Kansas City’s own Existem opened up the show with their particular brand of muscular progressive metal. What sets Existem apart from a lot of other modern progressive metal bands is the fact that they do not allow an overreliance on technical skills (which they clearly have in spades) to get in the way of writing memorable, traditionally-structured songs. This, combined with grooves, melodic hooks, and ambient passages showcase a style that has been drawn from a vast array of influences that have coagulated into a sound that is very much their own.
Phobophilic made another appearance in Lawrence in a relatively short time that has elapsed since opening up the Carcass show at the Granada back on the Green Lord’s Day of 4/20. I have to say that Phobophilic’s brand of cavernous death metal struck a chord with me this time around in a way that they didn’t when I saw them with Carcass. It could have been anything that made the difference, but I’m chalking it up this time to standing at the front of the stage and letting the rotten power emanating from their amps encompass me as if I were drowning in the murky depths of oil-slicked swamps.
Between bands, I briefly saw vocalist Kelly Shaefer of Atheist talking with fans outside and he was clearly slurring his words, if only slightly. Halfway into Atheist‘s set, in which they were playing selected tracks from their first three albums, Shaefer readily admitted to smoking (presumably weed) and drinking prior to the band’s performance. I feared that he would be making a fool of himself onstage as I vividly imagined his walking backward and tripping over himself into the drumset, but his somewhat faded condition didn’t phase a performance that, for even a vocalist, demands a high degree of cognitive acuity. One of my favorite moments of the entire show was when Shaefer asked the crowd about halfway through the performance, “This is Kansas. Aren’t you all sinning here by being here [on a Sunday]?” In response, the man standing next to me yelled, “NOT TODAY JESUS!”
Shaefer is the only original member of Atheist that still tours. Drummer Steve Flynn appears to still be an official member of the band, but the band has used different live drummers since 2019. Despite a band made up of entirely young newcomers Atheist‘s set was flawless, and, perhaps as a direct result of the average age of the current band, overflowing with energy. Bassist Yoav Ruiz-Feingold spun and bounced around the stage, and in between those gymnastics, he regularly approached the edge of the stage and yelled at the crowd as if he were possessed and in drastic need of an exorcist. It was a level of sincerity in a metal performance that I haven’t witnessed in a long time, especially by such a young (by the average age of the current members) band.
Despite Atheist putting on an absolutely crushing performance, I was sometimes distracted while thinking about the considerations that go into continuing or reforming a band even if nearly all of the original members are no longer in the band. Even when Atheist released their 2010 comeback album Jupiter without either founding guitarist Rand Burkey or even guitarist Frank Emmi, to say nothing of bassist Tony Choy, who has become somewhat of a legend in progressive metal circles, having been a session musician for Cynic, Pestilence, and Atheist. Is it enough that a member or members carry on the “spirit” of the band without having been principal songwriters? I can’t say that I have any definitive answers to this question, but I do wonder what qualifies a band as “not being the same” anymore once that happens.
On the other hand, Cynic‘s only remaining founding member is Paul Masvidal, the principal songwriter of the band. For their set, Cynic played their legendary and highly influential 1993 album Focus from start to finish as well as a few more recent tracks following that. I never thought I would be able to say that I saw Cynic play live, much less say that I saw Cynic perform Focus all the way through, but there I was.
Focus by Cynic has been one of my top 10 all-time favorite metal albums for nearly 20 years now. Superficially, it came into my life when I was still trying to make technical advances in my guitar playing. In many ways, it was a formative album for me in that it convinced me that I would probably never reach the technical prowess that was really demanded of me if I were to play progressive death metal like Cynic or mathcore like The Dillinger Escape Plan. While I’m disciplined in a lot of ways, I am not disciplined when it comes to my guitar playing. Perhaps it was, in part, the impetus for my next band to play power pop and focus entirely on writing infectious rock songs after my previous band, a technical grindcore band, had broken up. But, somehow, in spite of the technical wizardry displayed on Focus, the band wrote solidly structured songs that flowed effortlessly. In my opinion, there is really no better example of that balance between smart songwriting and technical prowess in metal than Focus.
But on a deeper level, Focus is a spiritual journey that to me represents the elusive and illusory nature of reality. To me, there is a spiritual striving if not slight desperation prevalent throughout the entire album. Whereas a lot of death metal is relegated to viscerally exploring the limitations and destruction of the human body, Focus yearns for elevation beyond the material world. This is apparent even in the song titles themselves as the opening track’s “Veil of Maya” title refers to the Advaita Vedanta school of Hindu philosophy’s concept of “the powerful force that creates the cosmic illusion that the phenomenal world is real.”
Their performance of Focus was just as any fan of the album would expect: flawless. Masvidal barely said a word to the crowd, but when he did I remember thinking that he sounded a little unsure of himself. This, in addition to the fact that he at one point assumed the tree pose in the middle of the song, made his stage presence a little awkward at times. But the awkwardness did not detract from the incredible performance by Masvidal or the rest of the band.
After Cynic had finished the last notes of “How Could I?”, the entire band exited the stage. Masvidal returned shortly thereafter with what appeared to be sage, which he then burned and waved around the stage. He then turned around and bowed in front of the banners featuring the black and white images of Sean Reinert and Sean Malone, who both played on Focus, former members of the band who both passed away unexpectedly in 2020. I am fairly ignorant when it comes to matters of spirituality, but I believe that sage rituals (often called smudging rituals) are conducted in order to cleanse or bless the energy of a space. It was unclear, but I wonder if Paul did that to “appease” the souls of Reinert and Malone. It’s hard to say.
If I’m being completely honest, my cynical side almost got the best of me as my initial thought was that the entire ritual was a bit too performative and silly. But who am I to say how Masvidal should honor the lives of two of his former bandmates? I wondered why my initial reaction to what appeared to be a sincere tribute to the lives of Reinert and Malone was one of snide skepticism.
Malicious Intent contributor Wulf, on a recent Butt Metal Blast Cast episode, mentioned that he suspects the reason that we make fun of metal, a genre of music that we all love and has at different points in our lives defined our identity to various degrees, is because it is often so sincere. This was echoed, albeit somewhat less eloquently, by Whitechapel’s vocalist Phil Bozeman who said that “Nothing is scary and serious anymore. Everything’s a meme, everything’s a joke. I miss like the scariness of shit.”
I think I can agree with that sentiment. I sense that a lot of younger bands, especially, have been subsumed by the current zeitgeist of ironic detachment that seems so prevalent across most art forms. There is often a noticeable difference between the sincerity with which I see older bands take to the stage versus the younger bands who, whether through their self-effacing stage banter or their ironic smirks after making insincere “guitar faces”, seem to keep their connection to the music at a distance.
With all this in mind, I find it refreshing that there are still musicians who take their craft sincerely and hold it so closely because art like Focus deserves as much.