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22 December 2023
Part One: Judas Cow
After two great opening performances from Chicago natives The High Plain Drifters (who resemble Kyuss) and the Black Sabbath-inspired Nebula, Local H hit The Rave\'s main stage with the whiskey-filled juggernaut \"Buffalo Trace\". The seething tone continued in fan favorites such as the anti-asshole mosh pit classic \"High-Fivin\' MF\", \"Fritz\'s Corner\", as well as new songs like \"Heavy Metal Bakesale\" and \"Money On The Dresser\".
Unlike most mainstream acts, they spewed forth a smorgasbord of sound as they belted out songs from their entire back catalog, save for their debut, Ham-Fisted. Having seen Local H five times before, it was refreshing to hear slight alterations on tunes to keep things interesting, like the added echo effects on \"Bound For The Floor\", and the newly incorporated harmonica on \"President Forever/Fine And Good\".
The band even doled out banter with the fans before and after the show, as well as during songs-- stopping halfway through \"Hey, Rita\" to examine the bra they had acquired from my friend Carrie. (It\'s a 36B, for those of you who are interested.) And that\'s what a Local H show is about: boobies. I mean, no-nonsense rock.
Part Two: Monkeybe
Last Friday, my good friend (and sexual jungle gym) Judas Cow and I had the opportunity to check out some bands at The Rave. Judas is a drooling, flag-touting fanatic when it comes to Local H, so he gave them a great review. I\'ll just go ahead and agree with him on it.
As for the other bands, I really dug The High Plains Drifters. They reminded me of a cross between Stone Temple Pilots and the Southern-inspired hard rock/metal stylings of Corrosion Of Conformity.
Next up was the band Nebula. They were a cool three-piece that was kind of a Sixties/Seventies-influenced psychedelic, hard rock, jam band. I could have listened to these guys all night.
Unfortunately, save for a handful of really cool, interesting people, the crowd sucked. It was just a bunch of stinky fucking douche bags in Slipknot shirts, flailing around like they had a clue. They should kill themselves and stay the fuck out of my face.
After two great opening performances from Chicago natives The High Plain Drifters (who resemble Kyuss) and the Black Sabbath-inspired Nebula, Local H hit The Rave\'s main stage with the whiskey-filled juggernaut \"Buffalo Trace\". The seething tone continued in fan favorites such as the anti-asshole mosh pit classic \"High-Fivin\' MF\", \"Fritz\'s Corner\", as well as new songs like \"Heavy Metal Bakesale\" and \"Money On The Dresser\".
Unlike most mainstream acts, they spewed forth a smorgasbord of sound as they belted out songs from their entire back catalog, save for their debut, Ham-Fisted. Having seen Local H five times before, it was refreshing to hear slight alterations on tunes to keep things interesting, like the added echo effects on \"Bound For The Floor\", and the newly incorporated harmonica on \"President Forever/Fine And Good\".
The band even doled out banter with the fans before and after the show, as well as during songs-- stopping halfway through \"Hey, Rita\" to examine the bra they had acquired from my friend Carrie. (It\'s a 36B, for those of you who are interested.) And that\'s what a Local H show is about: boobies. I mean, no-nonsense rock.
Part Two: Monkeybe
Last Friday, my good friend (and sexual jungle gym) Judas Cow and I had the opportunity to check out some bands at The Rave. Judas is a drooling, flag-touting fanatic when it comes to Local H, so he gave them a great review. I\'ll just go ahead and agree with him on it.
As for the other bands, I really dug The High Plains Drifters. They reminded me of a cross between Stone Temple Pilots and the Southern-inspired hard rock/metal stylings of Corrosion Of Conformity.
Next up was the band Nebula. They were a cool three-piece that was kind of a Sixties/Seventies-influenced psychedelic, hard rock, jam band. I could have listened to these guys all night.
Unfortunately, save for a handful of really cool, interesting people, the crowd sucked. It was just a bunch of stinky fucking douche bags in Slipknot shirts, flailing around like they had a clue. They should kill themselves and stay the fuck out of my face.
artid
2471
Old Image
6_10_localhlive.jpg
issue
vol 6 - issue 10 (jun 2004)
section
entertainmental