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Hanging from the rafters


I have never seen a show like this! Dillinger Escape Plan blew my mind this weekend. I have seen these guys a number of times before and have seen their lineup change over the years. Their new lineup kicks ass.

Full account of the brutality after the jump.


With the explosive way the old lineup would tear up the stage, I
was a little hesitant to hear that their former virtuoso drummer, Chris Pennie, had left to join
the prog rock band Coheed & Cambria and been replaced by Gil Sharone. Also Jeff Tuttle (rhythm guitar, stage right) had joined the band since I last caught their live show. Not to
mention that just the day before I had drove out to Houston to catch the Meshuggah/Ministry
show...which sucked ass...so I was really needing to get my weekend going. Jon and I
showed up at about party time to catch the first opening band, The Bled, and have a few beers.
The next band had a singer wearing saggy girl pants...I had a few more beers. When it
was time for Dillinger to set up Jon and I crammed our way up to the stage to watch the guys
from the band to their sound check and tech their setups. "Fuck You Hippie" shirt and the metalheads were taking pictures of it while we were waiting for
the mayhem to commence. Anyone who has ever been to a show like this would know that
no one is ever impressed by your stupid fucking shirt.>

Before they came out I had about a three beer piss brewing, but when the ambient guitar and
the lights came on my adrenal cortex kicked in. Four clicks from the drummer and they
burst into Panasonic Youth like a mortar shell going off. Somehow Greg Puciato must have
nicked his arm because amidst the flying bodies and flashing strobes, I could see a growing
blood stain on his right arm. Greg cut his hand on the rafters of Emo's last time I saw them
play, probably while he was hanging upside down like a freakish muscle bound monkey.
The guy should buy stock in band-aid. The tremendous amount of energy coming
from the band was palpable and inspired the ratty haired, faceless, shirtless and tattooed bodies to climb up and dive off the stage, most often into groups of girls that let them hit the ground in such a comical way that it would make you laugh and point if you were not watching out for the next falling body. Uncontent to let the audience have all the fun, the guitarists began, one after another, to throw themselves into the mass of heaving bodies as they pointed fists and various other hand signals up toward Greg while he screamed and paced the stage like a foaming animal. There was no respite from the auditory and physical onslaught until
the break in When Good Dogs Do Bad Things. The band went into their free form jazz stint while Gil pounded out machine gun fills and Greg curled up into a fetal position on the stage light boxes. The bodies stopped flying for a moment, and I could breath for a moment.

After the furry kicked back in time became a blur again until a break in the songs to have some kid crawl up on stage to propose to his girlfriend. Not very romantic, but she took the ring. Come to think of it, that may have come before Good Dogs...it is hard to say. All I remember now is that they ended with 43% Burnt. The crowd lost their fucking minds. Swinging from the rafters like monkeys, climbing on top of each other like insects. Various members of the band had disappeared into the crowd leaving no evidence of their existence save the chugging sound stabbing at you from the PA. The mob had reached critical mass and I had the very distinct feeling that something was about to go very wrong.

While dodging falling bodies, Jon and I made our way away from the front of the stage to a safer distance for the last song. When it was over we were out the door to go get some devil pizza, which is no longer there because the Alamo Ritz took the space over...which sucks ass. So we got some bratwurst instead and called it a night. I was sore for two days, but it was so fucking worth it.

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