The beauty and innocence of youth: Memories of outdoor shows in the early 90s

Two weeks ago, this amazing picture of New Jersey's Revenant was posted here at Metal Inquisition. To say that I love this image would be a severe understatement. I mean, many have tried to encapsulate the youthful abandon that permeated early 90s death metal, but few images have done it as succinctly as this picture. What, I ask you, is more metal than playing the Fourth Of July picnic at your apartment complex? The varying heights of their hi-tops, the varying shortnesses of their shorts, the varying degrees of shirtlessness upon their chests. If you were there during those years, you understand why this image is so great. This is what it was like back in the early 90s, and if you missed it...you missed it. Death metal was new, china cymbals were huge, and Morrisound Studios reigned supreme.

A sweet outdoor show in Italy, with an audience made up of no one...because the picture was taken with a tripod and a timer. This picture, by the way, officially started the musical genre known as "small amp metal". In short, this musical style can only be played with small practice amps, and is at its best when the stage the band is playing in is at least twice the height of the tallest amp.

Memories:

During my reign as drummer of a handful of so-so bands in the early 90's, I played a few outdoor shows...just like the one pictured above. The band I played the most with was more of a grindcore band, but our shows were almost exclusively with death and speed metal bands. As a drummer, these shows were particularly frustrating, since grass is pretty much the worst surface on which your drumset can sit as you attempt to rip a brutal blast beat. As my drumset rocked back and forth, the cymbal stands dug into the soft grass, and you suddenly realized that you were engaged in battle with nature. Luckily, the bands I was in never attempted to seem evil, so when my cymbals toppled over onto the flower beds in front of the drumset, I probably looked less stupid than the death metal bands who would play after us. They, I have to tell you, looked seriously stupid. Have you ever seen a dude growl "Our next song is about a brutal serial killer...and its called..." into a mic, while standing on grass, at 2 in the afternoon, and a fly starts buzzing around his stinky hair? By comparison, we looked downright presentable and cool. Which reminds me, at one such show, a local band who we despised introduced one song by saying the following:

"This next song is about a cannibal who eats people"

Hmmm. As opposed to a cannibal who eats what? Tofu? By definition, a cannibal eats people, no? But anyway, I'm getting off track here.Out of the handful of outdoor shows (in reality, they were more like "backyard shows") that I played in during the early 90s, one surely sticks out in my mind above all others. Imagine, if you will, driving to a remote and rural location in the midwest...a town that was little more than a conglomeration of homes and had just recently gotten its very first stoplight. Then imagine a flatbed trailer, like from an 18-wheeler, with bands playing on top of it while it's parked in the middle of a depressing field. Billed as a "metal fest", the show was merely six bands and an audience of about 40 people. If you're a math genius like me, you can probably figure out that most of the audience was actually made up of the other bands. Depressing, I know.

Not happy with the fact that only horrible metal bands were getting to play outdoors, pseudo-prog bands have recently started to get in on the action. Here we see a prog band's singer and keyboard player praying that his parents don't come home early and yell at him for using all the extension cords.

It was one of the first shows that our band had played, so we set up a boombox in front of the stage to record our set. On the drive back home, I remember listening to the tape in my brother's car. Quickly we realized that two stoned Pantera fans had been standing by our beloved Panasonic boombox during the whole set, and endlessly did their horrible Bevis and Butthead impressions into it's tiny microphone. As a result, what we ended up with was a thirty minute tape of two rural jerkoffs with no teeth testing out their comedic chops onto our boombox. I remember what they looked like, slightly overweight and with nearly identical Vulgar Display Of Power shirts. The fact that they were only missing a few teeth, made them stand well above the rest of the audience, most of whom had even fewer teeth, and the few they had were dark brown. This, I would later learn, was partially as a result of drinking water pumped from wells, which lacks fluoride.

Outdoor shows in empty fields and backyards during the 90's would sometimes bring out bands who were barely metal at all. Like a community college who will let anyone in, backyard shows sometimes had bills with bands totaling well into the double digits. Inevitably, at least one band would feature a guy in a Dr Seus hat who was more than ready to use his wah-wah pedal for every song. Another interesting note about outdoor shows during that time: apparently no one was allowed to use anything other than small practice amps with 10" speakers.

