Neurosis w/ Mastodon: January 24, 2008 at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple

There are countless ways for a band to work a crowd. Some artists use witty banter to endear themselves to an audience, or make blatant entreaties for physical and aural reactions. Others wow assemblages with pyrotechnics, laser lights and massive stage shows fit for Broadway musicals. Many metal bands thrash about wildly while they play, in hopes that their own physical exertion will inspire onlookers to jump, dance, mosh—to move. Still others rely on sheer swagger, exuding a level of bravado that demands attention if nothing else. When Neurosis and opener Mastodon took the stage for the first show of a two night stint at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple, it quickly became clear that the bands weren’t interested in any of the aforementioned approaches. Art and music—loud, intricate, dissonant—was all they would present.

The concert’s logistics gave the evening a distinguished air. The revered Oakland quintet Neurosis would play two nights in Brooklyn supporting their latest release, Given To The Rising, an album which continues the band’s 20 year evolution from a dirty, doomy, hardcore band into an avante-garde metal outfit. The shows stood alone, not part of any tour, and Neurosis’s hand-picked opener was Mastodon, whose popularity and critical acclaim have made them the darlings of the metal scene in recent years. In case there was any question as to the import of the affair, there were dated, commemorative (and no doubt limited edition) posters on sale for $15. And if the whole evening verged on the side of self-seriousness, well, it can be forgiven; the bands that played are a cut above the vast majority of their peers.

This was a happening and judging by their set list, Mastodon was well aware. They opened with “Hearts Alive,” the longest song the band has ever recorded, a swirling, 13-minute opus that would play as well at Bonnaroo as at Wacken. By the time the song was finished, it felt like they’d performed an entire concert—the stoner metal jams, the thrash riffs, the epic guitar solo were all there. The decision to ease into the performance rather than going straight for the jugular felt like a nod to the headlining act, whose recent output demands patience, building and building until it explodes. Mastodon then launched into “The Wolf Is Loose,” a lean, nasty, hardcore song that quickly jarred the crowd out of the stupor left by the previous tune. The band’s 75-minute set delved deep into their latest album, Blood Mountain, and dusted off rarely-heard cuts from their 2002 full-length debut, Remission. Most of the band’s singles (live show staples) were omitted; they knew they weren’t playing to the Ozzfest crowd.

As Neurosis hit the opening notes of “Given To The Rising,” Dave Edwardson’s bass shook the room, and his monstrous low end continued throbbing for the next hour and a half. The rhythm section, comprised of Edwardson and drummer Jason Roeder, held together the music, which teetered on the edge of disorder all night without ever collapsing. Neurosis’s greatest strength may be their ability to maintain a discernible beat in the midst of some of the densest, heaviest music imaginable.

Guitarists Scott Kelly and Steve Von Till played lumbering, dirgeful riffs, mostly from the latest record, while Noah Landis added layers of texture with samples and keys. Their use of dynamics ensured that the listener never became immune to the band’s crushing heaviness; the muted, melodic bleeps which began “To The Wind” sounded more like indie rock than heavy metal, but that song became one of the creepiest and most brutal of the night.

Neurosis did utilize visuals (courtesy of sixth member Josh Graham) in the form of a screen that played repeating, black and white video clips; the disjointed imagery included shadowy figures, crashing waves, distraught human faces. The band parallels Tool both in its artistry and challenging music, and its penchant for abstract, creepy videos. Never superceding the music, this visual art complemented the songs all the way through closer “The Doorway,” off 1999’s Times of Grace. During “The Doorway,” the band made a calculated descent into the chaos it had been toying with all night, and the slow, sinister music reached its natural conclusion: a droning, impenetrable wall of pure noise, lasting close to five minutes. Once the audience was locked in a trance, the show ended on a final, brief note, and the band walked offstage without uttering a word. In fact, neither band addressed the audience at any point. They didn’t need to.