Headbanger's Ball Tour Cradle of Filth / Bleeding Through Arch Enemy / Himsa The Beaumont Club, Kansas City, MO November 17, 2004

Review by: Geri Vermin Courtesy of HorroroodBabbleOn

Didn't see Himsa. Ate some damned good sushi though. Stop by Fuji in KC's Westport area and tell them we sent you. Don't bother with that other joint down the street as they'll likely be "closed for a private party"... especially if you're wearing leather.  [I saw the band.  Nothing special.  Decent guitar work, but the vocals sounded like Mille Petrozza with a sore throat - ed]

Elbowing our way onto the Beaumont's always-popular railed ramp that goes up along stage left, Rufus and I enjoyed the last half of Arch Enemy's set even though we kept glaring at each other, convinced the other's ineptness with chopsticks was responsible for our tardiness. I have no clue what three and a half songs we saw, but I do know the set ended with "Ravenous" and a very surprising response from the sardined Beaumont dance floor.  6/10

Ah yes, Bleeding Through. Surely you remember: that band on this summer's OzzFest that sounded like all the other bands on this summer's OzzFest? Lots of yelling, lots of jumping, lots of "circle pit" inciting (back in the old days, kids, we just DID it rather than standing hypnotized, drool from lip to chest, waiting to be sent spiraling forth into counterclockwise glory by our heroes) and lots of... crap. "Rise" and "Number Seven With A Bullet" are the only songs that come to mind (actually the only one's sparked by a quick check at CD Universe, truth told). The best critique of the set came from Rufus his bad self as the BT lackeys were clearing the stage carrying a rack bearing six guitars and two basses: "HOW MANY FUCKIN' GUITARS DOES IT TAKE TO PLAY THE SAME SONG OVER AND OVER?!!"  3/10

"And down will go Dani, Cradle and all..."
Probably my guiltiest of pleasures and unhealthiest of curiosities (just ask Oral Roberts... say, whaddya call two lovebirds named Bob, anyway? Oh, never mind... ), it was with shuffling feet that I set off for my second crack at those moronic Mephistos of merchandising, Cradle Of Filth. When I first saw them just over a year ago in the same venue, it was in support of their Damnation and a Day release - something that still strikes me as little more than a flickering flash of shitfire. As the sound was actually crappier than the material being performed, it was a misery that not even the naughtiest of stiltwalking succubi could distract from and I fled the premises after about tunes, preferring to simply sit home on the tiles and repeatedly flush my commode and applaud it's more interesting performance. However, I will not deny the fact that I was totally caught off-guard by the quality, sound, songwriting and all-around glut-bootingness of 2004's Nymphetamine and, knowing that the opening live track would mirror that of the album, I felt reassured that, if necessary, I could just hear the multi-rhythmed "Gilded Cunt" and once again merrily flounce my way homeward. Oh, not so, not so. Not only was the sound quality in tip-top shape - whether the house PA or COF's soundman was to blame before, I no not - but the band was dead fucking ON and sawed through their near 90-minute ritual of revolting revelry without nary a stiltwalker, firebreather or demonic peanut huckster in sight. Yeah, the rubberwear is still "in" as is the display of tongue-lengths, facial piercings, contact lenses, hair dye, nappylocks and five-inch platforms (raising howler Dani Filth to an imposing 4'7"), but this time it worked and with only a movie screen behind them, several epilepsy-provoking strobes (those silly Brits thought the crowd were slamdancing), a portly operatic wailer and a candle-festooned cake for birthday boy stringsman Paul Allender ("That's not the only thing he'll be blowing out tonight," sez Filth) made this a true night to remember. As if song titles actually matter (did they play the FAST one?), the setlist was a decent mix of old sacrilege and more recent impiety all swirled together for a big festering torrent of good ol' Catholic guilt.  8/10

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