You know how sometimes people talk about the "good old days"? When they do, all I can think about is that "fest". I remember standing in the hot sun for hours, playing on top of a trailer, watching fat dudes get drunk and turn their back on the makeshift stage as we played, so they could light off firecrackers in order to throw them in to the neighboring cornfield.

So why did I suddenly remember this less than memorable "fest"? Well, it's all because of the Revenant picture above, but also because of the videos below. The first video features an outdoor performance, but also the typical dude who is getting down, not realizing that he's really taking away from the "evil" atmosphere that the music is trying to convey. We had a few guys like this at our shows...one particularly memorable one was an elderly black man in a suit and tie who suddenly decided to take his tie off and wrap it around his head as he danced around like a six year old ballerina at a recital. His suggestive gyrating dancing is a sight I wont soon forget.

The second video reminds of this era because of the sheer number of bands that were this bad who I had the pleasure of sharing a bill with. Outdoor shows were particularly attractive to these types of bands. If at first you think they sound okay, keep watching...and wait until the singer starts. Thanks to the reader who sent this in.




This dude knows how to GET DOWN!




Although this show is taking place indoors, the musical quality is indicative of many small-amp/outdoor metal bands. Is this guy the greatest metal vocalist ever? Do you even have to ask? I'm glad that the drummer has headphones on, so he can play perfectly on time thanks to his click track.




A classic that we've posted before. Certainly worth checking out again.




Reader submission. Sometimes the show is not on stage at all...check out the dude dancing.

Metal Archeology: Artifacts from a lifetime devoted to metal (Part 3)

Here we see a picture of graduate student Emily Thayer, hard at work uncovering my Gammacide 12".

Metal Archeology. When I first coined the term, I was merely joking around. Today, at least four prominent colleges in the United States offer Masters programs in this very important field of study. As I've mentioned in past posts about this subject Metal Archeology can be explained in this manner:

Just as archeologists carefully dig through piles of rubble in search of artifacts that can give us further information about previous societies, I too have chosen to dig through my own personal rubble in search of answers and artifacts. After what has been nearly a lifelong commitment to metal (in one way or another), I have accumulated assorted artifacts which bring back memories of the past. I aim to dig deep into my past (a sometimes embarrassing past) in order to make sense of just who I was at the time. Part archeology dig, part psychotherapy session, I hope this series of ongoing posts will prove to be both insightful and therapeutic to our devoted readers. I shall call this new science: Metal Archeology.

Now that we're all on the same page, we can get started.

The item I will share wit you today is a bit unusual, but speaks volumes about a semi-legendary time in metal history. I hereby present to you, the autographed promotional picture of Chicago's not-so-legendary band Stygian. Not to be confused with the current band by the same name, who use an amazingly similar logo, this Stygian was a band who were signed to David T Chastain's label. Don't know who David Chastain is? Don't worry, you're not alone. Let me put it this way...do you know what's sadder than a pathetic riff-orama obsessed guitar-hero douche like Steve Vai or Yngwie Malmsteen? Well...how about a third rate guitar demi-god from Cincinnati Ohio who never really hit it big. That, my friends, is David T Chastain. If you want to see and hear him jam out, watch this. But more importantly, here's the picture that this whole post is devoted to:

The coveted, signed Stygian promo picture.

Do these youngsters have no shame? Not only did they steal the band's name...but the logo is also very similar. I'm sure the guys in the Stygian will be glad to hear that they had some influence on someone. It will probably cheer them up, as they continue to mop toilets in an office building during third-shift.

Like other objects from my metal collection which I have shared with you in the past, this one was also found in a box of crap that my mom finally begged me to move out of her house. Why on earth she wouldn't want to hang on to my signed Obituary drumsticks, signed Stygian promo pictures or home made Morbid Angel shirt for decades is beyond me. Her loss, your gain.

About the picture
After I found this magnificent specimen mixed in with other metal debris, I had to think for a second in order to remember where it came from. Then it all came rushing back. It came from the Milwaukee Metal Fest, which my brother and I went to in both 1992 and 1993. I'm not sure which one this picture from...but it really doesn't matter. What matters is that the fucking thing is autographed bitches! Hell yes!

Milwaukee Metal Fest
I feel like this fest should one day get its own post, since my brother and I certainly have enough memories to write a whole lot about it. For now, I'll try to tell you a few things quickly. I remember driving for hours to get to the two day fest. The venue had two stages, each starting as early as like 10am, and going until like 2am. I remember my brother and I standing there looking at a schedule to see what bands would play each stage and when. Deciding which band to see was a tough decision. The conversations between the two of us probably went something like this: "Well, Macabre will be playing upstairs, but Intenal Bleeding will be downstairs, and that will overlap with Broken Hope...oh no! What do we do?"

