Originally from the provincial state of Louisiana, Acid bath create sludge, an ugly form of extreme metal that combines doom, hardcore and a variety of other influences, most notably the blues. Sometimes it's dizzying; at other times it drifts, crawls, indistinctly. Sabbath, Melvins and Black Flag's B-side My war factor to a large extent
Progenitors of the sound, along with fellow Louisianans Eyehategod and Crowbar, Acid Bath disbanded back in 1997, but their dark, ambitious music has only grown in stature, influence and popularity. You may know them as “that band whose album cover features a drawing of a serial killer,” but they are so much more than that.
Now, after more than 30 years apart, the band has reunited, returning to the stage to wow fans with their crushing sound, with the band performing in Toronto on Saturday night. Rebel bulldozing the rabid crowd hungry for the band's high-pitched riffs and slow, shifting rhythms.
Canadian thrash legends Voivode opened the show by taking the stage to the clicking and pulsing drones echoing throughout the venue. The foursome performed in front of three-quarters of the audience, while the other quarter stood in line to buy merchandise. Technical, incredibly fast and dissonant, the band's serpentine compositions are incredibly influential, and they certainly didn't get the response they deserved at first, with a lone warrior in the middle of the audience raising his trumpets.
Lead vocalist Denis “Snake” Bélanger, now in his 60s, roared and prowled the stage, dancing and emoting, his voice thundering over riffs and double bass. He roars and it's inspiring to see him still kicking ass. The band's fantastical, terrifying visuals often reminded me of Edward Gorey or Ralph Steadman – grotesque, psychedelic, sci-fi and decidedly insectoid. There were also a lot of robots; Blood Incantation definitely took note.
Bélanger, a seasoned veteran, knows how to get the crowd's attention with chants (including “HEY HO TO!”) rising slowly from the audience. There was a two-person mosh pit on one side of the room, and they looked like they were having the most fun. After about 20 minutes, the pit finally opened up as it should, with full band compositions getting bodies charged and moving. As the set went on, the cheering and dancing got louder and more intense, and it was a good time with some head-turning and air guitar – but still, you all need to listen to more Canadian metal, dammit!
At one point, Bélanger asked the crowd, “You may be asking yourself, what’s new with the Voivode?” And after 42 years they are still working non-stop, and it is inspiring: book already on the way, just like video game called Voivode: Nuclear Warrior. When he mentioned the game, people cheered and he replied, “I see this has caught your attention.” Um, YES!
After a renewal of life, they played “Nuclear War” from the first record, the most important War and painwhich received the loudest applause of the evening: people were clearly looking for this old school trash! Bélanger danced, bowed to the crowd, stomped his feet and made us applaud, raising his fists and microphone in solidarity. The rest of the band played and tore, often simultaneously, and the set was tight and explosive. Introducing “Iconspiracy” perfectly, Bélanger said, “Sometimes there are two sides to every story, even if there is no story at all.”
Guitarist Daniel Mongrain swished his curly mane and tore through solos and riffs while the rhythm section—drummer Michel “Away” Langevin and bassist Dominique “Rocky” Laroche—rumbled and rumbled. They performed “the first song Voivod recorded,” the soaring “Condemned to the Gallows,” which opened the biggest hole and received the loudest, loudest applause of the entire evening, followed by a chorus of “VOIVOD! VOIVOD!”
They even played their more progressive and atmospheric material, which definitely resonated with the more bemused audience members. Luckily, the band ended with the self-titled “Voivod”, the first song from their first album that caused a circle pit and had people screaming “VOIVOD!” during the chorus is a much more appropriate and collaborative way to end the set. During the bridge, the three band members in front took a knee and then jumped up as the final chorus sounded, a lucky cheer following Voyvod as he walked out.
When the stage was set, Black Sabbath rose from the crypt (i.e. the speakers), the crowd singing along and raising their horns; a fitting preamble to the onslaught to come. Acid Bath took the stage with their huge band logo looming over the audience, growing in and out throughout the set as their somber voice echoed throughout the venue. It was the only visual effect that stood in stark contrast to the more surreal images of the Voivode.
The band came out to thunderous applause, and the subtle riff of “Tranquilized” immediately caused pandemonium, a huge pit forming in the center of the hall. It barely let up throughout the entire set, even during the songs and slower tempo sections. Plumes of smoke rose above the hall, the bass rumbled, and people shouted in wordless reverie. Many of the people around me shook their heads and swayed with their eyes closed, lost in the swirling cacophony, while others stood rooted to the spot.
