OOC: Finally, it's done. I separated the songs with little titles so you could see each individual track. My goal was to make both a realistic show, and give you an idea of what each character was like, Luke obviously being the most important, then Stanley, Will, and lastly Nick. Hope you enjoy, if you can bother to read all of it.






3:30 had hit Hyde Park like a steamroller, the clouds dissipating as festival goers were left to roast in the oppressive sunshine. The day's festivities had begun bright and early that afternoon, and already people were dropping like flies from the combined forces of over-heating, exhaustion and biting of more bands than could be chewed. Not much more than an hour had passed since viking metallers Virbellum had awed the many onlookers of the Shiny Metal Ass Breakthrough Stage, hammering their brutal Norse tales into the minds and ears of the small but enthralled crowd. Since then the audience had amassed a fair bit, shifting from the parking lot capacity stage to the open park area, observing a number of consecutively strong acts such as The Bards and Suburben Sunrise soldier their way through the heat and dust kicked up around the Second Stage. Emerging psychedelic rockers Anoesis has just finished off a particularly impressive set, cramming as much eccentric, sax led, British (OOC: I'm assuming) rock into 30 minutes as physically thought possible, vocalist Tom Lynch pushing the boundaries of the occupation 'frontman' to new, unorthodox extremes.

It was only now though that the festival crowd had truly solidified, settling down to observe the beginning of the string of main attractions, which was to be kicked off by Seattle avante-garde metallers Junkhead, a proper inauguration into the night of stars including The Nimrods, Mind, Stephanie Fierce and PANIC!, among others. As the anxious crowd shifted impatiently, partiers returning from beer runs and responsible boyfriends hoisting their significant others atop mighty shoulders for the chance of catching a first view of the band. Pantera's "Mouth For War" pumps out of the PA system, receiving a respectable amount of recognition from the more metal-oriented members of the crowd, who air drum along to the simple yet driving beats of Vinnie Paul and the guitar squeals of Dimebag Darrell.

From the side of the stage, Luke Haley gazes out over the sea of flags and semi-drunk rockers, already spreading apart an area designated for moshing. In many ways, the jump from packed clubs to tens of thousands of adrenaline hyped fans jarred his mind, but if there was any trace of stress in him, Luke didn't show it. He took in the fumes of lighter fluid and vomit, the sheen of sweat and insects that swarmed around his face, the heavy draw each elongated breath required, and buried it in the pit of his chest, a maelstrom of oppression and expectations that would be the driving force behind his performance. Frantic crew members raced back and forth, triple checking everything was in its right place, reiterating instructions for the umpteenth time. A small digital LED clock rested on one of the backup PA's, flashing a resilient 3:28, reminding the whole operation that the time of delivery was near. Stanley had returned from his usual mix of social banter and alcohol, raring like a little kid on Halloween to take the stage, his charming heart bursting with the genuine excitement of pre-show jitters. He felt that slight familiar tug around his shoulders, swinging his guitar around him in one fell swoop, instantly transformed from a loveable teddy bear to the aggressive, party hard persona he had carved his name as.


All four members of Junkhead had converged now, sharing a moment of understanding silence as the eager crowd outside erupted with applause as the PA music slowed to a halt. Knowing what must be done, Luke, Stanley, Will, and Nick, the four angstful degenerates who's underground smash EP had taken the world by storm, went their separate ways, finding their respective positions where they were to wait for a queue to enter the stage. Ignoring the oft-repeated instructions, Will, drummer, snot nosed punk, the antagonist, took his spot behind the kit, motioning widely as to draw a surge of approval from the infinite rows of onlookers. Following his example, the remaining 3 stormed the stage, igniting the crowd into a near riot of anticipation. Digging deep into his inner being, Luke crouches to the floor, like a beast stalking its prey, omitting only one warning call of the impending attack.

"Possessed", he mutters, wide eyed and laid out in front of the endless sea of people.

Will swings into a frantic, Sepultura-esque drum beat, instantly captivating the crowd with his wide, arcing movements and undeniably catchy tribal beats. A simplistic, crunchy guitar riff is laid over this, bombarding the masses of people with thrash influenced punk energy, inspiring many of the audience to headbang viciously alongside Stanley despite the violently oppressive heat. The Animal Fest crowd ripples back and forth atop the torn and trampled earth, kicking up clouds of dust thick enough to obscure the back portion of Hyde Park almost completely. As the song progresses in a savage, hardcore fashion, Luke paces the stage, sweat already dampening his Obituary t-shirt a darker shade of black, as he reflects upon the brutal heat, the monstrous conditions, channeling these surroundings into an exponentially building thrust of vulgar power.

