Rating: 9.7

Country: USA

Release Date: 2005

Track list:
1. Living Backwards
2. Born Too Late
3. The War Starter
4. Mind-Food
5. Looking Glass
6. White Stallions
7. Look Behind You
8. Dying Inside
9. War Is Our Destiny
10. Mystic Lady
11. Clear Windowpane

Saint Vitus - Live

Scott “Wino” Weinrich- Vocals
Dave Chandler- Guitars
Mark Adams- Bass
Armando Acosta- Drums

What more is there really to say about one of the most singularly brilliant, monolithic entities in the history of independent music? A juggernaut of heavy music who, with their signature anthem “Born Too Late”, birthed a credo for hordes upon hordes of shaggy-haired, denim-jacketed rock n' roll miscreants, expressing in painfully eloquent terms the disillusionment and defiant disenchantment of rock n' roll's bastard burnout children. To this day, this song still holds tremendous emotional significance for me, hearkening back to days when I was 16 and struggling to find others who shared my overwhelming, all-consuming passion for Black Sabbath, Celtic Frost, Candlemass, Saint Vitus, Cirith Ungol and Motorhead (keep in mind, of course, that this was in somewhere in 99/2000, just before doom metal became en vogue the world over) . Displaced within a generation wholly captivated by contemporary strains, my alienation was somehow alleviated and dispelled entirely the second I heard “Born Too Late”, as though a beacon of hope was thrust into my cesspit of haplessness. It was truly a revelatory experience, and one can only imagine the ripples said song made during Vitus' age, one dominated exclusively by the likes of great thrash and crossover hardcore outfits.

Indeed, Vitus remain, in 2005, one of the most grippingly, unapologetically grim bands to walk the face of the earth, as well as one of the most distinctive. While their influence has manifested itself in an entire host of pared-down, two-bit replicas, I am of the opinion that Vitus can never be emulated, let alone surpassed. Deconstructing the various components that compose the Vitus myth, it's easy to see why. Dave Chandler's squealing, acerbic, BITING guitar sound, straddling the lines between Black Flag bludgeon and fuzz with jazzy improvisation, Mark Adams' death knell pound, Armando Acosta's lethargic yet forceful, lead-hoofed percussion, Wino's earthen, commanding grand magus scowl, or indeed Scott Reagers' tormented, anguished expressions of agony. You see, Saint Vitus, unlike so many before and after them, never cut and pasted anything. They were not a pastiche of Black Sabbath ideas, synthesized with Pentagram motifs and odd bits of Led Zeppelin, Incredible Hog and Warpig. That intangible conviction that makes each and every nugget of Vitus noise such an excruciating and crushing experience is not derived from otherworldly, fantastical origins, nor did they preoccupy themselves with occult fascinations- Vitus were, in my many senses, a slowed-the-fuck-down punk rock band, SST hardcore played at burnout speeds. It was the sound of alienation, paranoia, contempt towards the status quo, purely urban and worldly spite siphoned through unspeakably harsh, hateful music.

When I play Saint Vitus, my mind explores pallid pavements and rat-infested corridors, dirt-caked alleyways, instead of the depths of hell/stratospheric heights of heaven that many doom bands navigate us through. Bad trips, nightmares, delusions- Saint Vitus' hell wasn't one that lay in the transcendental beyond, but one that took form on the physical plane, an acute, oppressive reality that we inhabit on a daily basis, and even seeking solace in narcotics does little to alleviate the experience (“Clear Windowpane”). Being such a nasty, angsty band, what better environment could one experience Vitus than in a live setting?

