Dynamic Show Review | “The Blackest”

I don’t know the first thing about metal. For all I know the way band members get picked for these outfits is through some form of a draft, where gear heads pick the dude most likely to beat the shit out of Arnold Schwarzenegger. There has to be a formula to the union of these unique characters.

THE ASSIGNMENT: To cover an evening of sound with the winner of the latest Converse Rubbertracks contest; up and coming metal band,The Blackest. What exactly did they win? The band not only got to cut a free single on Converse’s dime, they also scored a mini wicked north eastern tour with fellow metal heads, High on Fire (I later learned they are gods in this world). The bar had been set homies.

Again, I’m a metal novice. What I do know is a thing or two about the live arena, the outcome for success is forever tied up in how hard one particular band “brings it.” It’s no different in the metal game — “bringing it” is a bands only option. Regardless of what I knew or thought I knew, upon hearing their name alone, I was intrigued.

Energy at the Music Hall of Williamsburg was high on the richter scale. Crowd was juiced, air ripe for a thrashing and moshers amped. Then — explosion. The Blackest put on a 20 minute banger set featuring: hair flying hi-jinx, grown ass men of various sizes tomahawking each other like NFL linebackers (they formed a circle, elbows were dealt, jaws were broken, shit was danger), girls crying, children screaming and all sorts of holy hell breaking loose. We had attained metal heaven. And apparently somewhere between lead singer Chris Marotta and drummer James Dowell saying “I love you” to their mom’s before the show and blood hitting me in the face during the pit wars — it twas broughten.

CONCLUSION: You want to see a rock band, go check out Coldplay. You want to see what the deepest fiery rings of Dante’s Inferno looks like, you go see the Blackest. They’re 27 minutes and 17 seconds of a major powerhouse metal pandemic. Gear heads unite.