"Possessed", receiving it's live debut, climaxes on a sudden breakdown, over which Luke belts out words of 'wisdom' to the ecstatic crowd.

"Alright, this song's about standing up for your land, and not taking shit from those who try to push you around. Can you do this with me London?"

A surge of devil horns and yells caress Haley's ears and eyes, yet his face still refuses to reveal any sign of satisfaction. He jogs to the side of the stage, starring down various crowd members while the band revamps the song, taking it to brutal, old school death metal extremes. The whole audience grooves along to the powerful, straight forward beats of Will Sullivan, who takes each breath heavily as he fights to maintain his dominating DIY punk presence, which is beginning to show the slightest bit of fatigue as he whips the cracked and beaten cymbals of his kit to a pulp. Wild members of the audience crowd surf up onstage, thrashing with Staley, who openly draws them up next to him as his unfaltering fingers carry the whole persona of the song atop of 6 amplified guitar strings. The lyrics are belted out in a deep, yet still clearly discernable fashion, as a devilish concoction of humidity and blood coagulates on Luke's abused vocal chords.

The mobile members of Junkhead thrash about, thrusting a brutal mix of Deicide, Sepultura and The Misfits upon the festival crowd, most of which lap up the inspired and calculated effort. Stanley, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the crowds reception, shouts uncontrollably, grinning from ear to ear, as he leaps atop the monitor, delivering a crisp, emotional impromptu guitar solo. Nick, lost in his own world of DIY bliss, subconsciously adapts to the randomly placed guitar solo, performing with a level of confidence hardly found in performers with twice his experience. Luke Haley pumps his well defined arms to the music, delivering a stellar vocal performance, that, despite his slight trepidation, manages to define and captivate all those around him. "Possessed" goes over extremely well with the audience, who thrash about and beg for more when the final breakdown has concluded.



As the deep guitar tones fade out into the crowd, a steady snare drum roll begins, slowly picking up intensity as the English audience bounce up and down to the rhythm. Over this drum beat a catchy and simple bass riff is played by Nick, who looms over the front row of people, jumping along with the crowd. A couple doubtfuls who had decided to stay back at the merch stands begin to trickle towards the oncoming commotion, watching the beastly performer Luke Haley pace up and down, high fiving fans and tugging crowd surfers up onstage. Approaching the mic, Luke speaks.

"This is 'Servant Apes', a real hardcore tune for all you rockers out there. If you know this shit, I wanna see you sing with me, alright? Let all these political bullshitters and authority figures know they should stay the fuck away, yeah?"

With his speech concluded, the single minded frontman retreats, stomping his foot to the rhythm. The drum-bass duo reaches a maximum intensity, climaxing in a sudden burst of distorted guitars and pounding, punk beats. The first couple rows of fans clear aside a mosh pit, in which dozens upon dozens of people trample the bottle littered floor. The band thrash along, pushing themselves right up alongside the edge of the crowd, much like they would at any smaller venue or club. Stanley's guitar drops out, queuing a swingy and subdued verse. Animal Fest goers push their way to the front as Luke half grunts half mumbles the lyrics into his mic, starring down and high fiving the more intense crowd members. The volume drops as Will plays a simple and driving tom beat over the bass riff, which is backed up by a jarring yet catchy call and response between the witty grunge vocals and high pitched, distorted guitars.

Will's mind is racing as he pounds through a quick drum roll, leading from the verse to the chorus. Over exaggerating his motions, he smashes his cymbals to the repetitive and pessimistic chorus, a fleck of metal cracking off and hitting his cheek. His calves are burning, but from looking out at the immense crowd and his three band mates, Will knows he must deliver to his fullest, and plows on through the track.

Dust is kicked up into the air as Luke curls up on the ground, screaming his lungs out as the monitor blares into his unprotected right ear. He knows this song well, as it is one of the first few he and Stanley wrote, and it goes by in a blur, his attention drawn more towards the over ecstatic crowd than the actual song. The audience pushes and shoves their way closer, forcing those with fortunate front row positions over their shoulders and onto the stage, to busy feeding off the exchange of energy between the band and the crowd to care about those around them. As the sun beats down above, 'Servant Apes' transforms into a monster jam of verse-chorus-bridge-repeat madness, soaking into the heavy, wet English air.
The song begins to wind down as Stanley swings his guitar in an arc above the crowd, caught in a wave of foolish joy. Feeding off the frenzied crowd's energy, he races across the stage, smashing over his stack of amp cabinet's and throwing up his arms in victory, yelling left and right. The semi-broken amps produce an uber distorted and muddy sound that graces the crowd's ears with warm ripples of crunchy noise.

