...And the horns called for war

Although I have attended every Heathen Crusade to date, until this year's, I had never gone to this amazing Minnesota metal festival while I had someone waiting for me at home. In fact, I had never taken a trip anywhere by myself while involved in a serious relationship. It's nothing rare, I know, but it was odd to experience for the first time at age 33. Typically, this expertly organized blowout is my designated time and place to rock, drink, geek out and ignore all trappings of the modern world aside from electricity. This time, I did that, but found my thoughts wandering back to my Sassy Frassy Lassie chilling at the crib, alone with the cats. Here I was, nearly soused on Heathen Crusade Ale (brewed especially for the event, sold at $3 per refillable cup), rocking out to one of my favorite songs of the year, and my mind was elsewhere. Strange, but true.

Anyway, I rented a car, since to be safe enough for the trip, my battered old dragon was in need of repairs that would have been more costly than the rental. I stayed at the same budget hotel I did last time. It was in some disrepair, but at the price Expedia got me, I couldn't complain. Besides, you can still get a smoking room in Minnesota, for which I was extremely grateful. Without incident, the journey took about six hours, including a brief stop at a backwoods Wisconsin A&W.

I ain't blowing anyone's mind when I say the global economy is in bad shape. As it is, the third Crusade was pushed far back from its customary January slot in order for the organizers to pull funds together. By the time it occurred, all three of the originally announced performers (Russia's Nomans Land and Germany's Thrudvangar and Gernotshagen) and two added later (Germany's Morrigan and Turkey's Moribund Oblivion) had pulled out for various reasons. This greatly reduced the international presence at the fest, which had made it such a feast of fresh sounds last year. The dearth of jerkins and native instruments resulted in a less exotic affair overall. However, in no way was HCIII a disappointment. A number of North American bands filled in the gaps, playing in complementary styles - Viking, black, doom and even power metal - and not a single one of them sucked.

Before I detail the proceedings, I must acknowledge all the music that accompanied my trip. In order of listening: Ancient Rites' Dim Carcosa, Dub Trio's Another Sound Is Dying, The Haunted's Versus, Woods of Ypres' Woods III: Deepest Roots and Darkest Blues, Volbeat's Guitar Gangsters and Cadillac Blood, Týr's Land, Wu-Tang Clan's Iron Flag, Bloc Party's Intimacy, Lunarium's Journeys, Fables, & Lore and Tim and Eric's Awesome Record, Great Songs!

11/14/08
Grand Demise of Civilization: After an outrageous hunt for parking in downtown St. Paul, I strolled in late. I was surprised to see that the first band, these locals, were still on stage. There had been a hole in the schedule posted online, so they just started the show a bit later, which worked out perfectly for me. GDoC play relatively standard black metal with American fervor, meaning minimal, dark guitar melodies and feral shrieks affixed to a percussive force more typically associated with death metal. These days I prefer my black metal to be more of the progressive, experimental or epic variety, but the heavier, foreboding, more active style this quartet offers (they unfortunately call it "hell metal") definitely goes down better live. The vocalist/bassist, working the bald and bearded crusty look, had a somewhat monotonous shriek, but it didn't detract from what I caught of the set. All in all, a good opening act and an appropriate scene setter, since the way the lineup shook out, black metal ended up the predominant flavor of the weekend.

Lunarium: Perhaps Slough Feg's heartwarming triumph at last year's event convinced the extremist hordes that traditional metal styles could join all the blasting brutes here. At long last, a pagan power metal band graced the Heathen Crusade stage, and from Ohio of all places. Musically, Lunarium stand somewhere between the floridly mannered pomp of Falconer and the unembarrassed anthemic stomp of Manowar. The vocalist/guitarist was a tiny Van Dyked dude with the telling demeanor of a high school theater/Renaissance fair geek, and he would have been too dorky to watch if he took himself more seriously - instead, he was just earnest enough. Likewise, the band's tales of ancient battles and mythology were delivered with just enough of a wink to denote self-awareness, something lacking in many of the more visceral acts this weekend.