Held at the Eagles Ballroom, the fest was a godamned zoo, insanely disorganized but well worth it back then. To see that many metal fans, and that many bands was amazingly rewarding to a youngster like me. Throw in the ability to check out merch from the biggest names in metal...labels like Wild Rags, Grindcore Records and the like...and I was a happy camper. On the other hand, the super long drive sucked, we were broke as hell...and I certainly remember reaching a point of overload. Some of the bands that played there (aside from the ones I just mentioned) were: Brutal Truth, DRI, Morbid Angel, Biohazard, AC, Downset, Slayer, Overkill, Testament, Cannibal Corpse, Dogstarr (yes, the Keaneu Reeves band), Anacrusis, Suffocation, Exhorder, Cancer and so many more that I could go on and on for days. If you were there and remember some of the smaller bands, please feel free to remind me. I know there were tons of Wild Rags bands that I'm forgetting.

Outside the venue. It was in this parking lot that my brother bought a sweet Impetigo shirt from Richard C of Wild Rags Records. Richard was lying and saying he wasn't Richard C, in fear or being jumped by the many people in attendance who he owed money to. Like most attendees, we parked around the back during the fest.

This is where the larger bands played, which was upstairs. It was here that Slayer put on a "meh" inducing performance. I can just imagine the architect who designed the beautiful classical details in this ballroom thinking to himself "ah yes, one day Brutal Truth will play in this fanstastic space...I shall make this the grandest of all grand ballrooms"

Memories
I remember Tom, the guy who we went to the Fest with, smoking pot as he drove his old, beat up BMW 3 Series through Illinois. As Tom drove, and smoked joints that he kept in his fanny pack, he would hold his right hand out mid-air, and quickly motion as though he was signing a check, quickly flicking his wrist to and fro. We later found out that this was his version of air-drumming at high speeds. It took about six hours of driving through Illinois for us to figure this out.

I remember taking a large cooler in the trunk, filling it with ice, and storing our newly purchased records inside the cooler (protecting them with zip lock bags) while we watched even more bands play.

When A.C. played, Seth insisted that the whole audience be quiet...if not, they would not play another song. Everyone got quiet, but a kid towards the front kept talking, not having heard Seth's instructions. Suddenly, and with perfect aim, Seth threw his mike with amazing speed and precission, like a godamned harpoon. It hit the kid square in the face and almost knocked him out. It was pretty funny. Many years later, I began to tell this very story to the members of a band that we were touring with in the late 90's. The drummer, began to look bummed as I told the story. He suddenly blurted out "It was me, okay okay, it was me. Jesus, please don't tell the whole story." He was 14 when it had happened, and he was there with his dad. He was talking to him as Seth went on and on about everyone being quiet. His dad had not wanted him to go to the fest, since it was far away and potentially dangerous. Eventually he agreed to go with him, to help keep him safe. They arrived as AC was playing, walked in as they were talking and within seconds got nailed in the face with a mic. It hit him so hard that he almost passed out.

I remember my brother yelling at a drunken DD Verni, telling him "your band blows!". DD looked like bummed upon hearing the news.

You're probably thinking that his jacket says "bass", because he plays the bass guitar. Not so. He enjoy bass fishing. If you're going to ask me why his bass guitar says "I need lunch", I can't help you...aside from guessing that playing in Overkill never really paid the bills, even if that bill was a $2 happy meal from Mc Donalds.

I remember Body Count playing, and the entire lighting rig starting to fall onto the audience. I'm talking about a huge truss system with lights, wires, sandbags, huge PA system...the whole thing. Mooseman and Ice T held the whole thing up so it wouldn't fall on the audeince. Nutty.

I remember Biohazard going on and on during their entire set about how Morbid Angel was a racist band. I remember Evan saying "Biohazard ain't goin' out like that" over and over again about the subject between songs. I was never really sure what he meant, since they used Morbid Angel's amps, left the stage and Morbid Agnel came on right after. Perhaps "aint goin out like that" is pseudo Brooklyn slang for "we will agree to play with them, use their amps, and hand them the guitar cables politely on our way off stage so they can plug in." That night, David Vincent played while wearing a black button-up shirt from the SS uniform. How very tasteful.



