The rain's stopped, at least for the moment, the sun is out, and a nice dry breeze is blowing, but the mud still covers the ground -- and my boots. I've got a serious case of Thuringian Pagan Mudness going on here; hopefully, shit will dry out to the point where I can kick it off against the front rail.
472. Upturned cross guitar jammed into the mud, out in the campground.
The morning was pretty standard form; get breakfast, drink Köstriker, meet some cool people, hang out, drinking a bunch more beer, then repair back to the beerstand to drink more Köstriker before the festival gates open. It's a routine, but there's not a whole lot else to do before the infield opens.
Milking The Goatmachine [5/7]
Good shit, and a full portion of goatgrind, but our slam/grind death bands don't have a lot to fear. It's not a stretch to believe that Composted would play them absolutely off the stage night after night, nor that for touring purposes both bands would have a lot of fun in the process.
473. The goats set up.
474. DUDE MILK IT DUDE YA!
Seriously, a dude runs around in costume with a supersoaker and gets attacked by an inflatable shark -- this is Composted with one gimmick rather than 20. (Ok, and a little less crushing, but what the hell.)
There's been and will be better death, grind, and slammy death at this festival, but here, outdoors in East Germany, is where to see Lividity, if nowhere else. (Look around and see how many people have Lividity patches on their kit the next time you're in the NBL.) This was a nice crunchy performance despite the rain, and one featuring a lot of new stuff, which got a good strong response from the audience.
475. Lividity checking.
476. Taking the stage.
477. Von and Jake roaring.
478. Dave, heroshot.
479. The full band laying waste.
A short break in here to find some dudes; unsuccessful, but missing Suicidal Angels doesn't appear to be a super high price to pay.
Things will vary spot to spot, but it is not pure conjecture to say that Germany, land of Desaster, is very ready for Nachzehrer, and following them the whole of NEBM, and then maybe the rest of the New England DIY underground by extension. Black thrash is what people listen to here, at least among the cadre that goes out to this festival, and people have been enthusiastic about getting DIY stuff off me. Maybe my brain's running ahead of the real world again, but this small sample of good results is encouraging; maybe things really are waiting on the one band to make that leap and open things up for the rest to follow.
A word on mud:
In Wacken, when it rains, the ground goes completely to pieces. Dirt paste eight, twelve inches deep. Here, though, what you get is this layer of spready mud that floats over the grass. Weird, but that's how it goes.
I was in the head and at the back when this set was going on, but you gotta fucking cut out sometime. Also, the rain was starting; time to rest up for Dying Fetus and to blame the PA sound if things don't come out perfect.
480. Left to right; me, Jesse, and Max getting blasted in the beer tent and missing The Crown.
We missed half their set due to the running order getting flipped around (and drinking very large amounts of beer), but what remained was fuckin killer. The running order may have gotten screwed around, but crushing death metal puts everything right.
482. Asphyx again, setting shit off.
We got pakora (feckin vegetarians, but it was all right) and went further up. There's a lot of death metal beer blur from here to the end of the night.
Dying Fetus [6.5/7]
Jesse hadn't seen Dying Fetus before. One of the first things he learned is that you don't hand your beer to someone just before "One Shot One Kill" and expect it not to get shook all to pieces. Tremendous set, just completely explosive.
483. Dying Fetus opens fire. Bad light and a drunk guy holding the camera, but they're on the stage regardless.
This was a pleasant surprise, the band being both better and notably blacker than I expected going in. As good as the music was, though, going forward for this band was pretty much exclusively because they were on before Autopsy; still a positive, though, that the time on the rail was well-spent.
484. Fires for Sarke.
What the fuck else? This was nearly perfect, worth the wait in years and hours and the long miles of travel to get here. Halfway through, I was so dead from beer and exhaustion that I could barely stand up, and thus had to pull, but Autopsy from the first row, Autopsy from halfway back, the last Autopsy song in the tent, still fucking Autopsy! This makes the trip worth it, all the mud and other bullshit worth it.
485. Autopsy banner in low light.
486. Eric rips it -- hero shot.
487. Autopsy, full band.