There is one band that I believe will continue to reign until the end of time; they have reigned as masters of the thrash metal scene that their frontman created, for almost 30 years, and with the health and musicianship of its members at a level that has been unmatched in almost a decade, they will most likely continue to reign as the biggest and most welcomed metal band in San Francisco’s history. Who is this band?

None other than Megadeth, who returned to San Francisco for the third time in the last few years on Tuesday, September 11th — an auspicious day that invoked the curiosity of metal fans who know how politically charged Dave Mustaine, the band’s charismatic frontman, has always been. Would there be a speech? Special once-in-a-lifetime performances of classic tracks? The anticipation had come to a head as two thousand metalheads marched into the Warfield Theatre, raving and shouting for mayhem and music; indeed, the crowd was several times more violent than the last time I saw Megadeth at the Warfield, back in 2004, and restless in the anticipation of their heroes.

A ubiquitous law at a metal show — especially one where the headliner has been around long enough to carve its name into the history of forming the genre — is that no matter whom the opening band is, no matter how good they may or may not be, they will be universally hated by the audience, until the main act steps up to show the rest of the bands “how it’s done.” That being said, the performance by openers The Confession — an Orange County based band that threw together every metal cliché they could muster into an enthusiastic performance — was almost entirely ill-received, with belligerent thrashers flipping the band members off instead of “throwing up the horns”. While the music was decent, the band just couldn’t make the crowd respond; their attitude began to seep through near the end of the set, so it was a slight relief to the calmer members of the audience when they left.

Hailing from Megadeth’s home of Los Angeles, California, the members of metalcore band In This Moment decided not to take their status as “openers” lying down — the band was nearly twice as energetic as their evening predecessors, and the appearance of singer Maria Brink — dressed for all the world like a twisted Alice In Wonderland — was much more well-received by the testosterone-ridden crowd. While the band’s music also received a better response than those before them, the excitement of their uniqueness wore off quickly and gave way to an even more restless crowd, who formed numerous, small mosh pits, the circles growing in size and violence as the set continued, before turning into a massive spread of grabbing, punching arms as the band finished their enthusiastic set.

It can be easily said that when the house lights snapped off for the third time that evening, signalling the arrival of Mustaine and his fellow mischief makers, the roars and screams had reached a tumultuous volume. Seconds into the opening riffs of Megadeth’s first song, the newly-written “Sleepwalker”, the floor went absolutely rabid with chaos. The smallish mosh pits formed for the openers merged into a large abyss of violence, with innocent bystanders left and right being grabbed by the metalheads, who seemed to be out for blood, such adrenaline fueled only by the blistering music that echoed relentlessly through the theatre. And it didn’t stop there; the thrill of Mustaine’s new work had barely faded when it was replaced by another, as the band roared into three more classics, with no break in between: “Take No Prisoners”, “Wake Up Dead”, and “Skin O’ My Teeth”.

Mustaine was surprisingly talkative to the crowd as the night wore on and on; after a brief hello and request for acknowledgement of the day (”We must never forget what happened… we must not let them allow us to forget what they’ve done since that day…”), Megadeth tore through more of their catalogue, old and new, before coming to the speech of the night. Mustaine preempted his next new song, “Washington’s Next!”, with a discussion of the conflicts, the conspiracy, and all of the war that had come out of the tragic events that had happened six years ago on that same fateful Tuesday, in 2001; surprisingly, it was well-received by everyone, even the cynics and naysayers who seemed to prefer when Dave stayed off of his political soapbox.

Following a thundering set, including classics like “Hangar 18″, “Tornado Of Souls”, and “Peace Sells… But Who’s Buying?”, the band finally closed the first part of their set with “Symphony of Destruction”. Returning for a killer encore with “Holy Wars… The Punishment Due”, the band suddenly gearshifted halfway through the song into an even greater classic — “Mechanix”, a killer piece from the band’s debut album. The combination of two long-loved masterpieces merged into one epic piece was enough to drive the metalheads in the theatre to a point of disorder that no one had thought possible; the air was positively thick with adrenaline as the bodies across the floor jumped, thrashed, punched, kicked, and slammed against each other in the throes of song.

And then, it was over; another night of chaos, of blood, of metal. Though I was barely alive for the band’s commencement and their kickoff of the thrash scene, I thoroughly believe that tonight, like the other 3 Megadeth shows I’ve been to in the last three years, was quite a lot like the metal days of many years past. With the 90-minute, monstrous setlist coming to a final close, the band locked arms and took a bow for their army of followers, which was greeted with cheers of a volume not yet heard that night. Mustaine himself said it best, to finally bring the evening to a close…

“You’ve been great. We’ve been Megadeth. Goodnight!”

