, leaving me with a bit of FOMO after telling me about a recent Opeth show I passed on.
Incantation, who some call “the truest death metal band left” or some variation thereof, surpass their reputation, pushing the boundaries of the style as they have since 1989. Veterans for sure, but the set isn’t on autopilot, and the response is spontaneous energy returned.
Outside, I introduce myself to a man named Dustin wearing a Blasphemy shirt with “Black Metal Skinheads” on the back print. I ask him what black metal skinheads do, and he tells me they mostly hang out in a graveyard in Canada because they think it’s a portal to hell. He’s not allowed in Canada, and the members of Blasphemy aren’t allowed in the states because of their habit of drug smuggling and assaulting cops. I don’t ask why Dustin can’t cross the Northern border, instead wondering if he’s accused of being racist as the general public ignorantly equates skinheads to racists. He and his friend Michael laugh and say, yeah, but those people are idiots. They introduce me to a man named Elliot who has similar eyewear to me. But he got his tint and frame specifically to look like the dietary self-sufficient serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. His license is a spitting image.
Heading back in, I get a chance to chat with Toler-Wade about the slogan “Inspired by Addiction, Fueled by Metal” that adorns their shirts. I’m anticipating something deep and revelatory when he tells me it was said in a conversation with his mom. He doesn’t recall the context, just that it sounded cool.
Fine!
We chat about our mutual love for bands like Mercyful Fate when the inevitable headbanger conflict surfaces. Judas Priest or Iron Maiden. I have no idea where this need to decide on one comes from, as most of us love both, but it’s been present for as long as I can remember. I prefer Maiden and he’s a die-hard Priest disciple. Priest’s Turbo album, commercial and featuring the band with poodle perms, is usually my mic drop moment for these debates. But he likes Turbo. One can’t reason with someone who likes Turbo. It’s a smirky conversation he’s likely had many times, and the man knows his stuff. He’s excited for Narcotic Wasteland’s new single “Fentanyl Zombies” to be released in a few months, and so am I, so back to common ground.
Belphegor brings the extreme Satanic elements with both the music and the stage set. It’s hard to do black metal without becoming a parody, and they’re one of the few bands that can pull it off. But the giant skulls in Pope hats are, well, old hat and just remind me of Ghost, the Nickelback of metal. The crowd, for the most part, disagrees with me, though one person walks out to the smoking patio proclaiming, “It’s too Belphegory in here.”
I’m even further back from the stage when a vocalist approaches the mic stand shaped like giant garden shears. He could be saying something in his native Austrian, summoning Old Scratch, or giving his family's cookie recipe. The sound from where I am is sub-optimal, and I’m more interested in the dude standing with an armload of leather accessories at the entrance of the women’s bathroom. His face is forward in a submissive trance, and several women ask if he’s OK. The one who wears the leather in the relationship emerges with the help of security. Whether she’s resistant or unable to walk on her own is a mystery, but she’s outta there and so am I.
I’ve been feeling a pull to leave as Belphegor wraps up. Not so much a disturbance in the force, but a magnetic draw whose source is revealed near my car. The dude with the bacon hot dogs is just setting up and I’m first! I defiantly eat the heart attack fuel on the steps of the gym.
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