I remember Tom Araya thinking I was going to ask for an autograph as I ran into him in long hallway by the upstairs bathrooms. The hallway was desolate, and we were walking in oppostie directions. I had a Sharpie in my hand, which I was twirling around as he walked towards me. When he came closer to me, he nodded and held his out his hand as though to sign something with my Sharpie. I just kept walking, and thus created one of my favorite awkward moments ever. Tom stood there for a second as I walked on.


I remember really liking both Suffocation and Broken Hope live. While Suffocation was playing, a long-haired metal dude who was super skinny (metal dudes come in two sizes, rail thin and morbidly obese I think) was walking down the long set of steps on the side of the stage. As he was walking, he casually turned his head to the side as though to clear his throat. Instead he began to puke, and puke he did. The guy probably barfed about five bucket-fulls of thick goo, and he did so very, very quickly as he kept walking down the steps. He kept walking as he puked, as though nothing was happening. When he was done, he simply turned his head forward as though he hadn't just barfed out the entire contents of a small reservoir. To this day, when I'm sick and find myself almost in tears as a result of having to barf, I think about that guy. To pull off throwing up with such class is a really amazing skill. It was as though he was throwing up while wearing a top hat and a tuxedo. Talk about classy.


Back to the picture
Now that I think about it, there's not much to say about the picture. Stygian were one of the many local-ish bands that played early on in the day at those fests. While large bands had autograph sessions set up (like Slayer for example) in proper booth areas, smaller bands made up their own times, and stood around in a corner somewhere trying to do the same thing. While the times during which Slayer would do signings were advertised everywhere with banners, bands like Stygian would make 8.5 x 11 photocopies that would say:

Stygian meet and greet. We will be selling autographed cd's by the phone booth to the right of the bathrooms on the first floor at 6pm tonight.

It was extremely sad. Sure enough, at the scheduled time, you'd see the small local band standing there with their backpack full of tapes, with absolutely no one buying anything from them.


How did I get this picture?
I remember it very well. Shortly after the scheduled time when Stygian were supposed to be signing stuff, I walked by and saw them completely alone staring at the wall as people walked by them. I went by again only minutes after, and a bunch of these pictures were strewn all over the floor. The band members were gone. All the pictures were already autographed by the entire band, and had perhaps been thrown out in anger. I'm not sure why I picked one of them up, but I'm sure glad I did. Without it, perhaps I wouldn't have all these memories to share with you. My favorite thing about the picture is on the back. Scribbled on the back of the picture is the following:



Crucifier, was an American band from back then (who played the fest), and not he Brazilian thrash band which is around today, and has the same name. I don't know why, but apparently the members of Stygian were trying to remember how the band's name was spelled, or perhaps they were trying to point out to one another how the band's name could be spelled in order to be really close to "Lucifer". Maybe they were also thinking of the band Crucifer, who may have played also. Maybe it's kinda' like how in the sixth grade you figured out that "satan" and "santa" are really similar words...but have very different meanings. I picture the guys from Stygian sitting there getting all freaked out by the similarities. Much like a cat can be entertained by a ball of twine for hours, metal dudes can easily spend four days on two words like crucifier and crucifer.


Aftermath
Soon after those fests happened, I remember bringing them up all the time in conversations to people...even to people who knew little about metal. At the time, they seemed like the greatest godamned thing on earth. Today, after 17 years have passed since I first went to such a monstrosity, the memories are getting a bit hazy. I no longer talk about the bands I saw back then, much less care about them. Was anyone at those early Milwaukee Metal Fests? Tell us about it.

Today, I couldn't imagine driving even five minutes to see a band play. If a band wants to play for me, they'll have to play in my living room...and this would have to be a band I love. They would have to start at roughly 9pm, and be done by 10. If any band out there takes me up on it...here are some groundrules. Be nice to my dog, play at a very, very low volume. Don't mess with my furniture, only play songs I know (none from a new album) and be open to the fact that I may change my mind about seeing you play before you hit a single note. Also, be careful not to bump into my TV or my new chair. That thing was expensive. Having said that, I'll be more than happy to have you host a meet and greet at my house. Just leave me an autographed picture, so I can add it to my collection.

"I've worked on some of the stuff you guys told me to, like the screeches"

Last month we posted this video of a fine young man practicing his death metal vocals. With the help of substantial youtube feedback he has practiced, fine tuned, and is now back with an improved offering.