Gogol Bordello. The name itself, in the punk rock community, has come to be synonymous with frenzy, otherworldly roots, thunderous shows, and a message of revolution in amongst all the complainers. Everyone who finds themselves attending a Gogol Bordello show will be struck dumb by the amount of energy, both onstage in the band and rampant through the crowd, which is likened to a rush of adrenaline that simply has a life of its own. It is safe to say that Gogol Bordello ought to be on every list, ever made, of “bands to see before you die”; to miss such a performance is, while not unforgivable, definitely saddening, as one will probably never see so much zest in any other musical collective.

This show, at the Fillmore, was my fifth time seeing Gogol Bordello, and third time seeing them as a headliner instead of an opening band. It was also the first show to introduce the freshest additions to their song catalog, care of the new album, Super Taranta!, which was released in early July. To say that I was in rampant anticipation of this show does not do it justice; it’s been the one show I’ve literally waited for all year, after seeing them with a short, wild set when they opened for Primus in December of 2006. This marked one of their biggest appearances to date — even though they performed in early 2006 at the Warfield, with Cake, their following was not nearly as large as it was tonight, when the crowd poured into the sold-out Fillmore auditorium at the end of this warm August day.
The crowd was first greeted by a darkened stage, manned by one DJ Scratchy, a character who, despite having impressive taste in bands that spanned across Eastern Europe, Asia, and most of Central and South America, was somewhat lackluster as a performer. Having seen professional DJs in numerous shows, I can tell that it doesn’t require a huge degree of concentration and skill to simply flip between CDs, with maybe a few fancy wah effects thrown in from time to time. As previously stated, however, the breadth of his collection was enough to make up for the simplicity of his performance. It was only moments after his departure that the lights began to dim. The moment was at hand!

A torrential roar of cheers overcame the audience as their gypsy punk heroes took the stage. Emerging with his eyes gleaming wildly, singer Eugene Hutz deftly swung his guitar around his back, already thrashing about as the band opened with “Ultimate”, the first explosive piece from the aforementioned Super Taranta!. The crowd was brought to a moshing, slamdancing, bouncing state of hyperactive mania as a massive yellow banner, bearing the band’s signature symbol — a slingshot firing a shining star, with the words “GYPSY PUNKS” emblazoned beneath — unfurled itself at the back of the stage. It was probably less than a minute before the entire auditorium was alive with a violent fervor, with Hutz throwing himself across the stage in a riotous frenzy while the rest of the band raced back and forth around him, instruments being played with a fevered level of energy. In addition to the chaos onstage, the dancefloor had come alive with a furious concentration of energy that ricocheted from person to person, so the massive audience moved as one entity, delirious with its love of the thunderous music.
Old, screaming favorites, as well as surprisingly reworked new live pieces, peppered the eclectic set, which continued nearly nonstop through 10 songs before returning to the three main favorites from the band’s most previous effort, 2005’s Gypsy Punks: Underdog World Strike. “60 Revolutions” brought the crowd, and band, to their fastest thrashings seen thus far that night, and “Start Wearing Purple”, the group’s most well-known work, got the biggest response of the entire night, with numerous punkers scrambling to scream the chorus into Hutz’s outstretched mic stand.

“Think Locally, Fuck Globally” ended the first part of the set with even more insane antics, as Hutz slammed a giant red metal bucket, labeled “FIRE” on the side, onto his microphone, before rattling on it furiously in a jackhammer-paced drumbeat, while two gypsy girls, armed with cymbals and a huge bass drum, flew about the stage. Not to be outdone by any other recent arrivals to the Fillmore, the band continued their show with two encores of three songs apiece, including a solemn, solo acoustic performance of the forlorn ballad “Alcohol”, and — the final highlight of every Gogol Bordello show — a maddeningly dynamite, ever-continuing performance of “Baro Foro”, punctuated with a few of the band members throwing themselves into the churning crowd as Hutz continued to kill himself onstage, his frenzied spirit never even seeming to flicker.
If you want to be part of a show that has an almost limitless capacity for living, breathing, surging, adrenaline-bleeding energy, there is no better show to see than Gogol Bordello. This show was easily their best, of all the ones that I have seen; the entire band was full of energy (though Hutz alone could easily surpass the rest of them over the course of a set), and as headliners, they were allowed much more liberty to take their performance to newer, higher levels of zest and wildfire. This is one band that I will continue to see, no matter how often they come to visit us, until the day I die.