Between gulps of water, Luke addresses the festival goers once more, giving his band mates a well needed moment to rest. As he begins to talk, the crowd quiets down in anticipation.



"Yeah, we aren't doing any of that acoustic shit today" he says, and is greeted with a strong applause. "Gonna have some fuckin' fun times, eh? You guys are what it's all about man, this is why we do this shit, it's for all you beastly dudes out there who appreciate the music man. Now, I wanna give a quick shout out to all the guys who made this day possible man, the guys who gathered everyone today, so we could change something in this world, so we could change something for animals out there. This one's for them, you may know it off the EP 'Long Dead Plastic Scene'", Luke says, as Stanley begins to stroke out the choppy, intro chords to one of the band's early fan favorites. The crowd cheers loudly, joining Luke in saying the song title, "Van Gough, mother fuckers, get up!"

The mellow, clean chords fade away, and out of nowhere the crowd is bombarded by a wave of mathy guitar parts, spastic blast beating and vicious snarls from the pit of Luke's larynx. The sun has lessened in intensity a bit now, as it rises over the stage a tiny bit further. To compensate Junkhead hit every note spot on, cleanly running through their most technically demanding song in their repertoire as they race up and down the front lines, thrashing alongside bursts of strobe lights, creating quite the awing spectacle. Cascading notes ring from the damaged amps as Stanley's hands race up and down his guitar, soaring through the air and forming a near deafening wall of noise. A burst of pyrotechnics light up the stage, wowing the first few rows who have fire projected above their heads.

The song simmers down to a spacey, melodic bridge, Luke embracing the inner demons shelved away deep inside him to draw ragged, crisp notes from his lungs. Even though they sting upon leaving his throat, Luke knows the pain is paying off as he looks upon the suddenly awed figures below. As he leads the band into the songs epic build-up and sub-sequent break down, Luke's voice is joined by countless others, a force so overwhelming it lowers him to his knees, to the point where he can smell the acrid fumes from the pyro and the stench of many sweat soaked feet. 'Van Gough' begins to build back up into its final pummeling riff, and Luke seizes the moment to hype up the crowd. Rising from his feet and towards the center of the stage, he barks out towards the masses.

"I wanna see you guys go fucking nuts! This is a traditional pit riff, let's see some circle pit action, eh?", he calls out, and is almost simultaneously greeted by the formation of not one, not two, not three, but four circle pits, which swell immensely from the influx of crazed Brits.

The song pounds to a tight and jittery halt, followed by an eruption of applause and the traditional thrown bottles of urine. A chant of, 'Junk, Head, Junk, Head' emerges from stage right, and Will playfully copies the beat on his bass drum, making a comical face at the crowd. The banter dies down, giving Luke the chance to speak.

"This is what I'm fucking talking about man, this right here. We haven't played England yet, until today, but fuck, if it's anything like this, count me in for a full on British tour. Speaking about reception and what not, I just want to say, before this next song comes on, you guys have been amazing. Because of you, this next song has spent something like what, 6, 7 weeks on the Radio Top 20? That's fucking brutal brother. Give yourself a hand guys, and sing along, cause I'm sure as hell you know this one."



He backs away from the mic, and the shimmery sound of Will's hi-hat kicks in, queuing Junkhead's biggest commercial hit and fan favorite, 'Elephant Graveyard', a swampy, Mastodonian punk-metal jam sure to get the crowd on their feet. The dimming field lights up, hundreds charging towards the stage to get a glimpse of the ensuing spectacle. Chunky chords are jammed out on top of a jazzy, intense rhythm, pummeling the listeners into the ground. As Luke goes to bark the first words, much of the crowd joins him, echoing the slightly commercial sludge metal and splitting apart into a mass of mosh pits and headbangers. Stanley thrashes along with the crowd, nodding at enthusiastic fans and tossing picks left and right.

