It is fairly obvious that most golfers will go to strange lengths improve their game and shave strokes off their handicap, and we here at Blacked Out Golfers are no different. One method that is generally overlooked but has been proven quite effective in many facets of life is, of course, Satan Worshiping. While it is commonly known that daily prayer to His Most UnHoliness is the first step to earning His evil favor, sometimes it takes just a little more effort on your part to receive His complete profane blessing. Then again, you could also just go see a ridiculously goofy metal concert.
Which is why the other night, I accepted the invitation to see the greatly heralded (by my friend), and cleverly named indie-metal band Goblin Cock at local venue DC9. Usually, this type of event would not get mentioned on this blog since it had nothing to do with golfing or blacking out (I drove that night, foolish mistake I know), but due to the absurd nature of the evening I thought it deserved at least an off-topic post.
We knew it was going to be an awesome show when we showed up to the bar and made our way to the back to figure out how to claim the tickets that were preordered online. DC9 is basically just a bar, so there is no clear will-call setup anywhere. No worries, however, as the black guy straight from the Tanqueray adverts was sitting at a table at the base of the stairs checking off names and collecting money. His job was fairly easy as there were only eight [Ed.Note: eight!!!] people on the presale list.
After a nervous chuckle, we moseyed our way upstairs to the stage area. I've heard the Liberation Dance Parties that they have here on Friday's nights are pretty money, but for a live music venue, it's a pretty cramped setup. Well, I guess it would be considered cramped if there weren't more than 15 people there for the opening act. I'm still not sure who they were, but it was three kids playing a pretty intense set. We quickly gravitated towards the back bar to grab a beer and scope out the surroundings. Not surprisingly, it was a lot of ugly, fat dudes with bad facial hair and the occasional tat. A quick scan of the place revealed one interesting patron, it was in fact, a lady, in fact, an older lady, a… mom? Oh yes, what a metal show, with a mom in attendance. I imagine a conversation with her would go like this…
Me: So, you like this type of music?
Mom: FUCK YOU! BOW DOWN BEFORE ME AS I DRINK THE BLOOD OF ABORTED FETUSES OF A THOUSAND TEENAGE SHATTERED DREAMS!
[blistering guitar riff]
Then as the group polished of the final song, the drummer/singer grunted out a THANK YOU MOM, thus confirming what we had expected, that we were actually at a junior high school Battle of the Bands contest. After the act, the place kind of cleared out as the roadies swapped out the equipment, and we patiently waited as they set up a bunch of strobe lights in a clear effort to annoy us. But it didn't take long for the place to fill up again, this time with about 25 people, when a parade of robe-wearing, devil-worshiping souls came marching out from what I assume was the bar's kitchen. YES, GOBLIN COCK was about to happen!
The guys were all wearing robes and had their faces covered, except for the lead singer/guitarist Lord Phallus, whose eyes were covered but had enough room in his hood to sing and sport a fantastic wizard beard. The rest of the band is equally hilariously named, with Bane Ass-Pounder on lead guitar, King Sith on Bass, Braindeath on drums, and Loki Sinjuggler on keyboards. They flashed devil horns with their hands, and raised duct-taped plastic skulls with glowing eyes into the air. Satan surely would have approved. The audience was loving it, especially one particular group of guys who clearly had gotten tanked before making it to the show.
Goblin Cock then proceeded to then rock our mortal cocks off, playing a unique brand of hard-nosed indie rock. They call themselves metal, but it was a little more mainstream than some of the crazier acts I've seen (don't ask). Their act was obviously enhanced by the ever-malfunctioning microphone stand, the liberal use of the fog machine, and the overzealous nature of one of their fans, who bought a six pack of beer and placed it on the stage at their feet while doing his greatest 'We're Not Worthy' Wayne and Garth impression. But ultimately, the highlight of the evening was when they spontaneously broke out into a cover of the Tears for Fears song Head Over Heels. Those of you unfamiliar with the song or myself, do not know that I used to torture friends and roommates alike by playing this song repeatedly before going out at night, all while singing along very enthusiastically to its incredibly annoying chorus. I realized at that point, that I had made a fantastic decision in coming to this show, and that I should probably pull up my pants and stop masturbating in the center of the room. Sometimes I get carried away, but it's always worth it.
They played a decent set, finishing up with only a slightly awkward encore, then we paid our tab and were on our way. No word yet if Satan is going to give me a little accuracy on my drives in return.