As a long time fan of the Smashing Pumpkins, to say that I was excited to see them for part of their extended vacation at the Fillmore in San Francisco does not even do the slightest bit of justice to the statement. This was a band that I have drawn so much artistic and personal connection with that I cannot even begin to name everything I constantly associate with them; therefore, the opportunity to go to three — THREE — of the shows in their 11-gig stay was truly mindboggling. This essay will chronicle the first of the shows that I went to, as I fully believe that nothing will ever be like my first (finally!) Pumpkins show.

First of all, the extremely elaborate stage setup must be fully explained before the show can even begin to be described — I have never seen a Fillmore setup like this. Metal scaffolding and steel girders crafted a massive futuristic skeleton shell over the stage, covering so much of it that, when the lights were off, you truly felt like you were being taken to another world to watch the bands perform. Speaking of lights: those that adorned the structure — en masse, I might add — not only gave ample spotlight coverage for nearly all of the stage, but there was complex fluorescent tubing covering three long sections across the main metal backdrop. As we discovered when the Pumpkins took the stage, this wasn’t just a neon net of color; the lights actually acted as segments in a massive projector, very similar to the light-infested “metal curtain” that Nine Inch Nails used at the end of their last tour.

The opening band, Bellingham, Washington’s own Idiot Pilot, crept onto the stage at about 9pm, looking like a crew of indie kids that were slightly confused about opening for one of the biggest rock behemoths of the last decade. Appearances, of course, are extremely deceiving; this was no exception, as within seconds of the first drum kick, the two guitarists suddenly blasted across both ends of the stage like a pair of violently-repellent magnets, axes being flung around wildly as the drummer exploded into a furiously loud burst of sound. The song continued to find both guitarists (the bass is handled on a small iMac that sat plugged into a Moog synthesizer, as is a full backtrack and sample set for each song) artfully flailing around the stage, never missing a note in their chaotic routine. Idiot Pilot seemed to sit in my mind as Radiohead in their early days, with some extreme leanings to the non-sucking screamo scene — the two guitarists traded vocal duties between a morose crooner and an acid-tongued shrieker as they ripped through their short set, never falling in their energy by a single ounce.

As was proved soon after, however, sometimes spastic hardcore rocking-out will still never replace a band with an already-established onstage austerity, in terms of the crowd’s reaction. The Pumpkins’ entrance was borderline epic with the thunderous crescendo of a menacing atmospheric introduction, and within seconds of assuming control of the stage, guitarist Billy Corgan and drummer Jimmy Chamberlain hit home with a sonic boom of guitar/bass drum double whammy — the force and volume of the first notes actually pushed a few folks in the audience back.

As if full of insects struggling to escape their fluorescent bonds, the entire stage came to life in an ocean of seizure-inducing strobes, cascades of colorful spotlights, and the massive tube-light ceiling waking up for the first time. Within seconds, the stage was covered with positively thousands of movements per second, the air above the crowd brought to life by color and shadow. Yet for all the visual calamity that had overrun their stage, the Pumpkins remained remarkably calm, and after a thunderous introduction, they immediately tore into “Doomsday Clock”, one of the first cuts off of their new release, Zeitgeist, that they would play over the course of their three-hour-long set.

As they have been following so far, the Pumpkins’ set had four main elements — albeit spread out in a beautiful mishmash through the set — in terms of the song catalog. These are mostly comprised of old-time favorites (“Tonight, Tonight”, “To Sheila”, and “Bullet With Butterfly Wings”, to name a few), new Zeitgeist cuts (including an epic, 20-minute performance of “United States” that included Billy’s freshly-trademarked whales-on-acid guitar solo); rare treats for hardcore fans (especially the solo acoustic performance of “Daydream” from their first album, Gish, which had originally been recorded with former bassist D’arcy Wretsky on vocals); and brand new pieces, just created during the tour (tonight, it was a solo piece for acoustic guitar and harmonica, which Billy obnoxiously referred to as “Peace and love and all that other shit”). The songs came somewhat in blocks, but spread out, so that no one got disinterested in what surprises were still to come.

Closing the set was the massive Pumpkins epic, “Gossamer”, another recently-written piece that didn’t make it onto Zeitgeist. After experiencing this, I can definitely pick out both of the reasons that it wasn’t put on: it’s too long (this particular performance clocked in at 25 minutes) and it is simply too stunning to see live; a studio cut would never do it justice. Marked by dense guitar passages, plus two fantastic solos from drummer Jimmy and new keyboardist Lisa Harriton (for this song, it was an organ instead of a keyboard), the song simply overpowered the entire show in its ferocity and epic nature. A short encore followed, the band returning to the stage to play one final fan favorite - “Today”.

