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ive a similar story meself actually.

I think they all need to hear about the sacking of Blanchardstown Maccers from the other week next.

not before running  into Fart who was so drunk he couldn't comprehend what a bomb threat was

Reminds me of the time he took a load of mushrooms before flying back from Eindhoven and forgot what decade he was in.

"Here Matty I can smoke on this plane ye?"

Who was on the bill aside from Psykosis and Crossfire?

Don't see crossfire on the poster itself and I think they just posted thier disassociation out of solidarity with psykosis 

As I said, none of these bands are worth a toss anyway. Most of them I've never heard of, although to be fair that could my fault, or indeed as I suspect it might be cos they play shite music for emo kiddies 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

In fairness The Crawling are deadly. Katatonia/paradise lost vibe with fast sections. Great live band.

Yes but they don't need a mop and bucket to soak the sweat off the stage after they play. That's the benchmark for a nordie Death/Doom band.

I find that most of the people who complain about "elitists" are people who think showing off to 15 year olds in fibbers is the epitome of the Irish scene and who's taste in music and opinions comes straight out of metal hammer opinion pieces. Just my experience of things but I do understand that the ultra hardcore fanatics of metal can be about intimidating or abrasive to some.

At least nobody could ever find you intimidating or abrasive 

My favourite thread from MI so I may as well add in some of what I've been up to since then.

By and large I've been much more sensible, thanks to two incidents that changed my drinking habits. One was the Destroyer 666 gig in Dublin in 2018, the last time I drank Buckfast. I don't remember a note of the gig, nor apparently needing help to put my jacket on or body-slamming some short fella to the floor, whose identity is still a mystery. The first thing I remember after finishing the Buckfast on the bus is being refused service by the bar staff in On The Rox and attempting to sneakily get someone to buy me a pint. Not sneakily enough and I was marched down the stairs by the bouncers. The memory loss kicks in again at that point but I do know that I ran into El Ogre Del Dublinios at that point who should be in here soon enough to share his own tales so he might be able to fill in the blanks.

The other was the last night I ever drank spirits as my main tipple. A few nights after Christmas about 2 years ago and the stepfather had given me 2 bottles of this rotten chilli whiskey which became tolerable when mixed with ginger ale so that had me off to a flying start at my friend's house. This may have also been the night that it took an hour to coax me along the 15 minute walk back to the after-sesh from the bar after accepting a toke off a joint and shitting my guts out behind a bin but I can't be sure. What I do know is that with both bottles of the rotten chilli whiskey gone I let myself back into my mother's house just around the corner around 2am to grab a third bottle, a Redbreast 12 which is far too good a whiskey to be wasted on a night like this. The next thing I remember is after sunrise and holding onto the lampost outside the friend's house, trying not to slip on the icy ground and assuring him that I'm okay walking round the corner.

And I was.

Or so I thought.

I was later told by the mother than not only had the stepfather nearly run me down in the car when leaving for work when I staggered into the road but she had put the bolt on the door after he left, assuming I had made it home already. With my key not getting the job done and unable to rouse her by knocking I apparently decided trying to batter the door down with a log from the garden was the best course of action. Cutting back on the spirits was pretty much a prerequisite for staying home at Christmas or ever again from that point on.



So since then I've mostly been on the straight and narrow, sticking to beer and wine with the occasional cocktail or single malt here and there. One night in Manchester is still worth a mention though. I had moved there for work in the autumn of 2019 and because of working unsociable hours, prioritising going to the footie and a general lack of decent gigs it took til February of last year for an opportunity for some real dionysian metallic alcoholocausting. But when that opportunity came it came in spades. A 12 band bill, finally a chance to get to check out some local bands and meet up with all the mates who I had known before moving but hadn't had the chance to sesh with properly yet.

I decided to start off slow, forgoing any cans on the train ride in from Stockport. After all this day was primarily about social and musical enjoyment and I didn't want to ruin that too early on. Beside which, it was also a charity gig in honour of a very well liked local lad who had committed suicide the previous year and most of the attendees, my mates included, had a very personal connection with him. The last thing I wanted was to be the drunk stranger at the wake.

The day got off to a bit of a bad start. First of all I asked a lad to extend my apologies to his wife, who I had upset by not recognising in my drunken stupor at the Samhain gig in Limerick a few months back. Only I didn't know they had separated. Foot in mouth, strike one. Then there was the appearance of a girl who I had hit it off with on a previous trip to Manchester. Got on like a house of fire, sat chatting away in Burger King til the wee hours, she walked me back to my hotel and kissed me goodnight. Then for reasons I still am not sure of blocked me on Facebook. Strike two and things were getting awkward so hitting the pints hard earlier than planned was the only sensible thing to do.