With the sun lowering a bit over the stage, the crowd morphs into a violent frenzy, bystanders being knocked over left and right by overly aggressive hardcore moshers. Bouncers try to pry the more seriously injured from the thrall, and Luke makes an effort to subdue his performance temporarily, in an attempt to calm the crowd. He grunts into the mic, queuing a flashy instrumental break and drum solo, giving his band mates a brief 30 seconds or so to wow the audience with their musical skills. The anthem plods along rather un-eventfully, reaching a climactic final chorus, during which a string of piss bottles fly up onstage. Luke scowls a bit in the general direction of the throwers, leaping a top the monitor as the song dies down to make another customary speech.



"Man, what's up with all those douche bags out there, eh? Ya know, the dudes fuckin' bottling us and beating on their friends. This is a metal show for god's sake, bring it together guys, show the love for your brothers. I'm gonna dedicate this next cover to all those guys out there who think it's cool to beat down on people, to the hatebreeders out there. Yes sir, you know this one. If you're a real hardcore dude, jump the fuck up, this is a number by The Misfits, called fuckin' 'Hatebreeders'."

Skipping through the count in, Will takes a leap of faith and jumps right into the song, and to his luck, Stanley and Nick catch on, hammering out the tight punk riffing right on queue. Luke goes to sing the famous group vocal melody, and is joined by thousands of screaming converted Junkhead fans. The band is playing tight and right on time, ripping through a brutally hardcore rendition of the punk classic whilst thrashing along to the beat, getting right up in the front row's face. The first verse is passed through well enough, serving its role of building up towards the anthemic chorus, over which Luke thrusts his mic towards a random crowd member, giving them a chance to sing the simple melody.

So far that day, Nick's experience had been pretty much what was to be expected, over enthusiastic reception, slightly sloppy bass playing, and lots of headbanging. Flying off the seat of his pants, Nick Cornell decides to hurl his bass into the air, heaving with all his might to send the instrument straight up. As it arcs back and descends, Nick scrambles to raise his arms in time to catch it, but he does so too late, and the ESP Custom bass connects right with his head, throwing him back a foot or two. Picking himself up and ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth, Nick grabs his instrument and resumes playing, to massive approval from the crowd.

By this time, the faintest of clouds have begun to form, and the audience has grown innumerably in size, transforming Hyde Park into a full out mosh and alcohol fest. Junkhead's cover of The Misfits punk classic winds down, having been received relatively well by the British crowd, who now are cheering for more. Luke delivers his next transition speech, feeding off the energy of the crowd by barking into the mic.




"Fuck yes! This is what I wanna see Hyde Park, thank you so much. Before we go on, I gotta give a little shout out to some bands playing here over these two days. Give it up for Insolent Paradox man!", he screams, and is greeted by a sizeable roar from the crowd. "Who's here for Mors Omnibus?", he continues, getting a slightly diminished cheer, which Will tries to buff up by tossing in a little double bass fill. He goes on, "The mighty Nimrods!", and is blown away by the stampede of approval from the crowd. "Now, for some personal friends of ours, give it up for the out of this world Quarantine!", Luke shouts, before being drowned out by the hysterical roar of the festival goers. "Alright man, this is a new song, never before heard guys, so you're getting a treat here. It's a real metal number, I like to call it 'Annihilus'."

A powerful drum fills kicks the crowd off their feet, leaving them vulnerable to the squealing, distorted riffage of Stanley, over which Luke delivers his roughest growled lyrics, creating a powerful call and response effect. The Animal Fest goers begin jumping up and down to the thrashing beat, as another drum leads into the verse. Thousands headbang over chunky, muted riffs, and Luke lock his eyes with a singular fan in the crowd, clad in a Junkhead t-shirt. Feeling the slightly wetter air in his throat, Luke groans the lyrics out, still starring down the lucky fan, who shouts loudly and pumps his fist with excitement. He breaks away in time to thrash his arm to the beat, shouting the vicious Cancer Bat-esque chorus line to the teaming sea of fans, join him in thrusting their arms.

The song winds through an assortment of bludgeoning riffs and breakdowns, creating a vast landscape for Stanley to pervert the sounds and tone of his guitar. He lets out one vast chord, and, taken in the moment, rushes to the side of the stage to grab a stray camera left from a previous band's set. Bursting with giddy excitement, he flashes a drunken thumbs up for the camera, allowing it to capture him and the massive crowd behind him. Without losing a beat, he tosses the camera to Junkhead's roadie John, who pockets it off to the side.

