While I'm normally the type to stick near the middle of a crowd, METZ actually inspired me to get as close to the speakers as humanly possible (earplugs applied, of course) if only to pierce through their huge wall of sound. The band's collision of noise and melody is awe-inspiring in its volume, and yet unlike so many other acts attempting to do what they do, it rarely turns into sonic mush. That sort of layered density allows METZ to do a lot with a little, turning two-note riffs into massive, powerful creations.
Though they seemed like upstanding gentlemen at an artist talk earlier in the day, METZ turn into chaotic, spazzy beasts when they hit the stage. The shift is perhaps most pronounced in the case of bespectacled guitarist/vocalist Alex Edkins, whose yelps during songs like "Wet Blanket" and "Get Off" exude a "Michael Douglas in Falling Down" level of primal transformation. (I may only be making this comparison because of his glasses, now that I think about it.) For a crowd nearing the end of a long week of music-going, METZ's set felt like just the sort of wake-up call needed to power through the final night of HPX.
Though they seemed like upstanding gentlemen at an artist talk earlier in the day, METZ turn into chaotic, spazzy beasts when they hit the stage. The shift is perhaps most pronounced in the case of bespectacled guitarist/vocalist Alex Edkins, whose yelps during songs like "Wet Blanket" and "Get Off" exude a "Michael Douglas in Falling Down" level of primal transformation. (I may only be making this comparison because of his glasses, now that I think about it.) For a crowd nearing the end of a long week of music-going, METZ's set felt like just the sort of wake-up call needed to power through the final night of HPX.
