### Today Is The Day, Mouth Of The Architect, Psyopus, Complete Failure, 2008-03-17

#### 02/04/08 || Global Domination

This review was written by ex-staffer/cocksucker Col Dubh.

Where: Baltimore MD, USA. When: March 17th 2008. Venue The Ottobar. Why Because Today is the Fucking Day.

Intro:

Oh man. Demon-cock be still! I had been waiting for this show for probably nine years or so, since the last time I had seen TITD was in Detroit with Neurosis in ’99. Suffice to say that my throbbing member could barely contain itself in my pants when I arrived solo (my girl listens to Britpop, what do you want from me?) at this dingy little hellhole (awesome!) in central Baltimore called the Ottobar.

First three bands:

I think I had been to the Ottobar once before, but whatever. Since I had a decent day at work, I was able to score some much needed merchandise while the first or second band played. Unfortunately, the first three bands were local xerox copies of whatever ree ree squealcore crapola they try to pass off as music these days, with the exception of one almost decent band. The one decent band gets a 6.5 out of 10.

Scored merch:

Ignoring the wack-a-thon, I hmmmed and hawed between a few different enticing options, I finally got the Axis of Eden black tee and three cd’s. Khann’s new incredibly brutal “Tofutopia”, and TITD’s “Supernova and the new “Axis of Eden”. Tits! The guitar tech/merch/all around amazing Mike was a really cool cat and he regaled me with tales and pictures of he and Steve Austin blasting high-powered modified rifles with mass perforating ammo in the wilds of Nashville City Limits.

So with these stories in mind I bided my fucken time chatting with Mike about the inherent superiority of Paul Reed Smiths until Mr. Austin came up to the booth and yours truly was briefly able to tell him what sort of soaked-panties type of greased-up-fanboy that I had been since the American economy had still been twice as strong as the Loon. Showing remarkable foresight, Steve had earplugs in and I was such a nervous pissant that I could only mumble in half terrified bleats that I thought he was Satan’s gift to devil music. I am at least satisfied that I got to tell him I thought “Sadness Will Prevail” is untouchable in any department, and certainly as important as “Bitches Brew” or “The fucken Wall”.

Warning!

People take note. None of you would have ever heard Mastodon had it not been for Steve fucken Austin. ‘Nuff fucken said.

Complete Failure:

So finally an interesting band gets on, Complete Failure, from Pittsburgh, who were apparently borrowing much of their equipment from the guitar tech Mike. It was a good thing they had such sweet amps because they tore the shit out of the stage with a whirling cacophony of superblast grime. Their drummer was vicious and precise, making it look comically easy, and it turned out that he was going to fill in later for Derek Roddy, who has since left the TITD fold. The vocalist screamed himself hoarse with stern conviction, and the bassist and guitarist took turns threading blaze-fast tremolo disharmonies that the mixed age crowd was clearly digging. It was easily 8.5 broken bodies out of 10. Mouth Of The Architect:

The next band to play was Mouth of the Architect, a topsy-turvy dialectic between psychodramatical iron-ore heaviness and the more somnambulant floating harmonies that one would find in the epic parts of a 90’s Neurosis and yep, you guessed it, because no one metal review can fail to mention (sigh) Isis. 8.5 Isis references ignoring the entire Neurosis output out of 10. Psyopus:

Anyways, my raging God-phallus was starting to turn a sick sort of purple from this constant overload of fucking awesome, but I wasn’t even prepared to watch Chris Arp from Psyopus do his THING. I capitalize it because no one outside Stanley Jordan or some other freak of nature is doing what this guy can do on a guitar. It’s not really even fair. Using all eight fingers to do his dirty work, the main demented mind behind the lsd-inspired cerebral hemorrhaging calculus lightning in a bottle that goes on in this band is simply unique. Any lasting doubts about their inability to write actual songs was prejudicely wiped from my ears and brainmeats until I was nearly left a puddled mess. 9 fractalized consciousnesses out of 10.

I repeatedly looked at this other dude who would in turn shake his head and shrug, face making an “I don’t even know!” expression. It was hilariously overblown, and near the end of their set, Mike turned my attention to a rare PRS he was stringing for Mr. Austin that he had nearly demolished a few nights back.

Drunken Interlude:

The PRS was certainly a thing of beauty, and it reminded my drunk mind that I had precious little time before I was about to be destroyed. It must be noted that by this point I am pretty toasted, with a side of tanked, and a dash of blotto to round it out. My vision has rounded out to a comfortable two-and-a-half-per-finger, while my stride has gotten progressively wider and wobblier. I forgot how to breathe. I think I peed a little.

Oh my god, I might die!

Annihilated. Extirpated. Brought down. Grounded. Obliterated. Its hard to even remember such petty details as songs. Made scarce. Simultaneously torn apart from cranium to toenails, then stitched back together wrong and in glorious shuddering pain. I kept on wondering why everything was so red and fleetingly warm, and why that girl was not screaming with the band, but looking at her hands and feeling her face and then people started flying around in some weird frenzy before women started tearing at their clothes like maenads, the men looking bewildered and frightened.

I laughed piteously and looked down especially around my cockle area when I realized I hadn’t pissed myself but that my stabbing organ had finally exploded in my jeans, covering my lower body and my neighbors in slick confirmation that Tody is the Day not only holds court, they are judge, jury and penis pulverizer! I became obsessed with violently wrenching my entire body as fast and without regard to anything resembling my safety. I was drunk on my own bloodlust and from the screaming and shrieking madness relentlessly clawing my ears, I was vindicated in knowing that the silly metalheads who came to see anyone else had surely been mercilessly wiped out by this vicious onslaught. I haven’t been this shellaced and flattened SINCE that Neurosis/TITD show in ’99. Aww c’mon what else would this be? 10 fused lower vertebrae out of 10.

If you missed it, you can still hear me say this. I’m surprised my spectacles are still intact. I am surprised that my hearing is intact too. How stupid can you be to take earplugs WITH you, and not fucken use them? The power of the riff compelled. It was easily one of the greatest performances I have ever witnessed. Do yourself a favor and make it. Today Is The Day.