“Vitamin M”
(Hank Williams III & Melvins.  5/11/Ø1.  Pine Street Theater.)
by Austin Rich

            No, you didn't misread the line-up.  THE Hank Williams III.  Opening for THE Melvins. 

            Take a moment to let it sink in. 

            No matter how you look at it, it seems like an unlikely pair in every respect.  Even though I was somewhat in the know about what they were both up to, I was still in shock when I saw the ad in The Mercury.  “What are they thinking?  Is this for real?”

            Yes, indeed, it is. 

            The pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place when you think about it, though.  It's not like this is Hank Jr. (not by a long shot).  Come to think of it, he's got more tattoos than you would ever associate with the Williams family tree.  Though, he does have a number of traditional sounding songs under his belt, it makes a lot more sense in a twisted kind of way that this kid is probably a long way off from the Honky Tonk bars of his grandfather. 

            Plus, there are other pieces that fall into place.  In recent interviews, Buzz Melvin had stated over and over that he had grown weary of the direction rock was headed, and was beginning to look elsewhere for inspiration.  This makes sense, considering the third installment of their three-part epic, called The Crybaby, on which the Melvins team up with all sorts of musicians for original and cover songs.  Hank's appearance on this album was by far the most “metal” thing about him yet, and the most “country” for the Melvins too.  Though on that recording they both seemed to be stretching themselves to try stick their toes in uncharted waters, there was also an element of love in both their eyes for what the other was doing.  It was only a matter of time before something big happened. 

            The reports came in from various sources.  Hank was touring with The Rev. Horton Heat, and rumor had it that a cassette-only release available at these shows offered people a glimpse into Hank's new direction: Metal.  It was hard to believe at first, but after two different listenings from two different friends I was speechless.  The rumor was fact.  It didn't surprise me in the least that after I heard the tapes I was told that his show had been tinged with Metal too.  I made the decision after the second listening: I would go and see this so-called “Bloodline Gone Bad.” 

            At first this seemed like an impossibility, as my funds have been reaching strange and dangerous realms of insolvency.  Fortunately enough my birthday was mere weeks before the show, and a single present from The Defense Lawyer made the show not only possible, but carved in stone.  With a song in my heart and a spring in my step, I set out to meet my friends that would make up our group for that evening's show. 

            It's important to note this, because going to shows is not fun when you go by yourself.  Or rather, it is interesting to go to a show alone, but an element of social connection is lost when you do.  Ironic, when you consider that when you get to the show you are surrounding by hordes of people all there to see the same thing you are.  One would think that a setting like this would provide the perfect circumstances for making new friends.  But in my experience, going to a show alone is a depressing experience that makes the walk home alone that much more dark and cold.  Trekking through the night alone with your thoughts which are that much farther trapped inside of you due to the ringing ears is a recipe for disaster; a night like that usually ends with a bottle of wine alone in your room as you stay up all night listening to High School music (all that depressing shit you had on endless rotation in those day) while you try to write about this lack of connection with the rest of the world. 

            So it's important to go to shows in groups, is what I'm saying.  Not for your own sanity, but because it's fun.  I've been to a few shows alone in my life, and though they all worked themselves out in their own special little way, I've found groups were always much more fun.  Not only do you have someone you can count on to lend you money when you're short a buck trying to pick up a record or shirt after the show, but s/he'll also be there in-between bands so you can bitch and moan about what you did and didn't like about the set so far.  I try to never go to a show in a group smaller than four people.  This offers a larger cash-pool for you to borrow from and a larger number of ears you can yell into if the band starts to suck. 

            My group on the 11^th of May consisted of The Defense Lawyer, Rock 'n' Roll Sara, The Lord Of Darkness & his friends Tom and Holly, though now by default they have become my friends as well.  Our plan was simple enough: meet up, have drinks, go to show.  As far as plans go, it was a good plan.  But as always something is bound to go wrong somewhere, and with us it was the, “Just one more drink,” syndrome.  By the time we finished off our drinks, finally got the move on to hike over to Pine Street, and finished our marathon bout of standing in line (it was, but far, the longest line I've stood in that I remember), the show was well underway and a band who I assumed was an opening act was only a few songs from finishing up.  Shit. 

            Oh well, at least I hadn't missed Hank.  The band was pretty funny, though.  It was your typical metal combo, with several guys in cowboy hats and a fiddle player wearing devil horns.  Where on earth had they found these guys?  They were hilarious!  The standard metal riffs cut through the air and forced their way into your ear canal like a police officer bursting into a house.  Only that of Earth Crisis or Cradle of Filth rivaled the singer's growl.  When they finished off one song by plowing through a lyric-free cover of “Stigmata” by Ministry I was sold.  These guys were pretty damn goofy and I could only imagine what their lyrics really were about.  Tom and I did a few rounds of pretentious “Making Fun of The Band,” though I have to admit my sore spot for metal was starting to feel a little bruised. 

