Experts warn of the effects of consuming alcohol and drugs, offering a myriad of dos and don'ts when under that sweet, sweet influence. Still, no medical journals have warned about combining alcohol with the surreal musical experience that is the Melvins. In an effort to pioneer research in this overlooked area of metal illness, our operative's notes are presented below, unaltered and unadulterated:
[Musing in line] “In the way that challenging music is often either described in multi-hyphenated terms degraded of meaning (stoner-sludge-doom) or thrown into the catch-all reservoir of 'alternative,' the Melvins have long defied description and confounded audiences and expectations.”
[Upon entrance] “Detroit Bar looks like the Hair Farm for Men (yours truly not excluded), but not the pretty indie or surfer longhair kind. These are mostly creeps.”
[Upon realizating how packed the show is] “A sold-out Detroit show is this generation's Guadalcanal.”
[Theory] “When you play pool at a packed bar show, you're an asshole. Alex's Bar attendees please also take note.” Also: “Porn is down-tuned muck-rock. The drummer is Elvis, the bassist is Santa Claus. Kazoos and power chords.”
[Show ad that should have been] “'Wear a black T-shirt to guarantee entry.' Everyone here is either hairy or bald. There is no in-between.” And: “While it's not wall-to-wall flannel, JC Penney hasn't been this stoked in years.”
[The descent into madness is complete] “No one here is fit to judge Klaus Kinski.”
[At the front, waiting for Big Business to set up] “Oxygen in short supply. Luckily I've front-loaded on booze because getting back to the bar is not an option.”
[No explanation available] “Insects fucking Kubrick.” Plus: “Dirtbags run hot. The walls are dripping.”
[Apparent hallucinations begin] “Two Chia heads in black robes are screaming at me from either side of the stage.” And then: “With this many drums and amps the Melvins are more weather pattern than band.” And again: “Dale looks like someone's dad during a health kick—short shorts and thinning hair plastered to skull by dripping sweat.” Yes: “'Hooch'—greatest nonsense song ever.” Uh-oh: “This place is starting to reek of B.O. Melvins fans stink.” Fuck yes! “The gong is finally used for 'The Bit.'”
[Wow, that's inappropriate] “Only boxcars stuffed with people for four days come close to this.”
[Fin] “This is a cry for help. Save me from myself.”
