I got in a little late thanks to the aforementioned, but got through the door without issue and right into the raging from Scaphism.
Scaphism [5/7]
Though I missed at least their first song, they still set out a killer performance of crunching death metal; relatively less grind and more death this time than the last that I'd seen them, but still quality. This band keeps getting better and better; unfortunate that they probably won't have anything to lug over to Europe this time around, but those who don't have that hard cutoff will probably see their demo soon enough.
Tom's favorite hockey player is from the underworld. Seriously, what took this guy so long to get to Boston? Even New Jersey would have probably played it down, but as soon as he signed here, the bootleggers had shirts like this out aping the Haunting The Chapel cover with hockey sticks, and next season, they'll probably be in the official Bruins stores.
Goreality [5.5/7]
Another show, another different Goreality lineup; this one, though, with bass and only one guitar. The resulting sound was a little less complex than Goreality have been before, but still crushing; what really hurt them, though, was the heat on stage. Even at the best of times the Midway can be a bit of a sauna, but with New England in the bowels of
Hivesmasher [6/7]
I hadn't seen this band before, somehow, but now I know what I was missing out on. From the first moment, just an absolute maniac grind avalanche, and when Aaron hit the floor, the pit started moving good and proper. In the pummeling, though, it was hard to hear exactly why they have a member on keyboards/fx -- as if more inducement was needed, the answer to that one is to actually pick up some recorded material from them, in a setting where they've got slightly more control of the total balance and aren't trying to incite/play over a riot, to see what the sound is like in that context. Killer regardless.
Parasitic Extirpation [6.5/7]
Amazing. Just a stupendous performance of solid, violent, chunky yet technical death metal accompanied by insane floor violence, every bit the kind of performance the band would have desired to kick off a long and brutally-slotted (it's not too surprising that brutal gigs are few and far between in flyover country, but one day to go between OKC and southern Illinois is really backbreaking) tour out to the LVDF and back. They're hitting on all cylinders right now, and hopefully will get more attention out west out of this, and be more able to plan longer tours with shorter between-gigs legs.
I got a shirt off Blue afterwards, as well as a couple stickers, but since they were leaving on, um, a national tour the next morning, I didn't go mining for stuff to lug over to Europe. Dudes who show up and see the band should get first shot at merch for themselves and to push on their friends; on the 30th, though, any leavings will get looted to the bare walls of the bucket.
Special World Cup extra: Drew in Netherlands-supporting mode. You can see him in his orange (or Oranje, whichever) shirt in the back, but Tim is unfortunately standing in front of the red-white-blue sweatband on his plucking hand, which was usually the case in moments like this where the band wasn't playing and I had the ability to hold my phone up as opposed to staying on guard to avoid getting punched in the mouth.
Composted [6/7]
When Composted says it's Pride Month, it's Pride Month. Especially when they do it with a new lineup, balloons, and a black male blowup doll to celebrate. The new members blend well in with the rest of the guys, and in addition to the bizarre props and silly costumes, pounded out the deceptively strong slam-death that audiences have come to expect from this band; lineup surgery success, roll on the AWSMcore. The performance was good, the floor was violent, and in a testament to the abuse that such things are anticipated to get by their makers, the blowup doll survived all the way through, despite being kicked, stomped, tossed all over the room, used to beat several band members about the head and shoulders, and repeatedly thrown into the ceiling fans. In the official Composted say-no-to-drugs-comic-book continuity (note: does not actually exist, but someone should make it up on wikipedia anyway), he has obviously swum off with Leo the fish to Rainbow Unicorn Buttrape Land to live happily ever after.
When Composted wrapped up, it was getting towards the point where I had to split in order to get the last Orange Line train back towards where I left my car. It was tough missing the nationals on this one, especially since I'd been impressed with The Funeral Pyre the last time I saw them (at Metalfest a few years back, for like 20 minutes), but I picked up a record from each before heading out. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to make any of the several other gigs in the region; when they come back, you have to hope.
Even without the nationals, though, this was a kickass gig, at a place that's only going to get better: the Midway was well under construction for his one, so you've got to figure that they'll be expanded to their full new dimensions (more room for more audience, less gear piled on the sidewalk, and less sauna atmosphere) by the next gig I end up going down there for.
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