Immediately after entering The Machine for the first time (a largish, table-filled dark club featuring a long mirrored bar and about 200 bored patrons), I was glad I was late. The bill featured no less than seven openers, all unoriginal local acts, and nearly everyone in the club was sitting in chairs wearing glazed, vacant expressions. Listening to hours of live bland death metal bands is a tiring experience, as I've found. I moved to the bar with my buddy and drank.

I noticed the members of Pro-Pain walking amongst the crowd, chatting and keeping the bartenders busy. For my part, I killed time during the last four openers by watching the final innings of the World Series on a snowy television. When the Yankees clinched the title, Pro-Pain held a number of loud toasts with some of their roadies (Gary Meskil kept bumping into me with his back, once nearly knocking me off my stool).

Finally, Crisis started setting up their equipment, and me and my buddy ambled to the stage. I had never seen or heard Crisis. I first noticed that the short, elfish woman with ridiculously long blonde dreadlocks who had been anonymously sitting for hours behind the makeshift vendors' tables selling T-shirts was actually the lead singer.

Crisis bowled over the audience. Karyn Crisis was a flurry of motion, prancing and stomping across every square inch of stage. Her voice was as powerful as any singer's I had ever heard live (except Deicide's Glen Benton), but what set her apart was her wildly peculiar arsenal of shrieks and screams. I thought she was strangely attractive. A steady stream of females moved up for a closer look as the set progressed. As for the music, Crisis served a full helping of eerie riffs and tempos that got the pit moving, at times reminiscent of Disincarnate or Godflesh. According to the crowd's reaction, it's a safe bet Crisis won't be an opening act for much longer.

For every time I've seen a "new" cool band at a show, I've had to sit through numerous stinkers. Voivod let the air out of the crowd's balloon immediately with a string of dry tunes as flavorless as a cone without ice cream. I was startled to see the guitarist play a solo with a toy laser pistol with blinking lights. The audience stood motionless throughout, as if replaced by stuffed dummies. Most retreated to the chairs and tables. Me, my buddy, and those around us found a great deal of amusement watching the antics of a drunken couple moving around at the stage (the ONLY ones moving around). The girl, pretty and dressed in black, spilled beer from her waving bottle and danced amongst the stuffed dummies, pushing those within reach but receiving no response. The guy, a tall blonde with impeccably combed hair and a tucked-in collared shirt, bopped around like Gomer Pyle and grinned incessantly. The Voivod singer watched them as well. He looked bored stiff. At the show's end, the guitarist fired some playful shots at the crowd with the toy gun. The only cheer I heard was someone yelling "You guys fucking suck!" My buddy gave me his personal review: "Avoidvod."

While the Pro-Pain equipment was being set up, I checked out the T-shirt table. Karyn was still (ever since her set ended) surrounded by a circle of new fans. Gary and Tom Klimchuck handled the Pro-Pain merchandise. I asked for a red top with a small *Contents Under Pressure* logo. Gary informed me that they only had small and medium sizes left. He turned to the two styles of black Pro-Pain jackets.

"What about this jacket here?" He stepped to the side and stretched one out by the sleeve. "I'll give you this for fifteen bucks - same price as the T. You can't beat that. Those shirts went right away, but the jacket's a good deal."

I declined and returned to my beer, with a feeling that I was at some bizarre sort of heavy metal flea market or something.

The crowd had thinned out considerably, thanks to the departed local bands' entourages, the Voivod set, and the late hour. Pro-Pain's first song was a dud that had to be restarted because the microphone kept shocking Gary's mouth. However, a large, violent pit sprang up immediately. As I watched the first few songs at the pit's fringe, I noticed that I stood right next to Afzaal Nasiruddeen of Crisis. I shook his hand and told him his band was cool. Afzaal was a smallish guy, five foot seven tops, and he forayed into the pit during the less-violent moments. Pro-Pain sounded extremely tight and polished, despite its revolving door of band members. As a matter of fact, I stared at the drummer, who I didn't recognize thanks to his long black dreadlocks and Phillippino features. Oh well, another new guy.

Gary implored the crowd to stick around after the show, because one more local band (!!) would follow their set. He announced that they had to be leaving very soon, that they had a twelve-hour drive, that tomorrow's show was a matinee. Pro-Pain then proceeded to play (thanks to the time change that night) until 3 a.m. The lame tunes were left out (even the hit 'One Man Army') and they delivered an avalanche of driving songs, including practically all of *Contents*. I helped Afzaal twice as we pulled the pretty drunk dancing girl off the floor in the pit - she kept losing her shoe. I ran to center stage and hung on, flinging myself around and hitting the monitors. I received a number of bruises and cuts from the chain-link fence I clung to. Pro-Pain sounded terrific; I had a blast.

After encores that seemed longer than Voivod's entire set, they called it a night. Oddly, they retreated to the T-shirt tables again and continued chatting with the sociable members of the crowd (who were still hovering around Karyn). Despite Pro-Pain's urgings, I watched ninety percent of the crowd leave in a minute and a half. I saw the Voivod singer sitting by himself against the back wall, arms folded, watching the activity on the other side of the club. My buddy, who fell asleep at a table during Pro-Pain's extended set, said it was time to go, and I placed the evening in my "cool show" mental file.