            When they were finished, we all met back up to shoot the shit about what we had just seen, and it was then (and only then) that it had been revealed: “That wasn't an opening band, that was Hank.” 

            My jaw dropped.  I couldn't fuckin' believe it.  The Metal I'd heard Hank playing on those tapes so long ago sounding nothing like what I'd heard tonight.  The tapes had been more AC/DCish kind of stuff.  This was… well, this was almost like Speed Metal.  The guy singing (you're kidding… that was Hank?) looked nothing like the pictures I'd seen.  In the pictures, Hank was your average looking guy with tattoos and a cowboy hat.  This guy singing was a gangly rail-thin creature who looked like a metal head, right down to his long hair that flailed around in a way that could only be described as “metal”.  That… was Hank?

            It was.  I couldn't believe it.  Not only was I wrong about it being an opening back, but also I had bet Rock 'n' Roll Sara that it hadn't been, and now I owed her a drink.  Shit. 

            The implications of it being Hank bounced around in my head as I tried to stay focused.  It was all so disorienting to think that what I'd seen… was Hank!  I still couldn't believe it.  Even considering everything I'd heard, everything I'd read, and everything I knew about this grandson of a legend, it was like trying to resolve the idea that you just found out The Pope was actually a seven-hundred pound Jewish gorilla: it couldn't be done with ease.  True, I was comfortable with this new image.  Yes, I even liked the music.  And in fact, I would probably buy the album if it was around and I had the money. 

            But I still felt really uncomfortable about it.  If the Pine Street hadn't stopped selling booze, I would have bellied up to the bar and ordered a double shot.  I tried to take my mind of it by looking at girls, but people I knew or strangers that didn't look much like girls and were probably, in fact, men kept blocking my view.  Patiently, I chatted away with my friends until the Melvins were about to start. 

            Having seen them twice and read a lot about them, it would not have surprised me if they had come out and done a complete set of country versions of their songs.  Nor would it have been a shock to watch them set their guitars against their amps as feedback rang out and they smoked cigarettes while discussing Hockey.  I would have even been prepared for a night of damp paper sacks full of tuna being flung at a large picture of Normal Mailer as show tunes played over the sound system at half-speed.  But what I wasn't prepared for was a set of the Melvins, in very Melvin-like costumes, playing Melvins songs for a rather Melvin-esque length of time before leaving the stage without an encore. 

            It was definitely weird. 

            For a band that has earned a reputation for catching their audience off guard, they were fairly normal when measured against themselves.  Maybe it was the fact that I'm familiar with their material enough to know almost every song they played.  Or, maybe it was that I got lucky every time I saw them and they had just chosen to play a regular set of their normal stuff those nights.  Whatever the case, I was happy to see something I liked, something I was familiar with, and more to the point, something that didn't involve me having to bend my mind around a concept I wasn't sure I was ready to try and grasp. 

            Having gained another guitar player for their more recent material, they plowed their way through destructive renditions of a good portion of the material from their three-part epic mentioned above, stopping only twice to play something that sounded like “Cherub” by The Butthole Surfers (minus the lyrics), and another note-for-note cover of The Wipers “Youth Of America” (a song that is, itself, seven-minutes long).  It was the second time I've heard them do their “Youth Of America” cover, and though it was not as good as the first time, I was excited enough to hear a cover of a song by a band that I will never be able to see live in my own lifetime. 

            A lot of people call the Melvins “strange” and “weird”, considering that their music often skirts the edges of anything resembling “Metal”.  But after this show, it was safe to say that they are forever paying tribute to that which they never come out and directly mimic.  Those riffs, though mutated and mangled through Buzz's own vision of the world around him, are easily identified as metal.  It's not like they are actually playing something completely foreign, but rather a chopped up and re-arranged version of something very familiar, where sections are left out, shortened, lengthened, bent, and often run through the washing machine before it gets to our ears.  Elements of their songs are nostalgic of something we've all heard long ago, but made fresh again because it's out of context and presented around other things that seem out of place at first.  I would rather listen to one metal band like this, trying to find a new way to present those same riffs and sounds, than a thousand albums by bands that all call themselves “innovative” or “inventive”.  If they are even close to “innovative”, they probably got that way by taking cues from someone like the Melvins. 

            In typical Melvin style, they played exactly one song too many, a slowly building monstrosity that seemed more like a wall of noise that was collapsing in on itself over and over again (just to be rebuilt afterward) than an actual song per se.  When the noise finally subsided and the final note had faded to the mere ringing in my ears, the lights went up and “Baby Got Back” burst over the sound system.  If there's one image that seemed to define the entire show for me, I would have to say it was that of fifty or so Melvins fans, all decked out in their own Metal-y gear from head to toe, shaking and bumping ironically to a Sir Mix-A-Lot song on the floor of the Pine Street Theater. 

            Discounting all the cool shit I'd seen that night already, this had made the whole show more than worth it.