Wednesday, September 14 the ghoulishly loud ungodly horde that is Wednesday 13 brought their 20 Years of Fear Tour to Riverfront Live in front of a crowd of rabid, dedicated fans ready for the dug up decibels and delivery only they could unearth.
It was a long, steady, sweaty set of old-school favorites, classics, newer tunes and some brand new material from the new Horrifier release.
Fans were also treated to two of the area’s best live acts with Cincinnati’s spooky Samhein meets Sauin veterans Pagan Holiday and the spontaneous adrenaline junkie presence of Tiger Sex.
It was a few weeks before October but for the dark-embraced Pagan’s every day of the Halloween-themed month and for that matter every day of the year was a celebration of all things sacred to horror fans.
They brought the mid-week goods starting the show with headliners that would’ve been burned at the stake century’s back, on appearance alone. The gang got in the heretical mood pretty quick sporting cultish garb of the witch burning days complete with executioners mask and black robe. It was definitely a room with a view and a nice set under pale moonlit stage illumination.
The asylum doors creaked open with a loud wrenching clank, greeting new arrivals with psychotic eyes and grinning, grating teeth. It’s a “Room with a View” the voices within the walls screamed extending arms . It was a good night, to be a Nosferatu, “When Shadows Fall” the freaks come out wide and wild-eyed from the crypt. The dark robotic start of “Torched by an Angel” washed into its new wave, ‘80s ambiance, a dance floor metaphor for dark-winged fallen creature’s spread eagle. Glenn, Jerry and Doyle weren’t around but the pagans were happy to rep for The Misfits with “Sex, Drugs & Formaldehydes’” dirty, punk-punch, flavored with all things embalmed and resurrected.
The three members of Tiger Sex together played a unique formula harkening back to the days when punk was legitimately dangerous and band members and fans could get injured or leave wounded. It was a loud audible middle finger salute to mid-70’s London, the forefathers of hardcore, punk and anything goes stage anarchy.
The voice of the Tiger, Kelly Chelston with unique Sex appeal screamed, yelled and otherwise treated the stage like vintage punk fodder marking her tambourine bashing territory. The set was a modern slice of the authentic-vintage punk experience from the day.. In the dark reflection of GG Allen, The Sex Pistols and CBGB’s, Tiger Sex created a modern day, ‘70s to early ‘80s throw back vibe, minus the safety pins and spiked gloves, back when Johnny, Sid and Nancy made headlines trashing, thrashing venues and themselves.
Chelston draped in ‘80s attire, shredded clothes, hair spiked, eyes blackened created a vibe of dangerous, unpredictability and tension with uncertainty created with every cathartic, seemingly out of control movement made. Watching her perform, no one in the venue knew what she’d do or happen next. A few fans got a unique meet and greet with well-soled liquid.
A moshpit or some old-school pit moves would’ve fit right in. Seeing people ‘pick up change’ or do the ‘windmill’ would’ve been OG cool. They created an atmosphere where blood could’ve been spilled.
Six loud strings and drums carried her voice and body across the stage, body hitting, planting the floor, rolling around, in bizarre gymnastic stance and dance. Her eyes scoured the crowd, gaze searing as throat gave voice to the bizarre looks and stares with a world of lyrical thoughts juggling in her head.
Watching the reckless abandon of body, limbs and balance was like non-stop cathartic poetry written by unsteady hands scribbling verse of a modern day Wendy O Williams. In a new age Mad Max with an Iggy Pop edge. Though that night, it was authentic booted beer and not hand thrown jarred peanut butter. It was a show, depending on the crowd that could’ve gone anywhere from PG to R depending on the mood.
The term possessed in performance is used often but not always seen in literal action. “Lick My Kicks” wrangled the hardcore fans willing to partake in a personal liquid experience getting booted in the face with a smile. It wasn’t Overkill’s Wrecking Crew version but their stamp on “Fuck You” screamed loud, seeping with punk-style radiation and attitude like their out of control singer in the best of ways. She might’ve been the talking head of the beast but the gentlemen around her provided the working parts of the wicked sounding machine.
Wednesday 13 began looking just emerged from Frankenstein’s operating room, still jittery and smoking from the volts. Pale faced in mortem and possessed by the night they took the stage, puncturing ears like Ed Gein’s first desecrating shovel strike.
The show began loud and proud from the underground sporting The Dixie Dead “Bloodsucker’s.” It was straight out and straight up “Hideous” with double-jointed head spinning action.
With a little sip of ghoulish gore the bats came out early and near the end dragging in something poisonous from the darkest, dankest parts of 90210.
Wednesday looked part Captain Howdy, part haunted misfit was draped and dappered in black, rearing and ready to reap souls with his bare gloved hands, with no bone left unturned. It was like watching a coroner use KISS makeup to help resume a tortured soul.
The night resembled the spooky early rawness of KISS in their club days, Though Wednesday and brood resembled angry rigor-corpses more than comic characters. The evening’s necro-mance with the fans pulled them in like waiting for a Dr. West injection.
Most releases were raised and repped like loud creaking riffing casket doors. It was game on and grave open, playing with loud six and four-string shovels and deep digging drums.
Dual Skeletons were sung and dangled through the speakers. Monsters and “Serpents” came out to Plague before the next new tune “Good Day to be a Bad Guy..”
They played a worthy tribute to the immortal masked Murder’ drumming’ doll Joey Jordison. The show still had time for a few costume changes for Wednesday as they did their heaviest tune to date..
He came out in shiny, slick butchers apron, awaiting the bludgeoning ready to slice, dice, maim and mutilate the “Insides out” of everyone there. It wasn’t quite Texas Chainsaw but Leatherface would’ve been proud to wear Wednesday’s face.
He appreciated everyone that came out but also said, with condolences and respect they wanted very bad things to happen to everyone there.
The most disrespectful umbrella in history came out, with a giant open domed gesture. It could’ve also been the ultimate flip off to bad weather too. Wednesday twirled with showmanship skill like summoning the dark-side of Mary Poppins. With respect to Overkill, only Wednesday 13 could end the evening with the ultimate fuck you salute. .
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Images by Mike Ritchie
