A whipper of an evening with Valient Thorr

Sat next to Valient Himself, himself at the Black Cat’s bar before his show last week.  An exceptionally affable Rasputin looking fellow and former teacher who, when Valient Thorr is not touring with Motörhead or playing Nordic metal festivals, is a benevolent son who donated a kidney to his ailing earth father “Pop”.

Lead hair guitar.

Those grizzly cosmic minstrels hail from Burlatia on that planet Venus, packing their galactic luggage with scorching metal jams of salvation (no room for shaving kits) in an intrepid mission save our putrid souls; ravaged by desperate right-wing entitlement, duplicitous corporate greed and toxic sour grapes.  The teeth swelling licks and sweaty enthusiasm will have any budding Thorrior crapping sideways for a week through bleeding ears.

White people with beards and no shirts can dance.

First caught a hypnotic whiff of Valient Thorr over a few “Super Awesome’s” (bourbon rickey) when a raging band of unkempt troubadours thrashed about silently on FuelTV overhead but rattled my body down to its core.  The gnarly angels’ steel claw riffs can skewer marrow and it might as well have been Eidan Thorr scraping abscessed frets on my 6-string shinbones.

Barbasol Tour ’09

Difficult to make out any of the savory lyrics during the show despite being so close to the 4000 watt speakers, but the grinding  motivational gospel and headbanging fury of encouragement was frighteningly clear: “It doesn’t matter where you’re from, it’s where you’re at and what you’re gonna do.”