Diving Into Metal

On a rainy September night, I stepped into line in front of the Triple Rock Social Club. Actually, by the time I got there, about 4:30 PM on September 14, the line had already wrapped around to the front door of the neighboring Amal Express liquor store and chiropractor, but my exact location in the line is irrelevant. There was a certain stirring in the line, a rumor overheard. After The Burial, one of the bands performing that night, had regained their original vocalist for a one-night-only performance. As I reached the table where the club’s lone bouncer checked my ID to confirm that I had purchased my ticket on will-call, I asked if he knew anything about the evening’s alleged lineup for After the Burial, he just shrugged and took the next kid’s twelve bucks.

The Triple Rock Social Club, usually shortened to The Triple Rock, is owned by members of local punk band Dillinger 4, and this is exemplified by the intimate, nearly cramped setup of the club. The stage is raised about two feet above the main dance floor, and is a mixture of a thrust and proscenium. Surrounding the small dance floor is the rest of the club, raised three feet off the main floor.

Doors opened at 5:00, and less than a half hour later, the first of four bands, the relatively new band Birth of a Hero, took the stage. This five-piece immediately caught the attention of all the early-comers, coming into the spotlight with guitars squealing, drums blaring, and vocals growling. When their vocalist’s mic cable shorted out, he threw it aside, and balanced on a floor monitor, looking reminiscent of a member of a 50’s greaser gang with the attention-grabbing abilities of the Incredible Hulk. By the midpoint of their set, the club was about three-quarters capacity. However, as the audience trickled in, they wasted no time, and immediately went to the dance floor to listen to the band. The crowd listened as Birth of a Hero took the genre back to the old-school, punk roots of Hardcore Metal. Guitars chugged, rather than exploded in a fury of notes, and the drummer seemed to play lighter beats, as opposed to a constant use of the double-bass and blastbeats.

As Birth of a Hero left the stage after a thirty minute set, the crowd became more dispersed throughout the club. Some patrons went to check out merchandise sold at the back of the club, others went outside to enjoy a cigarette. During this break in the music, I looked around to try and classify the type of person who attended the show, and could not put a single definition on the entire audience. There were, as usual at shows of this nature, a large number of people wearing black, and an equal number wearing at least one piece of clothing bearing the name of another metal band. However, at least a third of the crowd did not fit in with the stereotype of “metal head� or “punk,� but looked like an everyday Joe. One commonality within all groups at the concert was that the majority of people there had a hat or a t-shirt that related to Minnesota, the Twin Cities, or the Midwest in general. This pride in their place of residence would become more noteworthy later that evening.

By the time the second band, Iowa’s own Too Pure To Die, took the stage, the majority of the smoking crowd had returned and members of Birth of a Hero had taken their place behind their merchandise booth to thank the concert goers who stopped by their table. Too Pure To Die seemed to, at this performance, ooze with glam. They played like a highly-polished and melodic Grindcore band, creating melody within over-distorted guitars and spastic drumming patterns. Their screamer was either growling in a unhumanly low register, or dancing around on stage, throwing the cordless mic in the air, and then throwing a few punches in the direction of the audience before catching it again. “Hardcore� kids danced near the back of the lower dance floor, and the group surrounding the stage banged their heads and screamed along with great enthusiasm.

Then, the moment the majority of attendees awaited the most: After The Burial. After a quick gear changeover, the band entered a dark stage, absent a vocalist. After a couple opening jazz-guitar licks, Nick Wellner, the band’s original screamer, approached the front of the stage, microphone in hand, and the audience erupted with cheers and applause. Opening with the title track of their first album, Foraging a Future Self, the audience reacted by throwing themselves at the stage, trying to get in front to scream the lyrics of every song. They made what sounded impossible look easy, as the guitarists’ fingers flew up and down the neck of the guitar, unleashing perfectly executed scales and arpeggios. The self-proclaimed “Mathcore� group lived up to its title in the song “Bezerker,� with the rhythms seemingly making sense in the mind of some genius mathematician. The dancers in back threw down vigorously, because, as one anonymous concert goer mentioned to me, “they may never have a chance to dance to this stuff again.� The nostalgia of the fans who had listened to the band from their conception in 2004 was almost overwhelming, as all those who were not dancing nor in front screaming and headbanging watched the band play, taking pictures on their phones, saying to each other, “Man, I wish [Nick] was permanent again,� or “Wow, this sounds exactly how I remember.� Throughout the concert the band played, and the audience reacted all the same, almost synchronized, as they chanted, they preemptively pointed to the next guitarist to solo, and as their jaws dropped simultaneously as the band left after playing what many attendees considered the best show they have ever seen.