So despite the band not being truly comprised of the original Pumpkins anymore, did that affect the way I received the show? Not in the slightest bit. This show was borderline synesthesia, with the intensity of the light show and the solid, rampaging solos of the band. Billy took a few moments out to talk to the fine folks of San Francisco and offer out his love to the city, even if it hadn’t been too nice to him; I even met him after the show and was pleased to learn more about the music video for their latest single, “Tarantula”, in the subsequent conversation. This was the first show to finally connect me to the band that had been such an extreme passion of mine in my college years; I can only imagine what the other two will be like.

There are a few bands for whom a concert is a true event; in which each opening band attempts to upstage the one before it, and the headliner oversees the fact that they are able to eclipse them all. After my experience Thursday night, I would definitely say that Skinny Puppy fits into that category in terms of their performance. But cEvin Key and Niven Ogre, the two industrial wizards that are the masterminds behind the band, do not attempt to outdo with fire, smoke, or any million-dollar flash-bang. No, Skinny Puppy is here to scare the hell out of you — and to give you a good time at the same time.

I am a big fan of industrial music, and this was the first ‘Puppy show I have ever been to. That being said, I was completely unprepared for what greeted me as an opener. I was used to industrial bands opening with… well, other industrial bands, or bands of similar caliber or likeness. Key and Ogre do not work in this fashion; as Skinny Puppy originally began as an experimental project for Key and evolved into the ferocious beast that it is now, their opening bands also possess the same avant-garde ferocity, but multiplied at least tenfold. It would be most accurate — for people who are NOT fans of noise music — to say that the opening bands proved to be an endurance test for fans to see the glorious Skinny Puppy.

First onstage was a character in a long black cape and a mock-Superhero costume (albeit black with a shining silver jockstrap), known only as Otto Von Schirach. He slunk onto the stage and gave life to the two laptops on the front table, causing a dark ambient snarling to come racing into the Fillmore. Barely a minute in, and the cloak was gone to reveal Von Schirach — at which point his electronics when completely berzerk. Think of a thick, heavy rave with every single instrument breaking, skipping, or exploding into static, and THAT is what Von Schirach’s background sounded like — not to mention the otherworldly, thunderously distorted roars that came from his microphone as he ran around the stage like a lunatic on acid. His set seemed entirely improvisational, it was too chaotic to have been otherwise; especially when it was punctuated with the arrival of a giant fur-suit wearing creature waving a staff with a synthesizer on the end of it, followed by another character dressed as… a whoopie cushion.

We were allowed about 30 minutes to rest our ears before the arrival of White Mice, who — for their structure, at least — seemed like they would be a bit more normal. The nightmarish costumes — each band member wore a hideous mask that was half head, half skull, all mouse, and the bassist and effects player wore bloodstained lab coats — should have given the audience a clue. Moments later, the band erupted into a vicious wall of noise: thundering low end punctuated with shrieks as the bassist scraped at his strings; an ominous sped-up funeral dirge of a drumbeat; and the sonic buzzsaw of the effects board, which must have pulled sounds from Hell itself.

The band blasted through a set with intensity and duration that could have matched the maniacal Otto Von Schirach, and then finally threw their instruments across the stage and departed. The wait was surprisingly short between when the Mice finished and Skinny Puppy began; I’m used to waiting for over 30 minutes at a time, though I imagine the speed was because they had less things to “tune”. In any case, it was about fifteen minutes before the lights snapped out and another ambient roar rolled into the auditorium. cEvin Key slipped past the drumset (occupied by newcomer Justin Bennett) to his keyboard-and-sampler-mounted metal fortress, and the music and beats began. Where was Ogre?

The right side of the stage had been occupied by a massive pair of sheets of tarp, pale white and covered with what looked like violent spatters of blood. Upon ‘Puppy’s entrance onstage, a glaring strobe ignited behind the screen, and a twisted silhouette appeared behind it. Only when a microphone-and-cord-like object appeared in the figure’s hand did we realize that it was Ogre. It took a few songs — powerful pieces accentuated by Key’s flooring, darkly melodic synths and Bennett’s amazing drumwork — before he emerged from behind the tarp, and was even more gruesome than his ghastly shadow had allowed him to appear. Covered from head to toe in tubing and wirework, he looked like a cyborg covered in hoses spewing black ink all over his face and body. It was soon determined that this ink was, of course, not black — it was blood red, and he violently smeared even more across the battered tarp as the show progressed.