Thankfully, the good folks at Southern Lord have deemed it fit to reincarnate this lost 1990 gem, recorded in what sounds like a small room in the Circus Gammelsdorf, circa 1989. The sound is of the homebrewed, intensely warm variety, bristling with urgency and life, while the somewhat diminished, though highly appreciative crowd, constructs a portrait of live rock n' roll at its best and most intimate. The set kicks off with “Living Backwards”, one of the strongest numbers on what honestly is my second favourite Vitus platter, the rocking, downer-rock “V”. Arguably the most uptempo and hopeful-feeling (from a musical perspective, at the very least) record in Vitus' repertoire, V remains a bit of an anomaly in the Vitus catalogue, reflecting a more spirited and, dare I say it, biker-rock approach to their distinctive brand of sludge-and-murk. Of course, lyrically, little had changed: “Dreams were made for mortals/ None were left for me…No one here to help me/ No one even cares/ So I became the ruler…of the land of despair”. Juxtaposing clear-cut, straightforward, unsparingly blunt lyrical matter with surging, driving riffage, V is one of the most interesting Vitus efforts simply because of its stunning dichotomies. Yet, for all their declarations of depression, Vitus have never, ever sunk into pseudo-intellectual territory, their bare and bleak language never mining the affected, contrived and pompous pathos that so many “doom” bands have plundered for lyrical matter.

“Born Too Late” follows things up in FINE fashion, a VERY striking contrast from the far more spirited strains of “Living Backwards”. Quite a cruel development by Wino and the boys, instantly revoking and vanquishing any semblance of hope in order to delve into one of the most impossibly dark numbers in their arsenal. The version presented here is, predictably, absolute fucking genius, still my favourite Vitus song along with “Burial At Sea”. This is urban poetry at its very finest, navigating the listener through swathes and crowds of disparaging, disapproving people, as narrated by a wild-haired, crazy-eyed, Sabbath-adoring pariah attempting to cohere his displacement in brief, terse emotional outbursts. The soundtrack, of course, is suitably excellent, a funereal, morbid crawl accented by a FINE Chandler solo that showcases a man absolutely aware of all the dynamics and capacities latent within his guitar. Chandler, much like Hendrix before him and Ginn after him, transforms the guitar into MUCH more than a mere musical instrument, brazenly pushing the limits of the guitar's sonic palette and adventurously exploring the vast vocabulary available to him, littering his solos with liberal amounts of fuzzed-out wah, feedback-drenched blare and hellishly sustained drone. What a fucking genius.

And the oppression marches on…"The War Starter”, a number from 'Born Too Late' that parallels “Born Too Late” in excruciating slowness. Tragic trawl at its most gruesome, a droning dirge of behemoth proportions, painfully minimalistic. One can only IMAGINE how fucking heavy this shit was in a small venue, with sweat flying from all directions and note after apocalyptic fucking note blaring out of surrounding marshall stacks….ARGHHH!!! The thought alone makes my skin crawl. “Mind Food” follows in fine form, one of the most psychedelic, trippy set of lyrics written by a typically dystopian, despairing set of wordsmiths. “Plastic unicorns point at you/Sideways faces are nothing new/Psychedelic sunrise at the foot of your bed/You get all this when you feed your head/”. A pretty uncharacteristically escapist set of prose from Vitus, really, while the music is a bit of a reprieve from the relentless pummel of the prior two heavyweights. Similarly minimalistic (like a more rocking Hellhammer complete with trademark “BLEEEEEE!” solo by Mr Chandler) but infinitely more upbeat, the track serves as a great prelude to one of the riffiest motherfuckers in Vitus history, the incomparable “Looking Glass”. What a fucking riff, what a fucking song, and in many senses, I see this track as one of the fundamental premises upon which The Obsessed, Spirit Caravan and The Hidden Hand were built upon. The riffing has the same weightless, ethereal, unconventional yet remarkably FUCKING HEAVY feeling that Wino would wield with his later, more spiritually-minded outfits. The lyrics, too, are so brutally beautiful…”Livin's so hard when you're on your knees!”

Real surprise to see “White Stallions” here, an old number from the Scott Reagers days (more specifically, the criminally elusive “Hallow's Victim”). Of all the tracks in Vitus' cellar, perhaps none betray their independent punk background/inclinations more accurately than “White Stallions”, a surging, throbbing, riproaring jolt of three-chord frenzy intersected by more outstanding Chandler pyrotechnics. By now, one is really starting to appreciate the dynamism in Vitus' setlist, as well as the interesting choices they made. There's some pretty manic vocal work here courtesy of Mr Weinrich, and an infectious energy that is quite a surprise after what preceded it. “Look Behind You”, while not my favourite Vitus track by any stretch of the imagination, makes an appearance here, and the live incarnation here, for some reason, holds a great deal more charm than its studio counterpart, Chandler's wailing, seething, snarling lead guitar spilling all over everything while the rock solid rhythm section holds everything together.