For example, remember the Bosstone from The Mighty Mighty Bosstones? If not, think of the hypemen most rappers employ for shows: guys who basically run around getting the crowd to cheer and dance, pointing at random audience members, maybe doing some backing vocals (i.e. "yeah, come on, put your hands up, yeah"). Lunarium had a guy doing this, but he did it while waving around campy props likely salvaged from some post-Halloween clearance sale weeks prior, including a sword, a severed arm and a Grim Reaper. The capper was one of those big troll monster wall hanging thingies, which appeared for the finale, a goofy sing-along called "Troll Slayer." At the end, the band pretended to beat up the troll, and the bassist turned his instrument upside down, revealing a custom-built "sword" shape. He proceeded to stab the beast with it. Fake blood spurted out and hit the crowd. It was an endearingly cheap and hokey effect. I promptly bought their CD. if for no other reason than to support this sort of thing.

Ulveheim: Of all the Viking metal bands out there, this evening's representative hailed from... Mexico!?! I'll admit it, I was skeptical. Not many Mexican metal bands incorporate their heritage into their music, and I would really prefer that over doing exactly what Scandinavian bands have been doing for more than a decade. From hearing Ulveheim's demo, For Ære Heder og Fedreland, a competent but unextraordinary slab of Falkenbach/Einherjer/Mithotyn-influenced battle hymns (complete with Norwegian lyrics), I wasn't expecting to have my ass rocked as hard as it was. Granted, this was about the time the HC Ale really kicked in, but Ulveheim was far more intense live than on tape.

At one point, the vocalist/guitarist dedicated a song "to all who wear the Thor's Hammer with pride," and at another, the other guitarist busted out a mouth harp, but at no point were these hombres anything less than convincing. All they needed were strong folk-influenced guitar lines repeating methodically against a buoyant Viking trudge, deep clean vocals that sounded straight off of an old Enslaved album and, for variety, occasional leaps into catchy melodic black metal. Ulveheim proved beyond a doubt that at this juncture in time, Viking metal is so clearly defined as a subgenre that its hallmarks can be adopted by anyone from anywhere. Its sudden rise in popularity - perhaps in opposition to the ultramodern, ironic and ultimately False spasms of MySpace metal - means we can expect many more Viking bands to appear around the planet. The authenticity required for the genre need not come from the performers' place of birth, rather how honestly their feeling for the music comes through. In that sense, Mexico's Ulveheim is as authentic as Kampfar or Ásmegin or any Norwegian outfit you want to throw out there.

Nechochwen: One interesting innovation of the third Heathen Crusade was utilizing the venue's two-room setup to allow different performance spaces. There's a long bar area when you walk in, adjacent to the gray concrete room with the stage. In the back of the bar room, acoustic neofolk guitarist Nechochwen occasionally performed while tech dudes swapped equipment on the regular stage. This was a great idea. Neofolk has crossover appeal to pagan metal crowds, and having live intermission music in the bar gave it the feel of an event rather than a regular old concert. The downside is that despite some amplification, West Virginia native Nechochwen's mellow, ambient plucking was always too quiet to compete with the soused audience. I got up close for his first set, which happened after Ulveheim played, but could barely hear him over the people gabbing all around me. Meaning no offense to Nechochwen - who was effectively solemn and serene from what I could make out - after about ten minutes struggling to hear, I simply went out for a few smokes and got myself a spot for the band about to play in the next room.