The setlist spanned a good chunk of all of the band’s work — classics such as “Dogshit”, “Testure”, and “Rodent” threw the crowd into a frenzy (which isn’t really saying much — the audience was remarkably subdued for all the mayhem going on onstage), while the songs from their new album, released in January of this year, were also very well received. The encore spanned for four songs, all of which were rare tracks that were a true treat to listen to. The show ended with Ogre disrobing himself of his excess hardware before the encore began, and drummer Justin ending the set with a thunderous drum solo that went on for many energizing minutes before ending in an explosion of bass drum and electronic madness.

Skinny Puppy will put on a show that has the ability to either creep you the hell out, gross you the hell out, or impress the hell out of you. Personally, I got a little of each over the full span (including all the openers). Beware, those who have never seen them, that they will bring opening bands that may test your patience; but if you can endure the earsplitting cacophany of whatever sturm und drang that they put you through, the performance by Skinny Puppy will be well worth every penny on your ticket.

The last concert of my year has ended on a very high note. There is nothing like the combination of bands at that show: Primus and Gogol Bordello. So unlike anything, I’m not even going to make a silly bullshit intro paragraph.

Gogol was interesting to see in a non-club setting, with an emphasis on color and light rather than the band being lit up in their psychotic antics. Even so, the band was in full form and with blistering amounts of energy. After a few minutes of new-sounding pieces for an explosive introduction, they tore into their brief, but fantastic, set.

(Note: this list may be inaccurate in its order; I was not able to get to my Palm while the show was going because the crowd was pushing so much.)

1. Immigrant Punk
2. Not A Crime
3. East Infection
4. Mishtio!
5. 60 Revolutions
6. Dogs Were Barking
7. Start Wearing Purple
8. Think Locally, Fuck Globally

The only unfortunate part about Gogol’s set was that they did not close with their epic “Baro Foro”, which features singer Eugene Hutz’s signature riding-a-bass-drum-in-the-audience stunt. However, the last song of the set did find Eugene banging away at his plastic Fire bucket as it sat atop the microphone, and the entire band seemed to be at a higher point of energy than either of the two Slim’s shows. The crowd, however, was alarmingly pushy, to the point of crushing and pain on our parts, so before Primus took the stage, we headed upstairs to balcony seats.

The first unusual thing about Primus’ stage (I know, “unusual” and “Primus” together in one sentence is unnecessary), or things, rather, were the two giant inflated spacemen that resided on either side of the stage. Coupling with this was an array of 8 long LED light strips that hung vertically across the stage, like electric stalactites. This caused the stage itself to take on an otherworldly appearance even before Primus came onstage, the crowd turning into a churning sea of flesh before our very eyes.

1. Those Damned Blue-Collar Tweakers
2. Here Come The Bastards
3. Southbound Pachyderm
4. John The Fisherman
5. Seas of Cheese
6. Mr. Krinkle
7. Spegetti Western
8. Over The Electric Grapevine
9. My Name Is Mud
10. Jerry Was A Race Car Driver
11. Harold of the Rocks
    ENCORE
12. Is It Luck?

Many of the songs from “Tales From The Punchbowl” were turned into massive jam extravaganzas, with “Southbound Pachyderm” going all over the place in numerous sets of time changes, solos, and amazing basswork from Les. The two upright bass songs in the middle of the set, “Seas of Cheese” and “Mr. Krinkle”, saw Les coming out in a pig mask (appropriately, as the video of the latter song features him as a pig in a suit), and for the encore performance of “Is It Luck?” he brought out his Whamola, a bizarre bass instrument consisting of one string and a pull lever which I saw him use earlier this year at his Fancy Band show.

The stage setup did not change at all during the course of the show, with the spacemen staying inflated for the full set, but the lights were positively epileptic. The LED strips would always contrast sharply to the mood lighting of the stage lights, creating an elaborate display with a really excellent eye for color. They (the strips) also followed most of Tim’s drumbeats for his longer solos, so it was very much like seeing the lights building to a feverish intensity at The Mars Volta’s shows.

Even at such a great distance, we still were able to see the whole show wonderfully, and it was utterly fantastic. Like at Radiohead, I was very pleased that Primus selected so many random selections from their catalog, with only a few songs now and again that were big hits. It was a fitting end to my concert year (ironically, it was the most impossible show to photograph, too!) and it fully solidified my love for the genius that is the trio of Primus.