Live Report: YOB, Dark Castle, Deadsea

Story by Joseph Schafer
Photos by Carmelo Española, from Chicago 7/8/11 show

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I did not walk into Cleveland’s Beachland Tavern expecting to have an out-of-body experience. But it shouldn’t have come as a surprise; there is a particular religiousness to doom metal. It reminds me of church music. I’ve actually gone to Mass once or twice in my early adulthood, not to pray but to listen to the music through a metal lens (tritones, gotta love ’em). Both YOB and Dark Castle embody that doom religiousness.

When I arrived, Deadsea had already started, and the decibels were flying. This was my fourth Deadsea show, and I am still baffled as to why they aren’t headlining festivals. All three members shred, but unlike most contemporary instrument-hero groups, Deadsea put their virtuosity to work. Live, their cavalcade of hammer-and-pulls wraps the listener in an engrossing atmosphere.

However, Deadsea did not provide a religious experience. The issue was Adam Smith’s stage persona, which was so massive it overpowered his music. The man loved to swear, instigate, and posture. I flashbacked to my Killadelphia DVD a few times, and while that works for a band like Lamb of God, it did not work for Deadsea. This happens every time I see them; I just wish Smith would let his music speak for itself.

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In contrast, everything about Dark Castle is minimal – besides the volume. Stevie Floyd’s voice is demure when she addresses the audience, but powerful when she sings. Rob Shaffer injects subtlety into doom metal drumming; the magic is in the bell-like tones he coaxes out of his cymbals. The lack of a bassist works to their advantage, because it opens up the sound for small touches, like the odd tones that warble from Floyd’s guitar.

Dark Castle reminded me of Catholic Mass; they were oppressive and isolating. Their light and smoke show simultaneously highlighted and obscured them. They come off more intensely as a result, as if they were everywhere at once.

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YOB, on the other hand, spread only good vibrations. Their religiousness is communal, not isolating – perhaps more Buddhist than Christian. Michael Scheidt plays the guru well with his long dreadlocks and grandfatherly demeanor. He exuded pleasant warmth and brought the audience together easily. “It’s good to see so many people joined at the altar of decibel worship”, he said.

Two songs into YOB’s set, I closed my eyes and did something I used to do frequently, but haven’t since I saw Cynic in 2008: I closed my eyes and let the music take me away. YOB’s notorious loudness gives their music a physical presence. Other bands would put that heft to work bludgeoning the audience, but Scheidt and co. make it carry people.

The word “transcendent” has been overused to the point that it’s lost some of its original meaning: crossing boundaries. Good art crosses boundaries, and that crossing has its own sensation. I think that otherworldly feeling is what attracts many to music. YOB conjure it live without batting an eyelash.

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