Some shows are concerts. Others are full-blown experiences. This one? A blood-soaked, pit-fueled, no-holds-barred assault on every sense you have.
From the moment doors opened, you could feel it—this wasn’t a casual crowd. This was the kind of lineup that pulls in lifers, pit veterans, and the curious first-timers (like me) who quickly realize they’re about to get way more than they bargained for.
King Parrot came out swinging—no buildup, no easing in. Just chaos.
Frontman Matthew Young didn’t just perform—he invaded. Jumping off stage, screaming directly into faces at the barricade, blurring the line between band and crowd. It was gritty, unfiltered, and exactly what an opener should be: a warning shot.
Their set was tight, aggressive, and weirdly fun—highlighted by crowd shoutbacks that felt half catharsis, half bar fight. By the end, the pit was awake, loose, and ready for what was to come.
Then Soulfly took that energy and sharpened it into something heavier—something controlled.
Max Cavalera doesn’t ask for a crowd reaction—he commands it.
The second those tribal grooves kicked in, the pit transformed. Circle pits opened on cue and the floor became a constant rotation of fists, boots, and adrenaline.
There’s something about Soulfly live that hits different—it’s not just aggression, it’s rhythm. It pulls you in, locks you down, and doesn’t let go. By the time they closed with “Eye For An Eye,” the room was fully primed for what was coming next.
And then… GWAR… I wasn’t fully prepared, but had been primed all day with the early crowd waiting for barricade. I still wasn’t prepared.
There’s no easing into a GWAR set. One second it’s a stage, the next it’s an intergalactic battlefield.
Costumes towering, weapons swinging, and within minutes—SOAKED. Not metaphorically. Fully, unapologetically soaked. That signature mix of satire, gore, and absurdity hits immediately, with over-the-top “executions” and chaotic theatrics that somehow never overshadow the music.
And that’s the thing people forget—beneath all the insanity, GWAR is tight. Like, surgically tight. Every cue hits, every transition lands, and the band never loses control of the chaos they create.
Fans leaned into it—arms up, faces open, fully accepting the inevitable spray like some kind of bloody metal baptism. It’s gross, it’s hilarious, it’s theatrical—and it works.
By the end of the night, everyone’s exhausted, soaked, and grinning like they just survived something.
Because we did.
If you walked in clean, calm, and composed—you definitely didn’t leave that way.
Melissa O’Rourke aka WickedWitchofSTL is a jack of all trades. By day she’s an established tattooist and piercer, by night a mother to her amazing son (who is a hell of a guitarist). Melissa has a musical background and can often be found at a local karaoke joint, or a concert when she’s not driving across the country for an adventure. This social butterfly always welcomes conversation so come say hi! See y’all at the next gig!
