Metal is back in Cville.

We hate to break it to you but the world isn’t ok. 

And you know what else? Kids aren’t stupid. They know if things keep going the direction they’re headed, we’re fucked. Sesame Street is gone because it doesn’t work any more. Sometimes it even seems like fun doesn’t work any more.

Well, Friday night, we got a little reminder of what it feels like when our sons and daughters join fists, pick up those time-tested tools of rebellion: guitars, drums and amps, and unite in a writhing brother and sisterhood that, for a couple of hours, spits in the face of a world so wrong and shrieks, “Just Fuck No.” 

That’s what we dove into as we grabbed beers and turned the corner into the pit at Ace BBQ, a space recently crafted in gravel, concrete, cinder block and rebar yet already dripping in cred as this town’s home of metal. The sound and fury slams into your chest when you make that turn.

The large early crowd was beginning to coalesce into a single organism that would rise up out of the heavy sludge laid down by Opium Church. They’re out of Lynchburg and play a type of doom metal that shakes you at your core. (We missed the opening band, Slurr. We’ll be sure to catch them next time they’re in town.)

Doom metal is built on thunderous riffs and an atmosphere of darkness and melancholy. It’s music that crawls rather than sprints, evoking dread and awe. Deep, crushing guitars, pounding drums, and vocals that shift between wailing laments and guttural growls. 

It seemed the crowd was letting the weight of the world sink in, one distorted note at a time. It was the perfect start to the evening as we would soon accelerate.

Up next was Sniper. A four-piece that upped the energy with a vocalist who bloodied himself on every note. Sniper’s set was short but ferocious, their hardcore metal sound pushing the energy to a new level. If Opium Church set the foundation for the night, Sniper began throwing combustible shit into the pot. Their energy was contagious, turning the tight wrenching of doom into a blast of adrenaline.

With Sniper, the pit began to writhe and seethe.

The next band, Infamy, kept the momentum rolling with an electrifying set that took the night to the next level. The bass player for Opium Church switched to guitar for Infamy and showed just how versatile and commanding a musician he is. Infamy slammed into the crowd like a battering ram, pushing the energy in the room even higher. Their set was a testament to the power of metal in its purest form: fast, aggressive, and unrelenting. Every guttural scream was a call to action, and the crowd responded.

The pit now snapped and whipsawed, the energy high voltage.

The final blow was Coldcocked who took the stage and detonated the night. Hailing from Sherando, VA, they launched their set and napalmed the place. One song started with a Johnny Cash sample before exploding into a wall of sound that ripped through the crowd like a lightning strike. Their groove was relentless, their energy feral, and every note hit with the weight of a hammer. If the first four bands had loosened the lid of the jar, Coldcocked didn’t just blow the top off, they shattered it into a thousand pieces.

The crowd was peaking, waves of energy roiling it’s surface. Every human in the room was engaged, from the dudes chucking each other around up front to the metal-curious crew of girls who joined hands and danced joyfully as if they were in a meadow, not in a dungeon on Concord that looks like a North Korean torture facility.

Somehow, it just made sense and was appropriate as hell, fuckers.

As the night wound down, we found ourselves standing there in the gravel, feeling alive. Around us was a remarkably diverse group of strangers and friends, all the flavors and ages, united by the shared sense that, for a few jagged hours, we were all right. And right where we belonged. 

The kids? They aight.

The team at Ace have done something here. They’ve designed and built a home for anyone who’s ever needed to feel the earth shake around them and to scream into the face of a world that seems broken.

That’s what metal can do. That’s why it’s been so sorely missed in this town.

Well, Ok.

Old Hank and Bazz