Based on the decor that can be seen behind him, I'm guessing he's doing this at his mom's house. I feel so bad for her. Can you imagine having to put up with your retarded son practicing his "mid and low-range growls"? "Mom, I need to put in like ten more minutes into my screeches and then I'll go to bed." The woman is a saint.

Are you a poser? Don't be so quick to answer.

So, are you a poser? I'm sure all you reading this will quickly answer to yourselves: NO WAY! Well, I have been asking myself that question for a few days. Ever since all the poser-talk started here on M.I.. The fact is that I don’t know what a poser is these days. I know I wasn't a poser in the old days, but I’m not so sure I’m all that brutal anymore. Maybe I need to start wearing this T-shirt, I don’t know.

Well, I decided to conduct a little mental experiment: what if my 1991-self were to visit my 2008-self in my apartment. What would the 1991-me say to 2008-me? I KNOW '91 was no poser, so I’ll trust his judgment on the poser issue. Below is the full report ‘91 would write on '08's current poser status. Please have in mind that my '91 self didn’t speak much English, so the report has been edited for clarity. Unfortunately, the report was edited by '08 and my English still sucks. I should pay attention to S.O.D.
My 1991-self writes:

"When I first walked into my future self's apartment I was thinking how cool it was that I had moved to New York in the future. I'm sure I'd met the guys from Anthrax and Overkill and hang out with them all the time. Boy, was I wrong.

Anyway, let me put this very simply: my 2008 self is a fucking poser. The sad part is that he doesn’t know it. He wasn't all poser, mind you, but he was pretty close to wearing spandex and make-up. First of all, let me describe this loser, so you guys know what I mean when I say: POSER. This idiot DOESN'T HAVE LONG HAIR! I know, it's crazy! My mom doesn't care anymore, because I don't even live with her, but my future self doesn't grow his hair long!? What else? Prepare yourself: He has BOTH ears pierced! HE'S GAY, TOO! He had no beer in the fridge, just soy milk. This fag was getting on my nerves!
Sure, he wears metal shirts once in a while (some I was wearing back in '91), but most of the time he walks out of the house wearing shirts with NO LOGOS! Nothing! Most of the shirts aren't even black! Some days he doesn’t even wear a T-shirt at all. He wears polo shirts and button-ups! He doesn't wear black high-tops anymore, much less sweet biker boots. His jeans are way to baggy and get this: No denim jacket. I asked him what he sewed all his patches onto and he said he didn't have patches!
Also, there was not ONE poster on his walls. This loser has a whole apartment and doesn't have ANY posters? No flyers? Not even a goddam band sticker on his bed. This guy is a SERIOUS poser, I'm telling you. Next, I went to his record collection. I was happy to see a hefty chunk of vinyl. Aside from a few things here and there, it was a pretty brutal bunch of wax. The tapes, he told me, were "in storage". How does he listen to them, you ask? He doesn't. He doesn't even have a tape player. Not a boombox, not a stereo, not even a cassette player in the car...NOTHING.
I guess most of those tapes I bought myself, so I concentrated on the records and CD's. I only owned a handful of CDs in '91, but I guess the format took off in the last 18 years. I was impressed with the selection of metal, I must admit. Nice picture discs, nice Anthrax collection, nice Laaz Rockit test pressing, solid death metal pieces, lots of Slayer and Maiden, too. I really liked the multiple copies of "Master of Puppets" and DRI "Crossover". A few autographed things thrown in for good measure. On CD, it was mostly death metal. Not bad, but all that was cancelled out by all the POSER shit I saw. This dicklicker had a Motley Crue gatefold record. I'm not kidding. He told me he actually likes it! He tried to get out of it by saying it was "Shout at the Devil" and not "Dr. Feelgood", but I told him: a pussy band is a pussy band, no matter what record. I also came across Doors and Pink Floyd CDs. Are you kidding me? A poser AND a hippie? A Police box-set, Jackson Five...don’t even get me started on the rap! He had way too much punk, too. Not that punk is super-poser, but dude, THAT much punk mixed into your metal is never a good thing. He’d also gotten rid of most GrindCore records, Wild Rags Records and Kraze Records releases! Those were fucking GOLD!

