Lamb of God Burns Down the Phoenix

Lamb of God: singing songs of peace and love since 1994.

I wake up with my neck complaining. It’s the morning after a concert, and the ol’ headbanger’s whiplash is making its presence felt. The soreness never bothers me, though: I wear it like a badge of honour. As the gears creak and the bones rattle to life, I remember the show from last night.

It’s a reasonably mild late-January night as my cousin and I make our way over to the Phoenix, to join about a thousand other maniacs in seeing Lamb of God. Lamb of God is not, as one might think upon hearing their name, a Christian rock band. They’re one of the leading bands in what’s been called the New Wave of American Metal, and the last time I saw them, they opened for Metallica at the ACC, with its terrible sound from our crappy seats. Not the best venue.

But the Phoenix? I couldn’t believe that I was even getting the chance to see a big-name band like this at a small venue, and its size meant we got the full wallop of Lamb of God’s sound: pummelling and intense. I’m surprised the Phoenix wasn’t reduced to a smoking crater.

We parked, ditched our coats in the car and walked north on Sherbourne to the venue. No lineup, but we get carded (which was nice, as it’s a bit of a rarity for me these days) and frisked… and boy, did we get frisked. If the security lady had been any more thorough, I’d have to buy her dinner.

The blast of heat as we enter the main room confirms our suspicions about ditching our coats. The place is sold out, rammed with my fellow metalheads. Everyone was waiting impatiently for Lamb of God, and waiting with a tense, nervous energy, each of us a coiled serpent. You could feel it bubbling through the crowd, waiting to be unleashed.

We’re chanting the band’s name for the fourth time when the lights go out and they hit the stage. They smashed the set open with “Desolation” and never let up. The singer, Randy Blythe, prowled the stage, barking and screaming with that unbelievable demonic howl of his. His stage presence emanated power—he had command over the audience. He asked us if we were ready to destroy the place. Oh, we were. “Walk with Me in Hell” was easily one of the highlights of the show for me, and when they played “Laid to Rest,” everyone lost their minds.

The pit was an example of madness made physical. There are many reasons why I don’t go into the pit, and that one had all of them on display. Here are a few of the objects I saw flying out of it: a pair of jeans, a bra, a shoe, and someone’s shirt, which got stuck onto the lighting on the ceiling. I haven’t seen a pit that crazy since Slayer. No, thank you.

Towards the end, during “Redneck,” Randy called for a huge circle pit to form, and sure enough, there was a giant whirlpool of human bodies running around. But then, during the last song, “Black Label,” one of their guitarists signalled for the pit formation that I hoped would come: the Wall of Death. And it was the most insane Wall of Death I’d ever seen. The metal barricade separating the 19-plus section from the all-ages section was the only thing keeping the entire floor from turning into total chaos.

Get those horns up!

On the way home, I could already feel my neck stiffening a bit, but I knew it was worth it. During the drive, I wondered what it is that attracts me towards more brutal forms of metal. I never used to like it. I like metal that uses, you know, actual singing. The death growls (harsh vocals) never worked for me. If I can’t connect to the singer and the lyrics, I lose interest. But I can understand Randy, and there’s something about his particular growl that just works.

But it’s deeper than that. As a teenager, I always gravitated towards dark, evil, twisted things, because it was cool to me. And while it’s still cool now, there’s an odd extra layer to the appeal. Being a bit older can bring with it a change in perspective—perhaps the feelings of alienation or despair that I chalked up to angst in my teen years are more of a reality these days. There is something about the self-destructive nihilism in the lyrics that seems to make more sense now.

But that’s why I go to metal shows: to get the demons out. To get all the rage, hate, and aggression out in a way that doesn’t harm anyone. To feel connected to my fellow outsiders and throw a huge middle finger to the world. I loved every second of it.

Suggested listening: “Laid to Rest,” “Walk with Me in Hell,” and “Set to Fail.”

(Originally posted on mississaugalife.ca.)