Fun idea for Obituary to conclude their series of three web concerts with a low-tech visit to their basement studio. Pool table, unreliable LED ceiling lights, metal posters, beer & booze crowding every surface -- hey, looks like MY basement!
Since every mythic saga requires a sense of place, we start in the back yard, where the five Obituarians are shooting hoops in the Tampa sun, wearing the same togs they've stuck to since the band's 1984 inception: big black T-shirts and baggy shorts, today mostly topped by untamed facial growth. Okay, Mom, into the house, time for work.
"We are relying on sheer talent and good looks," grins drummer Donald Tardy. "And damn, we're screwed!" Don exemplifies the sweet & goofy side of death metal, a useful attitude for a group that has lost one member to a heart attack and another to cancer. Drummin' Don, growlin' John Tardy and rhythm guitarist Trevor Peres have staffed Obituary for over 30 years (with a six-year band hiatus), and bassist Terry Butler (stolen from Six Feet Under) and lead guitarist Kenny Andrews have been committed for a decade. These five are a tight pod -- no plague masks of course -- and they all play like hell.
But proficiency's pretentious, and this show has been advertised as a chance to relax and dig up rarities, so the guys strive to act like fuck-ups -- Don claiming he messed up changes, John squinting at lyrics on a sheet of paper, Kenny whining he doesn't know songs he's never played onstage. The barbs fly nonstop, as when Don twits Kenny, "Did I hear a little White Lion in that last lead?" They abort "Walk This Way," chug beers, do multiple shots between songs. They have also semi-rehearsed a couple of visual segments where they play behind silly animations of themselves looking like pals of Scooby Doo. There's a pointless call-in Q&A ("Are you working on new music?"), and even a blooper reel.
This hourlong comedy-routine-slash-Budweiser-commercial would be entertaining enough without the music, but the music rules. Obituary are not one of those unceasingly harsh & abstract death-metal bands; more in the mode of Slayer, they like to groove, even if they do change tempos and time signatures a lot. They hump it, grind it, doom it, slog it, gallop it, with Donald seizing the rhythmic leadership and Andrews, while he keeps melody within shoutin' range, whipping up a bend-twiddle-&-divebomb storm in every song. When they end in a Katrina of feedback and stage smoke, they display sufficient proficiency at that seemingly random activity to make us remember why Hendrix loved to ride the amplified surf. We feel the physical tingle. At least we feel it if we haven't been trying to match vodka-&-pickle-juice shots with these f*ckers.
* * *
The three Obituary web shows are still available for $15 each here.