If you know me, you know that Halloween mostly means one thing: free Chipotle. Unfortunately, it means the same thing to most of Bloomington, so I missed the first two bands waiting in line for a burrito. From what I've come to understand, this was no big loss. I arrived at Rhino's and shortly afterwards Push-Pull began playing their brand of indie punk nonsense. It was alright. Then there was Jucifer.
On paper, what I just saw was experimental metal duo Jucifer performing songs that were presumably from their last two records, If Thine Enemy Hunger and L'autrichienne, for about an hour. In reality, what I saw was perhaps the most emotionally raw performance I have ever witnessed.
In reality, I saw a man dressed as Jesus Christ punch his cymbals and drums with bleeding knuckles. I saw him break a drumstick in two and launch it skyward with a maniacal scream. I saw him scream and spit at his wife, pointing his drumsticks at her like weapons meant to kill. I saw him pretend to commit suicide by no fewer than three methods (hanging, throat-cutting, and gunshot to the mouth). I saw in his eyes a combination of evil and anger I'll never be able to forget.
In reality, I saw a woman dressed as Cleopatra perform incantations to the devil with a guitar and a microphone. I saw her slam her body against the floor, against the amplifiers. I saw her crawl around on her hands and knees, unintelligibly humming and yelping, summoning demons with her words. I saw her abuse her instrument and her body simultaneously. Hell, I probably saw God.
In reality, I heard an hour-long ruckus of alternating doom metal dirges and breakneck grindcore passages. I heard two people make more noise than it would seem an army should be capable of making. I heard drums and cymbals crashing into heavily distorted chords from a guitar covered in duct tape. I heard the simplest symphony I'll ever hear, and I won't hear much else for the next few days.
In reality, I witnessed pure sonic evil and beautifully raw human emotion in an hour of unbelievable metal performances put on by a married couple that are either absolutely perfect for each other or will end up in the newspapers as a murder-suicide.
But on paper, I guess it's kind of hard to explain.