Long gone are the days when you could show at a Type O concert and find an honest crowd of respectable heshers and skinheads. Now itís nothing but dykes, goths, and assorted urchins wrapped in fishnet or patent leather trenchcoats, parading through the venue as if they were the very height of fashion. One young man thought it would be funny if he wore an executionerís mask. It wasnít. The redeeming part is that Peter Steele, eons past his Playgirl centerfold prime, still manages to lure gaggles of scantily clad females to his shows. While most are hopelessly fat and bespattered with moles or makeup, the occasional hottie in a short skirt and heels shines more like a supernova than a mere diamond.
We showed up just in time to catch the last two tracks from Brand New Sin ó one of the lamest bands Iíve seen in some years. Iím not sure if it was the particular songs they decided to close with that were Creedishly awful or whether they really do sound like a heavier version of Scott Stappís monstrosity. The chorus on their final jam sent me straight back to the bar, where I paid eight dollars for another Jack ní Coke without flinching. On that note, the price of this little shindig was a god damn travesty. Twenty-five bucks to see Type O and Celtic Frost? Fuck me, maybe 10 years ago, but to shell out that kind of money for what basically equates to visiting a convalescent home is ridiculous. These guys are older than sin!
Celtic Frost (Martin and Tom) are so old, in fact, that it took several minutes for me to realize they were wearing corpse paint. Needless to say, they were devastatingly heavy. Sure, I like Monotheist, but hearing “Circle of the Tyrants” made my night. Thereís no denying CFís influence on all things metal, and it was a treat to see them live despite Martinís corny banter in between songs. Although their new material is engaging, itís unlikely that Celtic Frost will ever be able to emerge from its own ’80s shadow, which is probably why Tom is so vague regarding comments about past albums. Also, has anyone figured out why he had a beanie permanently sewn to his head? Is he that sensitive about his hair loss?
As for Type O, Iím a huge fan of the first two albums, but when they abandoned their misogynistic hate campaign in favor of a weepy, gothic funeral procession, I sort of lost interest. However, knowing that they always pull through live, I figured, why not? I canít begin to tell you how geriatric these cats have become in recent years. Iím talking Cro-Magnon here. Josh doesnít even look human anymore. His four feet of crimped coiffure is whitening faster than the dog shit in my yard. And Peter! Oh man, Peter resembles the very face of death itself. I swear he fell asleep for a moment in the middle of “Profits of Doom.” No doubt pained by a combination of arthritis and exhaustion, he was forced to take a seat several times throughout the show. And donít say itís because of the wine; everyone knows he started filling those bottles with Metamucil years ago.
Disabilities aside, Type O still kicks a fair amount of ass.†As soon†as I heard†”Xero Tolerance” and “We Hate Everyone,”the memory of their obscene cover charge dissipated, at least momentarily. Not surprisingly, Kenny has pretty much taken over the responsibilities of front man in the band, as heís the only one that can stand upright at this point. They†labored through a†good set, shorter than usual, and despite an uncharacteristic intermission (to defibrillate Peter) they kept their songs upbeat and abridged, closing with the usual “Black No. 1.” Sadly, though, it was just barely worth the 25 bucks, but since that can be said for 90% of all shows, Iím not too dejected. After all, I saw them on their Bloody Kisses and Life Is Killing Me tours, so Iíve always got that to remember. At any rate, if youíve never seen Type O, see them soon, for fuckís sake. I honestly canít imagine another tour after this one.