It was about seven thirty as I pulled into Newport. The town was just across the river from Cincinnati. The skyline was truly something to behold at night. I took exit 192 and drove through the large town. The streets were lined with little shops and restaurants. I could only imagine how full of life this place was on the weekends. I turned onto 6th street in search of an old church, of all things, on that Tuesday evening. The Southgate House Revival Church had been converted into a concert hall. It was located in close proximity to the shops and restaurants. You could plan your whole night out and not have to walk more than a block.
I walked inside. Though the man at the door couldn’t find my name on the list, or the names of the people in front of me for that matter, he was friendly. We bought our tickets and went inside. I was initially disappointed in the size of the place. There was a small bar, very little stage room, and a few people. Then a door opened, and I realized I was in the wrong room. I walked through the door and saw the large concert room. There was a long bar, a long line of merchandise for sale from the three bands, and plenty of stage space. This was the right place. The fans were beginning to line up in front of the stage. The crowd could have been pegged as being gothic in their personal style of dress. Attire included huge tripp pants, corsets, dyed hair, piercings, and loads of black. This was their night. It was time to embrace who they were, if only for a night.
Death Valley High was first in line. San Francisco was known for peaceful Folk music in the sixties, but in the year 2016, Death Valley High may just put it on the map for heart-pounding, head-banging metal. There may have been some trouble with the sound system at first, but like seasoned pros, they played through and found their groove. Dark imagery played behind them as they lead the audience in favorites such as, “The Present,” “Warm Baddies ,” and “How2Kill”. The most notable thing about this band is how they interacted with the audience. During the last song, the singer got down into the audience and passed around the microphone. This sort of showmanship is what earns a band loyal fans who will buy all the albums and come to every show. I hope they stay humble through all the budding success that is sure to come their way.
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In between sets, I sat at the bar, learning too late that there was a ten-dollar minimum on credit cards. This gave me no choice but to buy more to drink. I spoke with an old school punk, who talked about how things had changed for the worse in recent years. But he was still here. There was something in these bands that could bring hope to a cynic.
Bobaflex was up next. I walked back into the concert hall to find the size of the audience doubled. The frontmen for Bobaflex, Sean and Marty McCoy, aren’t the only members of their family that are well-known. They are descendants of the famous family from the feud in the 1880s. Maybe the rockers will put the family back on the map, for something more positive this time around. Bobaflex had a stadium rock kind of feel to them. As a new fan, I was instantly hooked. “Start a War,” “Chemical Valley,” and “Mama (Don’t Take My Drugs Away” were played, rolling out hit after hit. This was undoubtedly one of the greatest metal bands to have emerged from the last twenty years. With all the metal and hard rock hits, I was a bit shocked when I heard a familiar guitar riff being played on the acoustic. A few of us who were unfamiliar with Bobaflex’s live routine looked at each other trying to figure out the song. “Sound of Silence?” I blurted out loud. Sure enough, this heavy metal band was doing a hard rock rendition of Simon and Garfunkel’s classic. Whether people were there to see Bobaflex, Death Valley High, or Orgy, they left Bobalex fans, or at least I did. They had a kind of melody that is unparalleled in their genre.
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Last but not least, two hours into the night was the headlining band: Orgy. Orgy had some of the same qualities of the first two acts. Perhaps Orgy was an influence to them. The stage was relative to the band; the guitarist and bass players were seen walking through the audience. While band members were in the audience, an audience member was on stage singing back up. Fans were bringing liquor up on stage. This was more than a concert; this was a party. We were all friends. Death Valley High’s Huffy Hafera was brought onto stage with the headliner. This night was his birthday, and there was no place he would rather be. The best songs from an eighteen-year catalog was played. They made sure the fans heard the songs they wanted to hear. Jay Gordon asked for suggestions. They proved that the years had not worn them down. They were still there for the fans. It was a great night. There was music, dancing, beer, and somewhere in the night, I think we summoned the devil. It was not a concert for the faint-hearted, but it wasn’t a concert I would want anyone to pass up either.
