As anyone who has ever seen High on Fire live can attest, it’s a vaguely religious, albeit thoroughly pagan, experience; a medulla oblongata-snapping, Dio-horn dotted 90-plus-minute almsgiving to anti-lord and semi-savior Matt Pike, whose ageless (and shirtless) Les Paul rippage has earned the Bay Area thrashers their righteous legion of sweat-and-beer slicked apostles and the in-awe reverence of metal nerds the scorched earth over.
I was lucky enough to experience this Baptism by, umm, fire last year, when Pike and co. blew a giant smoking crater in the East Village bedrock with the help of Kvelertak and Doomriders, and thus cannot overstate HOW INCREDIBLY-FUCKING-SLAM-A-DAMN-BEER-RIGHT-NOW PUMPED I am about the band’s impending and totally free Converse Rubber Tracks shit-show spectacular at Music Hall of Williamsburg on August 15th. Tickets go on sale tomorrow at noon (meaning sold out by 12:01) and local boys, Blackest, will provide the opening support. Now, if you need me, I’ll be at Duff’s pregaming for the next two weeks.
P.S. Sleep with one eye on the Saint Vitus calendar. I HAVE NOT heard a whisper about anything either way, but the boys up in Greenpoint love surprises and Thursday, August 14th remains unbooked…