At Herman Von Roll’s feet lay a plastic bag filled with Viking helmets, blond wigs, and mock-iron chains.
“Fifteen years,” he said. “And this is all we’ve got to show for it.”
He wasn’t complaining. He and his band Nasty Disaster — together for a decade and a half — had a stage. And he was playing glam metal. At 42 years old. In 2012.
Perhaps because Von Roll and company refused to take themselves too seriously, the time-warp felt effortless.
Von Roll issued his non-complaint as he and his fellow musical terrorists took the stage this past Saturday night at Elm Bar, the Elm Street watering hole occupied by Rudy’s before it moved two blocks away. The evening served as testimony that, broader trends notwithstanding, metal never died.
The night’s program consisted of Nasty Disaster and Treebeard, two local heavy metal bands that represent different sides of New Haven’s ever-evolving underground music scene.
Nasty Disaster started as a joke over a decade ago and became something of a institution. Treebeard is a newer outfit that hopes to put out an EP before the year is over.
The night that ensued was filled with searing guitars, ear-bursting drumming, and more than a few laughs. All of which showed that, while many may think metal’s time has passed, at least two bands have found ways to keep it alive.
“Nobody is trying to make it big,” said 31-year-old Treebeard frontman Chris Beaudette. “We are just trying to write good songs and entertain people.”
Veterans Of Rock
Nicolás Medina Mora Pérez Photo
Nasty Disaster takes Elm Bar’s stage by assault.
“Metal is accepted a lot more now than it was,” Van Roll reflected. “That’s why we started the band — to annoy people who didn’t like metal.”
Indeed, people didn’t like metal 15 years ago. After the glory days of the ‘80s, when bands like Guns N’ Roses and Metallica dominated the mainstream of popular music, the ‘90s obsession with grunge seemed to condemn metal’s bombastic antics to the dustbin of history. The archetype of the God of Metal — with his big hair, big guitar skills, and big ego — was replaced by that of the Tortured Alt Rocker: all self-doubt, simple riffs, and human-all-too-human persona.
“The problem is that people are still annoyed,” said Von Roll, pointing to his Marquis de Sade-influenced leather outfit. “Hell, even I’m annoyed. I’m 42 and I’m still wearing this shit!”
Dick McPlenty, bassist, Nasty Disaster.
That seems to be the essence of Nasty Disaster: witty, ironic self-deprecation. The band is a conscious parody of itself, reveling in the more excessive aspects of heavy metal for the joy of all.
Everything about the group, from its stage names — Herman Von Roll, vocals; Ian McRok, guitar; Dick McPlenty, bass (pictured); Fresh “Tilapia” Freddy, drums — to the set list (“Metal Up Your Ass,” “Metal Commandments,” “Sluts of Metal”) screams caricature and good-natured mockery. The live show sounded like the lovechild of “Almost Famous” and “Spinal Tap.”
That’s not to say that the band isn’t technically proficient — you need to be, if you are going to parody some of the greatest guitarists, drummers, and bass players in history. Nevertheless, the band’s greatest asset remains its stage presence: The members of Nasty Disaster head-bang and power-slide like it’s 1979 at Wembley Stadium.
All these elements combine to form a night of great fun, somewhere in between stand up comedy and straight up rock-show. The audience certainly seemed to enjoy itself, singing along with Von Roll and bowing in worship to McRok’s solos.
“This next song is brilliantly entitled ‘I Like to Fuck!’” Von Roll announced to a crowd of about 30.
The lyrics were pure poetry, getting to the very heart of one of mankind’s most essential needs with hard-hitting directness:
“I like to fuck, fuck / I like to fuck, fuck / I like to fuck, fuck / I like to fuck, fuck!”
A Scene Of One’s Own
Treebeard prepares to rock out.
Saturday at Elm Bar was more than just was glam-rock fireworks, though. Treebeard, the opening act of the night, demonstrated that New Haven’s underground scene also has a place for more serious takes on loud music. What is more, it also demonstrated the advantages of cross-genre fertilization.
“I play in, like, five bands,” said Beaudette. “They range from punk rock to metal, and everything in between.”
A native of Hamden, Beaudette has been a fixture of New Haven’s scene ever since his high school days. Treebeard, which has existed in its current incarnation for six months, played its inaugural show at Elm Bar. Another of his bands, The Black Noise Scam, played the very last show at the old Rudy’s.
Beaudette feels that his old haunt has moved in the right direction.
“It’s much less of a Yale hangout now,” he said of the Elm Street bar after Rudy’s moved out. “Not that I have anything against Yale, but now it’s much more of a New Haven hangout, and I like that.”
“We don’t care if we are playing for 20 people or 200,” he went on. “We try to play every show like it’s our last night at Madison Square Garden.”
Treebeard does play with a passion. The power trio — consisting of Beaudette on bass and vocals, Javier Canales on guitar, and John Rowold on drums — compensates for meagre instrumentation with volume. Lots of it. The tiny stage could barely hold the gigantic amplifiers.
The band walks the line between metal and hardcore punk. Unlike Nasty Disaster’s, the Treebeard sound is not given to flashy displays of virtuosity. Beaudette’s band shows its skills in other, less obvious ways — including the lightning-fast tempo of their palm-muted breakdowns, where Rowold somehow manages to play furious 16th notes on a single bass drum. They fill the room with booming, over-driven bass lines and crunching, low-end guitar riffs. The band sounds remarkably modern — a far cry from Von Roll’s time-wrap
The band’s outfits, too, are evidence of their more serious demeanour. In place of kilts and viking helmets, Treebeard wears the plain t‑shirts of the likes of Fugazi and Minor Threat.
That’s not to say that their show lacked moments of hilarity. When Beaudette announced that the next song was “about Jewish mythology,” an audience member replied by shouting “Leviticus!”
Die-Hard Metalheads
Bridgeford, Divita, Isom.
Although New Haven is a town with deep roots in the history of rock — remember Jim Morrison singing “Blood in the streets / In the town of New Haven”? — local metal bands have recently found themselves struggling to find venues in which to play, and audiences willing to listen.
“Playing this kind of music in New Haven is a challenge,” said Beaudette. “I’ve been playing here since I was 17, and I’ve got to say the past couple of years have been rough.”
Despite all the complaints about low attendance at local shows, New Haven is home to small but loyal group of metal fans. Among them are Bill Bridgeford, 30, Joe Divita, 22, and Chelsea Isom, 21. Wearing black from head to toe, the group admires the likes of Judas Priest, Sodom, and Venom.
The three agreed that what New Haven’s metal scene needs is better promotion, and recalled the golden days when Ben Wu was booking agent at the Webster. Now, they said, bands are forced to book their own shows. Without the help of a promoting agent, the audience tends to consist of familiar faces.
“The bigger venues helped out a lot,” said Divita. “Now Toad’s only books hip-hop, and bands have to find their own places to play, so it’s mostly their friends that show up.”
Even Elm Bar, that somehow managed to shake off Yale’s flannel-ed hipsters, has succumbed to the pressure of the market.
“It’s gotten very trendy,” said Divita about the bar. “They aren’t serving the underground as much.”
Yet a small group of the faitful remain, showing up for every show — that’s them.
“I come to metal shows very often,” said Bridgeford.
“But there aren’t that many shows going on!” replied Divita.
“That’s because you don’t know about them,” countered Bridgeford.
The three then walked back into the bar, Pabst Blue Ribbons in hand, to enjoy the pleasures reserved to people in the know.
