November 11, 2012
New York, New York
This is the music your parents should have warned you about.
This is the music you should be afraid of stumbling upon in a darkened alley somewhere in an unnamed, storm-drenched city in the Pacific Northwest. This is scuzzy dirtbag music made by beastly werewolves from the wild streams and black-cloud skies of Portland, Oregon. This is music for your beard, your long hair and for very young children. This is music to drink beer to, lots of beer.
This is Red Fang and they are a heavy acid-trip outfit that worship the lumberjack riff and lay it down low and lean, like downshifting backwards in a tornado.
Did I mention beer?
The pre-show ritual is a wandering street brawl of a beer run that leaves everybody bloodshot and amped for an audio assault that only the unruly dudes in Red Fang could possibly deliver.
Bring this shit on.
So the set is a desolate road trip through the demolished nations of the molten universe, and you shouldn’t forget you’re on this Earth for an average of about 74.5 years so you’d better soak this shit up now while there’s still time cause Red Fang may just decide its like, End Times out there, and you definitely don’t want that shit sneaking up on you, do you?
But all doom and gloom aside, Red Fang is not really pushing to end it all, at least not tonight, and has the crowd in an utterly wide-eyed and spiritualized mood. This deranged loco-train rolls on for what feels like rock and roll eternity and the crowd is a sweaty and pummeled mess.
It’s all good rock and roll fun, isn’t it?