New York's diffuse metal scene has the distinct advantage (for me, at least) of containing many laid back people who eschew silly metal's oft-silly pageantry to focus purely on the music. This phenomenon could be seen in action at Pontiak's Friday night show at Cakeshop, which had nary a spiked collar in attendance but balls to spare. I arrived in time to catch guy-girl duo Orphan, which, with its stripped down, riff-based blues metal, is strictly in the business of rocking out. Most songs were instrumental, but bassist Brendan Majewski occasionally let rip with some high, nasal, appropriately menacing vocals. Badass drummer chick Speck Brown pounded out viscerally moving, Sabbath-esque beats, and energy crackled between the two as they maintained eye contact in service of tight-as-fuck changes. This band is the reason I show up for openers. Next, Virginia's Pontiak played a slightly more fleshed out take on the genre via bass, guitar, drums, keys and beards. Occasional Norse-god-esque vocals didn't overdo it, and when all the beardos sang at once it had a spooky, meditative effect, like evil monks praying. These guys know when to get quiet such that the noisy parts hit harder. They slid into psychedelic jams without ever getting wanky, showing their rural Virginia roots with elements like bottleneck guitar. Despite their chilled out demeanor, they knew how to headbang during solos, and were not without a certain playfulness, teasing the audience with the intro from Warpigs before launching into yet another atmospheric original. "Thanks, we're available for weddings," deadpanned singer Van Carney.
Despite my utter musical satisfaction, the crowd's sparseness troubled me. Why weren't more people catching such awesomely evil music on a Friday? Stop sleeping on metal, folks. Didn't you get the memo from Vice? Metal is cool, no jocks will beat you up for liking it because they're all fat now, and you don't even have to grow your hair long if you don't want to. What more could you possibly want? Go forth and rock.