Dax Riggs' voice sounded amazing, soaring, powerful and chilling. It has not lost its power. Additional guttural vocals were deftly performed by guitarist Sammy “Pierre” Duet, while the rest of the band—original guitarist Mike Sanchez and current live members Shane Wesley (bass) and Zach Simmons (drums)—were tight and overwhelming.
During the song “Bleed Me an Ocean”, lighters flew into the air and bodies swayed under the crunch. I wondered if the band could have imagined that 30 years later they would be greeted with such a reaction: a relentless audience, noisy, cheering, singing and screaming to every song, their ears and bodies ringing. They said “Thank you” but there were no smiles or laughter. It's serious and they take it as such, dedicating “Venus Blue” to former bassist Audie Pitre, who passed away in 1997, while the crowd cheered his name.
Acid Bath's music can be described as slippery, wet, bubbling; a complex gumbo that mixes blues, grunge, goth and progressive among sludge. There is something mysterious, ghostly, disturbing, even operatic in their sound, always extreme, but thought-provoking. The stage and performance were beyond minimalist, with the band dressed in black t-shirts or band tees, letting the seriousness and sheer heaviness of the songs speak for themselves. Sanchez made a few jumps, but until the second half the group was almost exclusively inert and stoic.
At the beginning of the performance, on the balcony, I saw someone dancing like a man possessed, his body writhing, rubbing his hands on his chest, drawing figure eights with his hands and throwing his head up to the sky. Trance. Finally, exhausted, he leaned on the railing and continued to shake his head with his whole body before the rhythm caught him again and he returned to the dance. It will remain unchanged, fixed until the end of the set.
Riggs mentioned how they got turned around at the border the first time they tried to come to Toronto, but this time they made it and we're all the better for it. Halfway through the set, a crowdsurfer appeared and opened the floodgates, although this was definitely not a dive festival: the crowd remained relatively grounded (but never landed). As the first set ended, the somber voice introducing the band echoed through the room again, a brief respite before they returned.
It's somewhat surprising, but completely amazing, that such ruthless, punishing music can resonate so deeply with a new generation. This music is not instantaneous: it builds and blossoms, withers and disintegrates, collapses and explodes, stretching out through repetition, delay and distortion. This is a cleanser for everyone involved. The crowd at the all-ages show included crowds of young fans, some with their parents, wearing ribbon-trimmed shirts and baggy, loose-fitting pants.
After “New Death Sensation,” Riggs said, “What a trip. Thanks for coming,” and someone behind me yelled, “I love you guys!” with such pleasure that I thought his throat would fall out. Drenched in blue, “Graveflower” received a huge cheer, its watery riffs and slow tempo eerie and cold before that soaring monolithic chorus rose above the hypnosis. After the song ended, the choir again shouted “ACID BATH!” repeatedly.
As we neared the end, my neck was furious, but it was impossible not to continue, the mesmerizing, terrifying nature of their music gripping and shaking my spine, my skull, my mind. “The Cry of a Butterfly” received the loudest applause of the evening and also generated the most phone calls, something that had not been noticeable up to that point. A warm orange-red glow enveloped the audience, some of whom actually danced, swaying their hips and bouncing in place as they chanted. The loud drum in the second half of the song swept through the hall before the shimmering final chorus.
The duo thanked the “fucking legends in Voivode” and then each and every one of us “for remembering.” The crowd roared. They then launched into “Paegan Love Song”, a fast-paced beat that left the room full of headbanging, dancing and beating, and the pit was huge and bubbling all over the place. Riggs got rid of the mic stand and let out some full-on screams as the band went full blast. Even with his hand in his pocket, he looked imposing, his neck sticking out with every cry.
The final song of the night, “Dr. Seuss is Dead,” with its combination of crawls and double sections, had the entire crowd moving, even during the most heartbreaking moments. It's the greatest, weirdest song title ever – and boy, did things get deservedly rowdy because of it.
The set and song ended abruptly, the noise and buzz echoing through the venue again as the band threw picks and drumsticks into the mass. The audience refused to leave, even when music was playing from the speakers and the house lights were turned on. Eventually the crowd, beaten and delighted, poured out into the brisk October night. It was worth the wait.
