I have just woken up. I am still partly deaf. My throat is raw and I feel like I have been worked over with a lead pipe. On my right thigh is a bruise the exact size and shape of a men's size 13 combat boot.
Friday night Lily, Gennie, Sampucker and I headed out to the Trash Palace for some debauchery. We watched 13 Frightened Girls, a William Castle film that intended to cash in on the James Bond craze. It was a heartwarming tale of a 16-year-old girl, home form her Swiss boarding school trying to save the 40-year-old dude she has a crush on (blech) from being fired by donning the guise of the superspy "Kitten." There were vigorous spankings, ridiculous accents and one pair of supertight tennis shorts that made me lose my shit entirely.
Later on that night, Bill K came over to Menagerie House for drinks.Things got a bit vague for a while. When we finally came to early Saturday afternoon, Bill mentioned a rock show he was going to see that evening with good friend and fellow metalhead Dani C. Now, when I say "rock show," I of course mean a black metal show that involved two bands called Wolven Ancestry and Woods of Ypres. He mentioned, in passing, how there might still be tickets available. Despite possibly seeming very gauche and inviting myself along, I announced that I would absolutely love to go. Lily the Pirate seconded the motion. a quick ipone/facebook check later and my plans for the evening were solidified. I donned all the black eyeliner and after some pre-concert bourbon the four of us headed off to Kipling.
It turned out that the concert was technically in Etobicoke, and the directions included gems like "go under the bridge, past some powers lines, and down an alley." In the West end. We wandered around in the dark for a while, losing feeling in our extremities, certain we were either going to be knifed or run into a troll. Finally, down a very sketchy side street, the bass began to swell. We passed a wreaking yard, turned a corner, and encountered a warehouse. A very rickety door, out which furious trashing blared, was propped open and bore a sign that read: "No In & Out." After we were all ID'd and out presence on the guest list confirmed, we were in.
We arrived just before Wolven Ancestry took the stage, and so got to see them hoist their drum kit, a monstrosity that needed no less than six men to lift. The frontman was wearing white and black makeup and a silver fur cloak. It was then that I knew it was going to be awesome.
Wolven Ancestry killed it. I found myself having a particular affection for the keyboardist. In their second to last song, a proper mosh finally broke out. It only took a body check or two to make me wonder where metal shows had been all my life.
Dani C knew the frontman for Woods of Ypres, and so we got to meet him during the break between the two bands. He had on a black toque and was surreptitiously sipping something from Tim Horton's. He shook my hand and smiled and struck me immediately as someone I could develop a dreadful crush on. Then he got onstage. And revealed his mohawk and sweet trillium tattoo. And began the opening chords of a song called "Your Ontario Town is a Burial Ground."
I can't remember the last time I screamed like that. My underused headbanging muscles got a hell of a work out. Something in my chest took over, and after my first bout of mosh shyness I started throwing elbows with a glee and surprised me. I was happily shocked at the good-naturedness of the scene, the friendliness to the violence. Even when a crowdsurfer came down on my leg, I was overcome with a feeling of well-being and benevolence.
Now I am a complete wreak. Bill K, the self-proclaimed Stately Guardian of the Mosh Pit, blew out his knee, and is faring even worse. We are moaning and sore and tired and sound like we gargled iron filings.
I can't wait to do it again.