Finally, the headlining band, Bleeding Through, came on, to a smaller audience than for the opening acts. This did not stop the band, arguably (and self proclaimed to be) one of the most influential in their genre, now closing their first decade of existence, from connecting with the remaining audience. By their second song, all the opening bands were either in the audience or standing beside the stage, watching the band. Some members of Birth of a Hero and Too Pure To Die were showing their stuff in the pit, while others stood along the outside rails and stared, taking notes on the performance in their heads. The band had been pioneers in the genre, as their most classic songs seemed modern. The synth player seemed to know her place, as she only played for accent, not contributing to any “cheese-factor.� There was a strong sense of respect for the band from everyone watching. Many people in attendance had listened to this band growing up, and seeing them live, some for the first time, some for the tenth, made every one of them stand in reverence.

And then, suddenly, a punch was thrown. An obviously intoxicated woman on the edge of the pit was bumped into by the screamer of Birth of a Hero, and quickly turned and threw a punch at him. At this point, the first indication that night of a community within the music became apparent, because as soon as the fist hit face, other audience members quickly separated the two, despite the woman’s screaming and being restrained by her boyfriend.

The next point at which it became clear that there was something more than the music, was near the end of the night. Brandan Schieppati, vocalist of Bleeding Through, came to the front of the stage to thank everyone for coming out before the last couple songs were played, and said something especially moving. “You guys have it all. This is one of the best places in the country for the music you love. Be proud of it,� Schieppati said. This is when all the clothing concerning Minnesota made sense. All these people know this, and embrace their home for the music that comes out of it.

Once the concert was over, most of the members of all the bands who played were either in front of the stage signing autographs and talking to fans, talking to one another about the show and music in general, or by their merchandise tables selling tee shirts and CDs. Everyone had something to talk about, it seemed, be it with fans, musicians who had also played that night, or local celebrities or members from other local bands come out to see their friends’ show. What appeared at first glance to be a very wide spread group of people turned out to be extremely tight knit, even with strangers, solely based on the music they listened to.

And then the clock struck nine and the bouncer quickly herded the remaining out of the venue in order for the next concert to set up. The conversations moved outside, the smokers lit up, and the local bands’ street teams plugged their bands’ upcoming shows through brightly colored flyers, promising enjoyment if you liked any number of bands covering the spectrum of metal.

In large groups of people, one can lose their identity and be able to blend in and become just another body controlled by the group consciousness. That effect seemed to be happening at certain points during this show as well, even with a smaller audience, and some seemed to use it as an excuse to lose not only their identity, but also all self-control. For example, people that seemed normal in line and when no music was playing, seemed to become animals in the front of the stage, climbing over each other, not to get closer to the band, but to get closer to the microphone, to scream their favorite parts (which for some, was apparently most of the songs) and become more than merely a listener of the music, but to become one with the music, to have their self, their soul, projected over the PA.

However, as well as gaining singularity with the group at the expense of themselves, some also seemed to lose a sense of awareness of others around them. The dancers, although they knew where they and their extremities were, did not notice nor care when they accidently punched someone behind them or kicked a fellow dancer across the face, as those events happened constantly throughout the night.

At the end of the night, it was apparent that this was not just another concert. No, it was more comparable to a church service or a family reunion. Although some may have come not knowing what to expect and were only there to hear the music, they too left with the same effect that everyone else received: their bonds with the community and with the music itself were strengthened and they were given the show of a lifetime.