Torche at Red 7
Justin Morris
Torche
Hydra Head's math-y, metal-drenched rock lovelies Torche charged into Austin's musical nucleus last night with a vengeance. A healthy number of the group’s adherents ventured into Austin’s first truly chilly evening to Red 7—a perfect venue both sonically and aesthetically for Torche, considering Red 7 also combs the darker corners of punk and straightforward rock. And besides, there's just something about entering the bathroom and happening upon the denouement of a drunken fistfight with the toilet (two guesses on the winner) that makes you feel alive. With staggered sets taking over both Red 7 stages, 21st-century punks and other random misfits had plenty of opportunity to fill their gullets with as much Lone Star and gut-twisting rock as possible. A little talked-about secret of metal concerts is that they double as fashion shows: Those seeing and being seen were a virtual circus of straw fedoras, sleeves of varying length, disproportionately bosomed bleached blondes strutting like peacocks, and random pervs trying to lay the clearly underage girls.
Boston's Cave In spin-off Clouds and San Francisco’s cock-rocking duo Black Cobra provided the appetizer for the evening's buffet of swampy, heavy rock served with a sprinkle of punk attitude. After Clouds finished shaking the air with its bong-rattling fuzz, Black Cobra spread its sardonic doom across the crowd as frontman Jason Landrian's wavy sheath of hair added just the right touch of Viking to its sword-and-sorcery steez.
The already-seething audience visibly swelled as Torche mounted the stage. About half past midnight, fog machines drenched both stage and crowd in a translucent hue as the band dove headfirst into its set. Heavy and sludgy—yet with melodies both epic and (gasp!) poppy—Torche do their damnedest not to disappoint on any front. Try not to take the group’s crossover appeal personally, metal kids: Torche's ability to bridge genres might turn out to be the rising tide that lifts all other heavy music boats.
As leader Steve Brooks exploded with brutal riffs first honed in the cult band Floor, Juan Montoya's rapid-fire guitar work and Jonathan Nuñez's jerky bass lines met the aural assault of Rick Smith's drums head on. Fists and tallboys flew through the air throughout, while one boozy longhair tried taking over Brooks' mic only to find himself shoved back into the trench where he belonged. While there were hints from the group’s 2005 self-titled debut, it was the newer tunes from Meanderthal that really made the crowd ecstatic: "Piranha" and "Fat Waves" in particular made heads go nutty with their contagious downbeat. Caught up in the moment, one guy threw himself up on his friends’ shoulders toward set's close—a cliché, sure, but in the face of so much unadulterated rock, no one could say it was undeserved.
