DAYUM. That is how I will start this recant of the Metz show that I caught at The Echo in Los Angeles last night.
I wanted to see if the post-CMJ-hype was legit. Since Echo park is kind of a hike for me I brought my geologist friend as a failsafe plan. Because having a geologist around will always lighten the mood. As it turned out, I did not need him.
Look at that geologist, doesn’t he look like a good time?
We showed up in the middle of the Batwings Catwings set. The room was semi-full, semi-enthused. The lead singer reminded me of Tia Carrere in Wayne’s world. Wayne’s chick who sings in the band…if you don’t know, you are probably way young, so stream that on a I-Pad, learn something.
They were pretty tight. Home-girl had edge. She screamed hard, and bounced around with affect. I give it a punk-rock salute. The geologist dug it too, and he’s an OG punker. He said “she’s hot,” which meant he dug it.
Party time, excellent.
So then Metz came on, and the music-blog reading-crowd came out of the woodwork, or rather, in from the smoking porch where they had just butted their American Spirits. Anyways, holy-yell-a-lot, Metz was legit.
We had speculated earlier in the night on whether or not there would be a mosh-pit. I assumed given the geographical location that there might be a rocking-back-and-forth-from-one-leg-to-another-pit, but I was wrong. Metz handles biznass.
Mosh-pit attempt yielded mixed results.
The drummer was ridiculously good. I mean, dude was loud, dude was, BANG BANG BANG, and dude was sick. It was a strong musical backbone, made your head shake. Then on top of that you’ve got quick-ass guitar blended with quick-ass bass, and a lead singer who is sweating buckets and screaming his face off, jumping on the drums and like I said, dayum!
Angst ridden.
It was a twenty-five, thirty minute set, quick and raging, like the tunes. I figured if they played any longer the singer might have passed out. Which is to say, I dug every minute of it.
Metz!
That’s Dave’s post-Metz face. It wore off in the morning.