Concert Review: The Grindcrusher Tour May 1991


Always one for cultural evenings, I bounced my happy cheeks on down to The Pompadour with newfound sobriety intact. I could have used a good fifth after what was in store for me. 

For starters, one of them Bad Yodelers accosted me over a glaring error I made concerning the Bad Brains reissue I mentioned last month. Add one barker barking on my foolish mistake and you had misery. I also managed to muster up the courage to approach a woman I’ve wanted since I’ve made my special guest appearance here in Utah, only to learn that she’s five years my senior and in love with someone else. On top of this, I missed the opening set by Nocturnus. At that point, the score was: two old timers preparing to drop kick my ignorant little ass, one unrequited love, one missing band and a completely sober perspective on the issues at hand.

Godflesh at The PompadourIn the middle of this confusion, Godflesh came onstage and managed to alienate the audience within the first two minutes of their incredible “Love Is a Dog From Hell” tune. It’s been a while since I’ve seen an entire audience stand still and wonder what in the fuck was going on. From here on out, the band began to anesthetize the audience with its seductive drone of minimalism until rendering the gentle listener catatonic, then pulling the plug instantaneously. No one seemed quite sure what to make of it. My humble opinion was that of another fellow audience member, “Fucking brilliant!”

Headliner Napalm Death were up shortly thereafter, much to the rabid delight of our audience. Napalm probably could have just stood onstage breathing and everyone probably would have gone absolutely nuts. In this case, the audience managed not only the nuts, but the entire fucking trail mix. Napalm’s psychopathic assault was absolutely incredible and I found myself laughing so hard at these guys literally going apeshit onstage. These guys are great! Their vocalist was the missing link between Satan and a really pissed pitbull. The bass sounded like a dinosaur being gorged. Their drummer literally beat the living shit out of his kit, keeping a steady vibration of absolute mayhem. As my cranium cracked and central nervous system failure set in, I found myself wiping the brains off my shoulders as they gushed from my ears. When it was all said and done, I set about trying to find what little I had to begin with.

Grindcrusher was intense, though not the revolutionary experience I was hoping for. I did, however, manage to get a pretty nice perspective on what the decimation of an atomic warhead would be like. The psychogenic trauma I suffered in getting politely rejected paled in comparison to what I subjected myself to, and you know what? I hope these guys come back soon.


For more from the SLUG Archives:
June 1990: Local National Record And Tape Reviews

Dear Dickheads: September 1990