Inquisition: I am really not up to speed about kvlt black metal bands such as Inquisition. I knew of them from T-shirts and zine reviews, both of which always made me assume they engaged in the sort of tuneless, minimalist "ritual" clatter with shitty drumming enjoyed by joyless, pockmarked vinyl fetishists (see Von, Beherit, Black Witchery, etc.). The veteran two-man act, formed by the guitarist/vocalist in Colombia and later joined by the drummer where he now lives near Seattle, are currently signed to the label of an infamous Polish neo-Nazi, and they have a song called "Crush the Jewish Prophet." All of this might have added up to enough to make me boycott the entire fest, but research told me that Inquisition really has no racial slant to their music, unless you count the "race of Satan." These dudes are 100% against Christianity and Judaism, which are not unchangeable traits one is born with, but philosophies a conscious person chooses to follow and thus should be able to defend as they would a strong political opinion or favorite pizza topping. A jaunt through Inquisition's lyrics online revealed that they actually tend to conflate cartoonish, flesh-cutting, goat-fucking, "hooray for Satan!" heavy metal Satanism with references to paganism, which is probably very offensive to serious pagans or Satanists. They're equal-opportunity offenders, then. That's OK with me.

Still, this show was my first time hearing the band. From past experiences, I figured I could trust the organizers to include a main support act that was both prestigious and worthy. At the very least I could say I'd seen these cult legends who don't play too many shows, especially out this way. Well, if I didn't poop on the altar! I ended up glued in place throughout their entire set, except for the occasional shove from a gleeful mosher. Inquisition is indeed minimal, relying on cranky, repetitive grooves and monochrone groans rather than theatrical showboating. But it's not the "they've been playing this riff for 15 minutes, I wonder what that merch booth has" sort of minimal. It's the sort that keeps your head moving ceaselessly, involuntarily, maniacally. For just two dudes, they made an enormous racket, and their corpsepainted, unexpressive, frozen stage presence and dim lighting put the attention on their sick, hypnotic hymns to Lucifer. I already have enough old Mayhem and Carpathian Forest material to fill my intermittent desire for this sort of thing, so I don't see myself ever sitting down with one of Inquisition's albums. However, I would never dissuade anyone from seeing them play live, as they are more powerful than their insular kvlt reputation would imply.

Ancient Rites: The first night's headliners earned their status via nineteen years of existence, despite never having played in the United States before. Belgian by birth but pan-European in lyrical scope, Ancient Rites are often unfortunately forgotten among the world's countless culturally-influenced metal bands. Their early material was mired in transitional thrash/death/black soup, but the past decade has seen three increasingly majestic albums steeped in old timey Scandinavian, Greek and Roman themes, as well as shout-outs to their Flemish roots and details of the ol' Christian/Muslim rivalry. They sing of battle, bloodshed and bravery, and speak to individual notions of nationality in a multinational age... perhaps not as eloquently as Primordial does, but certainly with as much consideration and heart.

Ancient Rites' lyrics and music, a skittish and melodic blend of black, thrash and traditional metal, already embody what the Heathen Crusade is all about, but the literal struggle the band endured to be able to perform is the stuff of genuine legend. The drummer was about to be a father and thus could not leave Belgium, so the band opted to pre-record the drums for their entire set and play along with that. Also, the vocalist had been fighting off some sort of horrible infection and was still undergoing treatment for an open wound when he took the stage. You wouldn't think two guitars, a wounded singer, no bassist and all the drums and keyboards played back from a machine would add up to a stellar metal show, but once again, that would be underrating this band's excellence. Emphasis was placed on fist-pumping harmonies, rampaging riffage and raspy but animated vocals, all adding up to an impressive flurry of mini-epics. I only had one of their albums before witnessing this set, so I didn't know the material, but I have to say they compensated for their missing bandmates through sheer determination and sound. Now I want to hear some more.

I'll return sometime next week with a look at day two. If all goes according to plan, there will be a new playlist tomorrow, too. Until then, enjoy the 1980 psycho film "You Better Watch Out" (aka "Christmas Evil"), cut down to about ten minutes with all the boring parts excised. This is John Waters' favorite holiday movie, featuring a little low-grade gore, a lot of depressing squalor and one of the most fucked-up endings you will ever witness in a Christmas-themed film. Happy hellidays, pallies!