By the time 'Annihilus' reaches its final chorus, the whole crowd is on their feet chanting along, headbanging viciously over the half time feel ending. Junkhead steers themselves into a whitenoise, complete with the cliche drum fills, random strumming and visceral screams. Ending on one climactic note, the band is greeted by a cascade of cheering and metal horns.



"Haha, alright guys, thanks.", Luke says, calming himself for the next song, which requires a much deeper persona. "You all heard about our upcoming tour with Dormant Fusion, Mind and Black Gold Reign, right? Cause I'm a bit bummed we haven't managed to carry it over across the Atlantic, that would slay, but I promise you we will return soon, headlining or not, it will happen. Right now though, let's give a round of applause to Dormant Fusion, our good friends and heroes in Mind, and the returning legends Black Gold Reign. Give it up man!", he concludes, his voice tapering off as the crowd cheers loudly.

Once the crowd quiets to a low rumble, Stanley nods to his band mates, simultaneously busting out a simple, catchy and dark chord progression. This is backed up with a simple click of the hi-hat on the upbeat, setting an eerie, dangerous feel around the festival, covering it in a blanket of darkness, which makes the quickly approaching clouds feel all the more welcome.

Luke looms over the crowd, gazing down the countless drawn eyes as he begins to sing the first notes, ringing with dark and brooding spirit. Overcome with his sudden surge of emotion and reality, Luke sits down upon the monitor, mumbling the words that drip off the tip of his tongue. Small bass parts leak in, and Will adds to the drum beat, creating a building effect, which is only improved by the increasing volume and level of distortion in Stanley's guitar. As the build reaches its climax, Junkhead land on the anthemic, modern equivalent to Danzig's 'Mother' chorus, which rings with foreboding danger that plants itself firmly in the hearts of the crowd.

'Not Of This World' progresses, creating valleys with the sharp chorus' and overlapping arpeggios of the verse. The song, ever building, morphs into a punk-thrash hybrid, over which Stanley takes off in a flashy and melodically evil solo, prompting him to put his new wireless system to the test by crowd surfing. He dives over the stage, not missing a note as wild fans and horrified security members pry at his clothes, dragging Stanley in two separate directions. Finally, a bulky bouncers, forces the crowd aside, leading Stanley, who nods with the slightest , "Thanks", back up onto the stage. By this time, the crowd as already ran through a strong sung along of the final chorus, and the band closes up shop on a frantic, jam with builds in intensity, much like the outro of 'Free Bird' condensed into 25 seconds. The song fades away into a blur of clattering cymbals and sustained distortion. Luke quickly grunts something to the crowd.



"This is a cover for you dudes with beer out there", he shouts, leading straight into the relatively unheard of song. "Acid Bath, mother fuckers!"

Nick begins a deep, chugging bass line, which is accented by bursts of synchronized noise from the other three members of Junkhead. Not sure what to think of this next song, the crowd takes a leap of faith and spreads apart a grouping of mosh pits. The song builds quickly, and, much to the pleasure of confused moshers, condenses on a thrashy, almost early Slipknot-esque verse, over which Luke screams the death centered vocals at full blast, rendering them nearly unintelligible to most. The song trades off between fast sludge metal and a catchy, groove oriented section, which loosely form a verse-chorus effect.

Out of nowhere, the song switches pace, now dropping off on a chord based hardcore meets sludge riff, delivered technically well by Stanley, who yells, grinning from ear to ear. This builds in speed and fury exponentially, the now frenzied crowd thrashing along in the quickly dropping temperature. Junkhead returns to the now familiar verse-chorus combo, many of the more diligent audience members singing along to the heavy Acid Bath number. From here to the last 30 seconds or so, the moshing dies down as Junkhead verge further and further into the experimental, odd side of Acid Bath, which strangely compliments the hazy, clouded sky's complexion, setting a strong and vibrant mood. The band finishes on one final note, all throwing their arms up in the air, to massive cheers from the crowd.



"Haha, alright guys, how the fuck was that?", Luke yells, a assured yet not the least bit annoying confidence leaking into his voice. The audience screams back, surging forward and projecting unfortunate bystanders over and on top of the shoulders of their companions. "Hell yeah", he continues, a slight grin on his face. "Being a new band and all that shit, we don't got that many originals for you, so we're buying some time with covers and such, you all good with that? Alright man, this next song is by the mighty band Black Flag, it's a lesser known track, but hell, that's what we go for, right?", he smirks as Stanley begins playing a sloppy and distorted two note pattern, which overlaps to create a wall of building noise.
Luke now begins the spoken intro of the song, screaming into the mic, his voice masked with a vicious angst that grows in the chests of the crowd members, who begin angrily clearing massive areas for what might be the largest mosh pits of the day.

