Genitorturers Violate McGuffys House of Rock… Again

McGuffy’s known for a long storied history of bringing in the best local/national bands might also be considered one of the bravest. Saturday November 3^rdthey brought back one of metals most ballsy and brazen acts both in performance, visuals and themes. The Genitorturers, Tampa’s answer to extreme Vaudeville meets sadistic role play meets simulated ‘physical activity’ brought the BlackHeart Revolution back to Dayton for another night of intense debauchery, naughty nemphoism, and general overall depravity. They’ve probably scared Alice Cooper once or twice too.

Not only did the crowd get a tour de force of tantalizing freak show tinsel town as the main event they got two more bands as different to each other as they were to their ‘dominating’ headliner. Tonight may have been one of the most musically diverse bills to play the Mcguffy’s stage.

High energy openers The Campaign 1984 have been making dirty southern rock with a sexy cynical edge on the east coast since 2004. Namesake based on the George Orwell novel. Matt Anderson’s stage performance and presence is as much about the music as it his own facial delivery of lyrical themes and subject matter. You may not be quite sure what he’s saying here and there, though his vocals are clean you can tell from every comical/cartoonish expression, eye role, movement  that he’s having fun and feeling it whether it’s delivered in sarcasm or sincerity. They’ve opened for Slash, Buck Cherry, Jackal and Red among others. 2010’s Sessions marks their fourth CD showcasing an always evolving sound. Stand in line for this Black Country Communion whisky bottle in hand with some AC/DC style rock with a black magic edge and a bit of North Carolina BLS Pride and Glory.  The slobber nockered bluesy jam blasts off with Queen of the Damned about one of the nasties of the street lit evening underworld. We get some Hot Love from the Werewolves of the industrial revolution. Slingblade (not the movie) tells us about those special ‘scene girls’ who’ve probably earned their rep for being Dixie Dynamite. They leave us drinking from the triple X’d jug with a Kiss. The campaign’s a black top gravel in the face dose of full-tank high octane trucker road rock ready for the next all-nighter.

Dayton’s Close The Hatch is not as much a band as it’s a disturbing musical assault on the mind and the bizarre, noir images the mind conjures during their shows. Their music is almost instrumental except for the intense Crowbar like growls of Stephen Barton. They play music that dream weaves its way into your subconscious and mental lobes. They incorporate a slow heavy sound with a classical edge and effects giving off a weird, eerie melancholy ambiance. Feelings of trauma and trepidation seep off stage slowing finger crawling toward the audience like a misty apparition.  It’s a slow musical journey into insanity with straight jacket wall slamming and a little bit of blissful serenity added to the gloom. They’ve figured out what an acid trip during a suicide note would sound like. They create multiple moments playing serene surroundings putting the mind in places it’s not exactly familiar or ok with. Imagine being in the high of a high in the deep end of a pool, floating near the bottom looking up at the sun’s reflection through the murphy clear waves, under the induced tranquil state of peaceful serenity unaware of the fast approaching panic your body tries to warn you. That last moment of dreamlike calm when your eyes close, body shuts down and permanently drift away. They’ve captured it. This is music for serial killers with serious mood swings.  Musically they’re Meshuggah meets Tool mediated by Opeth with the Deftones hanging around.

Now ladies and gentleman, boys and girls it’s time to watch what would happen if Wendy O Willams was resurrected by The Great Kat and both joined the circus, the devilishly delightful hostess of dominatrix Miss Gen. Clad throughout the evening in leather and lace, cape and illuminating top hat she was always dressed to kill. Playing the devils concubine, she’s the femme fatale to Dani’s filth, the queen to King Diamond’s dark kingdom and the conductor of the traveling ritualistic Sodom and Gomorrah metal road show that is The Genitorturers. Where there’s no shame, no taboos, no act too shocking and no liquid or dessert topping too good not to indulge in. If you like your loud metal shows full of lewd acts, Gwar-like costumes champagne simulations and whip cream climaxes you’re in for a sweet treat. They emerge through a blood splattered entrance way opening with their smash hit Cum Junkie, mistress Gen plays with her toys including an incriminating shiny butcher knife, some cute altered baby dolls, a whip and a few humans with a fetish for perverse PDA’s willing to experiment and experience the genitorture. The cast of damnation includes cutters, pole riders, an adult sized baby fresh from the morgue, an overbearing/over ruling judge whose moral/Miranda authority’s quickly diminished by majority rule. It’s thematically an X rated show done with horror movie elements, plenty of depravity, industrial gothic sound, side show sizzle, Halloween hijinks and back room sex club perversity with a creative, artsy feel.  She pulls out the evil inside her with a Devil in a Bottle and some Jim Bean unleashing her inner demons into the mic. It’s time to do some evil things, play tempting seduction games with a lollipop and deflower some virgins. One scantily clad lady comes out and makes a religious statement. It’s a busy multi-tasking sex show, without the nudity. We’ll Take It anyway they wanna give it, no pain no gain. They’re Public Enemy Number 1 in Sin City and the moral justice police just gave up the chase. They finished up by vocally touching themselves and saying goodnight. Something wicked definitely came.