It's a real SADISTIC PLEASURE to see “Dying Inside” here in all its writhing, creeping glory. Some really fucking AMAZING nightmarish, atonal, noisy, grisly guitar work by Chandler here, biting and phantasmal vibrato notes that really cut through the mix and give everything a menacing, bitter texture. It really baffles the mind why this guy isn't held up there with every rock critic's favourite six-string samurais, as I really hold this guy up there with Buck Dharma, Jimi Hendrix, Eddie Hazel and all those other warlocks in terms of conjuring atmosphere and coaxing unearthly sounds out of a mere six-string instrument.

After enjoyable renditions of “War Is Our Destiny” and a blissed-out “Mystic Lady” (hm, I wonder where Electric Wizard stole all their fucking tricks from?), we arrive at “Clear Windowpane”, almost certainly my third favourite Saint Vitus song of all time. An unmistakeable, ominously thunderous drum pattern by Armando Acosta to announce the song, before Wino waxes poetic on impending drug-addled paranoia, his cripplingly asocial personality and necessary escapism (“I can't face reality/So I fly back to where I'm free/On clear windowpane”) and Dave Chandler unleashes some truly fucked-up wah-ed out greatness. Always subdued and relegated to being the consistent, rock solid foil to Chandler's exploratory exploits and Wino's sandpapered, grit-caked barks, Armando Acosta lets loose for a brief solo spot here, and while I still don't ‘get' the drum solo past visual representations of “Moby Dick”, ‘tis nice indeed to see Mr Acosta get his just due in a band where he generally isn't allowed much space for experimentation. A screeching, hellbound, improvised, alternately shred/sustain wah-heavy solo (what the fuck is the Batman theme doing in here?!) by Chandler follows and gets the crowd into hysterics before everything comes to an unfortunate close.

Ultimately, Vitus may be a bit too close to my heart in order for me to call this fairly, I truly feel as though, all things considered, this live disc belongs in every heavy rock fan's collection. The liner notes (including a brief blurb by Mr Chandler) and photos are top-notch, and very much care has been put into a great package (check out the reversible cardboard cover!). While this isn't quite the greatest live rock n' roll disc of all time, nor does it even begin to approach the heights of say, Live & Dangerous, No Sleep Til Hammersmith or Unleashed The East, this is a different proposition altogether, a sonic document of a band at the apex of their (Mark II) powers, exuding all the brazen defiance and indifference towards prevalent musical trends that typified their glorious career. Wino would shortly depart for the decidedly more mystical-feeling, progressive Obsessed, whose self-titled would further shake the foundations of heavy rock, and while Christian Lindersson did a really cool job, C.O.D. and Reagers-fronted creepfest “Die Healing” never really amplified submissive drudgery quite as well as the earlier Wino/Reagers efforts. If you have yet to experience the immortal Saint Vitus, I would say that this live disc, along with the 'Heavier Than Thou' compilation, are great places to start.

A final note, then. I find it amazing that Saint Vitus, along with Sabbath and Pentagram, pretty much DEFINED doom metal, all without ever ENDEAVORING to sound/look/be “doom metal”. There are so many troupes out there that steadfastly assert their allegiance to the “doom metal” cause, but instead regurgitate tired, clichéd vocals/lyrics/riffs verbatim from doom's forefathers. I've never really perceived Vitus to be a “doom metal” band, considering they never really flaunted the spiritual and mystical hallmarks of other progenitors of the genre. Instead, Vitus always came across like more of a band that had spent their youths crafting anti-establishment anarcho-punk, only to give up hope and engage in ceaseless drug-addled binges and sculpt mountains of unwavering, undulating sonic gloom. The urban counterpart to Sabbath/Pentagram's ethereality, I would certainly suggest that Vitus have absolutely been as important to the development of crushing, introspective music as anybody else.

November 27th, 2005