It's hard to figure out what the hell to say about a METZ show. Your brain is bombarded with so much stimuli that it quickly becomes clear that most discerning thought processes are at worst futile, and at best suspect — how do you trust your noise-addled brain to correctly get at what's happening? Is there even a point? Is it better to give yourself up to the all-consuming noise?
Almost always, yes. But METZ give you no real option. Their FME set was typically void of bullshit — just bone-rattling distortion and drums that pounded away harder than Mjolnir. Just when I thought it would be impossible for the band to integrate some sort of dynamic that wasn't an extreme buzzsaw of brutally punishing squall, they kicked in to some weird, elongated blissful portion of the evening's set.
But that was swiftly destroyed by more terrifying hurricanes of sound. They did one called "Wasted," introducing it by saying "this one's about drinkin' beer." That was a real easy crowd-pleaser. And then the Toronto noise-rockers just continued the assault — shout out to Hayden Menzies' bonkers drumming — until the end of their lethal set. Ears are still ringing.
Almost always, yes. But METZ give you no real option. Their FME set was typically void of bullshit — just bone-rattling distortion and drums that pounded away harder than Mjolnir. Just when I thought it would be impossible for the band to integrate some sort of dynamic that wasn't an extreme buzzsaw of brutally punishing squall, they kicked in to some weird, elongated blissful portion of the evening's set.
But that was swiftly destroyed by more terrifying hurricanes of sound. They did one called "Wasted," introducing it by saying "this one's about drinkin' beer." That was a real easy crowd-pleaser. And then the Toronto noise-rockers just continued the assault — shout out to Hayden Menzies' bonkers drumming — until the end of their lethal set. Ears are still ringing.
