Concert Tue Sep 20 2011

Review: Weedeater @ Reggie's 9/18

[This review comes to us from writer Jason P. Olexa. He can be found on Twitter at @TacoHugsPHD.]

"Dixie" Dave Collins strode onto the stage of Reggie's Rock Club in Chicago's south side with his bass slung low. He braced his legs into a perfect sea captain's stance and directed his steely glare across the mass assembled to see his band, Weedeater, perform. After taking a long draw from his tall-boy of Old Style, Dixie smiled, revealing a mouth of gold, and lead his band of warriors into "Hammer Handle," the first crushing reverie from Weedeater's newest album Jason... The Dragon (Southern Lord, 2011). Drummer "Keko" Keith Kirkum and Dixie annexed large swaths of sonic low end in their quest to find the perfect rollicking laid back beer-in-a-paper-bag rock groove. Dave "Shep" Shepherd's guitar amp spit purple fog as the words of Dr. Stephen Strange from Marvel Team-Up, Volume One, Issue 21 flashed across his mind "There are few things in the infinite cosmos that are far beyond my power to command". Shep conjured a psychedelic metal riff from the ether that slithered its way onto the audience's amygdalae. Dixie lolled his head back, feeling the groove roll over him and hunched over the mic ready to deliver. The spirit of Bon Scott was called back to this level of existence through Dixie's whiskey soaked vocal chords. The gathered Chicago metal warlocks raised their hands in elaborate eldritch claws and rasped the lyrics into the rapidly shrinking space between the audience and the performers. The assembled spell casters with precognitive abilities knew this was the beginning of another masterful display of muscular southern metal from Weedeater. In the dim corners of the rock club one began to imagine a gathering of spirit animals taking shape and tapping a keg for one hell of a cosmic party.

In the tradition of the south's greatest creations, Weedeater mixes a prideful blue collar work ethic and that noble desire to treat each and every day like the weekend. Other great southern creations include vinegar-based BBQ sauce, Duck-Rabbit Craft Brewery, Three 6 Mafia, and Ghost Rider. In the months that follow the zombie infestation of 2012, our Weedeater bros will be laughing at BBQ while swigging moonshine. In comparison, all-star quarterback Tom Brady will be hiding in his New England compound, hoarding all of Maryland's crab harvest, and trying to drown his guilt over the 2010 Pats playoff performance. The entire audience at Reggie's would rather be with Weedeater. You would have to fight off the occasional zombie attack, but you'd be able to raise your animal husbandry skills, eat the delicious BBQ pork, and have rocking tunes.

A militant backbeat announced the arrival of "Jason... The Dragon". Shep dropped a giant's guitar riff over the top. In the space between Keko's urgent march and Shep's exploration into the macro-verse of guitar playing Dixie's Piratical bark constructed a tale of a nautical mutiny. Reggie's expanded and contracted like a giant's ribcage as Weedeater stomped through the entirety of Jason... The Dragon. "Whiskey Creek" elongates as the band discovered secret grooves and passageways hidden along its smoky song path. The patron saint of Weedeater, Mancoon, whispered into their ears, "Play one more song" and even more frequently "Enjoy one more libation in my name". The bad-ass rock gods set up shop in the framework of "Weed Monkey," as a rare feat for a metal show happens. The audience soaked in 90 minutes of the feel good, cut-loose-it's-the-weekend vibes, moved from head banging and beer swigs into movements that most would consider a dance. On stage, Dixie bore his golden teeth again and beamed his highest praise "Chicago, you know how to party."

-Jason P. Olexa