The previous theme that I had recently christened my blog with ended up being trashed, in favor of a larger, more detailed layout that better allowed for expansion. By expansion, I mean the ease of adding items to the right sidebar (a position I’ve avoided with navigation menus for ages) as well as the fact that the main post columns have expanded. This is most important for the posting of YouTube and Animoto videos, the latter of which is still non-functional in a standard post; but, as one will see just by checking out the right-hand side of the page, it can indeed be added to the sidebar, as can my collection of userbars.

It’s almost time to head to bed; tomorrow I hope to accomplish a lot. Two more things before I go: a pair of interesting make-your-own-site links in my del.icio.us RSS feed today. The first was for JottIt, the second for Pagii. The former is excellent in its simplicity; it’s basically the easiest blog that you will ever use, and is able to take HTML in nearly every form that I’ve tested thus far. My own sample page can be found here.

However, Pagii is the most revolting thing I’ve ever seen — it looks like a bastard child of MySpace and a 5-year-old’s generic $5 clipart-and-graphic software that you find in the clearance bin at computer shows. I made a page, but I’m certainly not proud of it; furthermore, I’m worried that the interweb mutants that seem to serve no purpose besides perverting the internet with their violently epileptic MySpace page designs will find this page, and capitalize on it. Eventually everything might look like the world of Idiocracy, and, for the sake of humanity, let us NOT let that happen.
Time to finish things up and head to bed.

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!”

I know there aren’t a lot of readers on my blog, but I just wanted to update it for those who do. This is the new template that I will be using, and it will undergo some changes in the next few days (hopefully). For now, you can see my Twitter feed, up on the side; pretty soon I’ll change the coloration of things and also add a Flickr badge or two. I also hope to upgrade to a new version of WordPress soon, and also create a blog for my photography and concert experiences.

Chiefly, the title has changed. Originally it was lexicon, which, in Greek, is closest to vocabulary; now it is more appropriately titled diarium, which is the Latin word that “diary” is derived from (diarium literally translates to “daily allowance”; the word journal comes from the same root — diurnalis, “daily”). I’m trying to keep a theme with all of the NAK’TURN sites, which are all being incorporated under the header of nocturnum instead.

Anyway, I’m babbling now and need sleep. You’ll see updates to this, I am sure.

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.