(Spoken/Screamed)
'We don't need
Authority
Authority figures
Don't need
Don't need their shit
Don't want it
Can't stand it
Don't need their bogus attitudes
Got enough of my own
Don't need it
Authority
Bullshit
Authority
Bullshit'

As Luke continues, the guitar noise increases in volume and intensity, the crowd beginning to split into a wall of death, much to the band's surprise and pleasure. Coming in on cue, Will, drenched in sweat and arms aching, begins methodically to pound away at the floor tom, slowly at first, picking up speed, much like an old train firing to life. The noise lifts, the band raising themselves up with it, ready to explode into action at the intense climax. Junkhead reach the build up's peak, stopping for tension, the crowd cheering, ready to charge into a massive wall of death. A drizzle has started now, and Luke yells out at the crowd.

"On the count of four, I wanna see all you guys charge man. No remorse, support your brothers. If someone falls pick em' up. Push your respective spouse in front of you. Those are the rules, now here it goes, 1, 2, 3, 4!"

The band explodes into a rough, sloppy rendition of the hardcore gem, the two sides of the wall of death converging into a huge pit. Fans yell wildly and flash their horns at the band, Stanley nodding and giving the horns back in approval. The song only lasts a good 55 seconds, but the band makes the most of it, throwing in growls and blast beats to add that signature Junkhead un-predictability, which the crowd receive fanatically, thrashing and crowd surfing about. Luke pumps his fists and feels the blood rush to his head as he crouches and leaps up, projecting himself into the crowd with ease, many sturdy hands hoisting him up. All of the sudden, a power surge knocks out Nick and Stanley's amps temporarily, but, without faltering, Luke recovers the fall by starting a chant of, 'I've Heard It Before', as the now enraged security workers pull him back out of the thicket. Engineers and festival workers scramble frantically, managing to get the power back up in time for Junkhead to finish on one massive chord.



"Fuck yeah!", Luke growls as the sound fades out into white noise. Stanley gets control over his feedback, lowering it to a dull hum, allowing Luke to speak. "Hey guys, we only got a couple more for you today, but I wanna take a moment to talk about the meaning of this song, mainly because we've been told we have to. I don't encourage all of you to become users or anything, and this song is not meant to promote heroin in any way. This is a choice each and every one of you must make on your own, and I'm not gonna become one of those political douche bags right now and preach to you or anything. Let's just have a good time, alright?"

There is a moment of silence, which is broken by a dark, nihilistic bass line which is strummed out carefully by Nick, who seems half dead which his eyes sunken back into his skull. Slowly, Will comes in, playing a simple yet driving beat, which builds up into a crash of noise. A cascade of sudden Crowbar-esque guitar work rains down upon the wet crowd, who head bang slowly along with the song. Luke prepares to deliver his vocal to the crowd, digging deep inside to the memories and pain back at home, the brown demon which had managed to invade even this most perfect day in the form of a baggy waiting for him backstage. Lights flash before him, the Fremont Bridge, his preferred location to shoot up, lying to drug store faculty, telling them he was diabetic to score discounts on syringes, walking past empty houses at 3 in the morning. Snapping back to reality, he hears the now familiar drum fill, which cues him to begin singing.

Audience members are blown away left and right as Luke's vocal chords emit the pained noises that tell a tale of suffering, adding to the immense and sludgy persona of the band, who dominate the stage, four men who seem to be the size of sky scrapers to the now insignificant crowd. The drizzle had progressed to light rain, which fails to chill the crowd to the bone the same way Junkhead have just managed to. Stanley creates a squealing dive-bomb, which carries the song into its second and only other section, a much rougher, chugging sludge metal/hardcore hybrid piece, which prompts huge shouts and masses of devil horns from the crowd. Repeating this verse chorus pattern for a bit, the band's volume slowly being lowered by technicians backstage, creating the fading out effect. Only once there is complete silence stage side does the audience react, too floored at first to make a noise. It takes several seconds, but, sure enough, the largest shout of the band's set so far is emitted, managing, along with the stamping of feet, to shake the foundations of the stage, making Stanley chuckle a bit in amusement.


[center]- "Skin Defilement" -