Well, by looking at him, I'd thought: 'poser fag.' But after looking at the record collection, I thought I should give my future self another chance. I asked him what was the latest show he'd been to. This fucking pansy told me that he'd seen a jazz band in Brooklyn last weekend! Dude, are you KIDDING me? WTF is up with jazz? Do you do aerobics, too? Fuck, if you were in Brooklyn, did you at least go to L'amours and hang out with Nuclear Assault or Whiplash? "Nah," he said "I haven't been there in years." In YEARS? Dude, if I lived in New York I’d be there EVERY DAY!
Damn, I was getting real sick of this clown and I had to get back to '91. Headbanger's Ball was about to start and I was hoping to catch the Holy Wars video. I had to get my Betamax ready to record that!



Fuck, dude! I grew-up to be a poser!”

Impetigo: REAL GRINDCORE

I was blessed to have been at the Milwaukee Metal Fest XII in 1993. Not only did Phantasm play a kick-ass show, but I witnessed the final Impetigo show...ever. it was better than a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich that has been sitting at the bottom of your schoolbag for the whole day. It was awe-inspiring. It was one of the happiest days of my life. Really. I’m pathetic, OK?

I was introduced to The Masters of Goregrind by non other than the infamous Richard C. of Wild Rags. After a few letters back and forth, he sent me a flyer for a new CD he was about to put out: Ultimo Mondo Cannibale. The art on the flyer was so sick I knew I had to get it. It looked like a retarded 14 year old had drawn it while in prison for double homicide and rape. I was doing my metal radio show at the time, so I requested a promo copy. When I first played it, I was blown away. It was SO raw! It was so...so...so BRUTAL! The production was crude, but so brutal! The music was simple, but so brutal! The lyrics were cheezy as all hell, but so brutal! Stevo's vocals were terrible and awesome at the same time...and also so brutal! The cover art was simply AMAZING. As sweet as seedless organic green grapes! I was impressed at the obvious Gauguin influences in Stevo’s art.


The thing about Impetigo was that their sound was very unique. It's probably because of the low-budget production and their simple riffs. But it was all memorable and (dare I say it) catchy. Impetigo had entered my life and they entered like a freight train (Nitro reference). My band decided to cover "The Revenge Of The Scabby Man", I put an Impetigo sticker on the bumper my 1986 Dodge Horizon and another one on my white flying V geetar. I played songs from Ultimo on the air so often people would call to yell at me, but I didn't care I was in love! As it often happens in situation like these, I needed more. I had to get their demos. I wrote a quick note to Mark, the guitarist. He responded quickly and within a few weeks I had a dubbed copy of Giallo.

The demo is a bit more hardcorish sounding than Ultimo and honestly I don’t like it that much. Anyway, Mark and I wrote for a looooong time and he even said he liked my band when I sent him our first demo. I know now, of course, that he was lying (no one can possibly have liked my band then…or now). Still, it was a nice thing to say. Anyway, Horror of the Zombies came out in 1992 and instantly became my favorite CD. Even today, Horror is in my top 10 records of all times and Boneyard in my top 20 songs of all times. The cover was, again, sick as shit! Looks like Stevo remained influenced by Gauguin for this masterpiece.


Impetigo was a TRUE grindcore band. No PC stupid and simplistic pseudo-socially-conscious lyrics here. No guys in dreadlocks preaching against sexism. No black and white patches with left-wing slogans. Impetigo were pure fucking GRIND. They had gore lyrics, hyper-cheesy and offensive cover art, samples of women screaming in pain and BRUTAL tunes. They didn’t look like peace-punks or like hardcore tough-guy retards pretending to look scary. These guys WERE scary. They looked like serial killers or rapists, or plain old farmers from the middle of Illinois…which, I guess, is what they were.

The bands that call themselves grindcore these days are a disgrace to the term.

Man, I wish I still had that ’86 Horizon.

Do Hot Chicks Listen to Slam Metal?

Maybe I am too cynical, but something tells me this photo has been doctored. Like Fox Mulder, I want to believe, but if the Internet has taught me anything it's to not believe anything I see on the Internet. Sure, I'd love to think that hot chicks listen to Devourment, but chances are even if this photo is legit she probably got the shirt from a friend and only wears it because she thinks it looks "punk" or "edgy." This chick looks exactly like the kind of girl you'd see working at your nearby mall's MAC counter, which of course only makes her hotter. Until I see proof though I'll just continue believing that the only people who listen to slam metal are rednecks from Texas and wiggers from New Jersey.