A few bands and plenty of pints in I was feeling much better, so much so that I thought I might take a crack at the statuesque redhead who had sorted me out with a ticket for this sold out affair via Facebook. (Sidenote - I later found out she's a dominatrix so I may have dodged a "bullet" on this one in more than one sense of the word.) I was formulating my battle plan while walking down the stairs, an old smooth worn oak bastard that was probably as old as the Victorian building itself. Consumed with thoughts of the ride I failed to notice the puddle of beer and strike three, I cleared the last dozen steps in a textbook Larel And Hardy banana peel spill, landing arse first on the bottom step. Right in front of the ginger beauty.

Fuck it, full speed ahead on the drinking and headbanging from that point I thought.

Now it's worth mentioning my mother's family have an incredibly high genetic tolerance to painful injury. My grandfather once took 24 hours to notice a broken neck. His brother once wrapped a protruding leg bone in a hankerchief and said he would make an appointment with the doctor on Monday. I myself once broke some ribs and didn't notice for several hours so the thought did cross my mind that this was something that wouldn't be sorted by a bit of a sit down. But with over half the bands still to go I convinced myself I could stretch it out with a bit of yoga in the morning and masked the pain with beer, good cheer and adrenaline and plowed on through til kicking out time at 11am.

The first sign that not all was right was when I needed physical help exiting the taxi onto the next bar. Just the drunkenness I told myself. Then with the discomfort growing I managed to fall alseep sitting on a tiny window ledge only a few inches deep outside for what must've been at least an hour. The red flags were well and truly waving now but when the suggestion of moving onto a third joint was made, a late night basement cocktail bar, I was well up for plowing on. Somehow this proved to be one of the few good decisions of the night because after slowly making it down the stairs, gripping the handrail for dear life, a few espresso martinis turned out to be a much better painkiller than the beer. Maybe this wasn't that serious after all.

I'm not sure at what time I said my goodbyes but it was somewhere between being too late to get a kebab anywhere and too early for the first train. A load of junk food from the Spar beside the bus stop and the night bus it was then. A combination I had made quite a few times before. And on some of those occasions I had fallen asleep on the bus, shaken awake by the bus driver at the park and ride halfway into county Cheshire and allowed to ride the return journey to my stop. I was fully prepared for this happening again so no biggie. What I didn't prepare for was falling asleep yet again, and waking up halfway back to the city centre and having to change onto a third bus to get home. By now the sun was well and truly up but fuck it, at least I was home.

The next thing I remember was waking up in bed in a solid 7/10 pain in my tailbone competing with one of the worst hangovers of my life. That fucker was at the very least bruised, if not cracked. I wasn't due in work til the following night but I knew even that wasn't going to be enough. After literally crawling to the bathroom for a boke (which made the pain even worse) and a miserable tear-filled sit down shower I called the boss and arranged to move my next days off forward.

3 days still wouldn't have been enough time to recover except for one thing. While emptying out my jeans pockets to throw them in the laundry pile I came across a score bag which I can only assume was a gift from some kind soul who anticipate what pain I would be in. Alternating between smoking waterfalls over the kitchen sink and vegetating on the sofa watching Hardy Bucks for the next 24 hours definitely cut that convalescence period down by a fair bit. I was still sitting behind the reception desk at work on a foam ring cushion designed for pregnant women and sleeping in bed propped upright for pillows for the best part of a month though and I still can't sit in a firm chair for too long to this day.

Two January releases that I've been listening to frequently.


Bhleg- Ödhin. Swedish Black Metal that sits somewhere between early Ulver and Arckanum.

https://bhleg.bandcamp.com/album/dhin


Sadistic Drive- Anthropophagy. Very un-Finnish sounding Finnish Death Metal, more like early gory US stuff like Necrophagia and Impetigo. No big brain posturing just good messy fun.

https://bloodharvestrecords.bandcamp.com/album/anthropophagy

Never had anything to do with facebook and couldn't give a fuck about it but this clusterfuck has peeked my interest for some reason.
What age is this lad running this abortion clinic of a facebook page thingy anyway?
You have to know a lads vintage before you can fairly judge how much of a cunt he is, based on his actions.

old enough to be a midlife crisis

I was Matty_The_Emo_Slayer on MI. Only found out about this from Corkonian Hunger in a group chat the other day and already it's looking like better for genuine music discussion than Facebook.