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Kick Out the Jams

Hotwire, Skindred and Nonpoint at the Huntridge, Mon., Apr. 14

Here's a lesson, kids, that might save you a lot of embarrassment at a future social gathering: Just because someone hands you a microphone doesn't mean that you have to talk into it. Sure, maybe you're a nouveau Patrick Henry, your quill o'erflowing with prophetic rhetorical barbs; but more than likely you're gonna end up sounding like Hotwire's Rus Martin, who regaled the handful of indifferent youngsters at the Huntridge Monday with a slew of banter that inspired shrugs and eye rolls from even the most gawky pre-teens.

Although a comprehensive catalog of Martin's repartee is impossible in such a limited forum, among the evening's classics were "Oh my God, Vince Neil is here" (a gibe that seemed particularly bizarre for the fact that no one in the crowd had anything that remotely resembled the poofy mane or swollen belly of the middle-aged chunkrocker) and an interlude during which Martin insisted that everyone who was planning to go to this year's Ozzfest raise their hands. And it's sort of sad too because, between Martin's bouts of hemming and hawing, Hotwire churned out some potent metalcore--most notably with the cacophonous grind of "Rugburn" and the firecracker blues of "Magazine" (both slated to appear on Hotwire's forthcoming major-label debut, The Routine). Most of it, though, was drowned out by Martin's protracted blathering, a fact that made his closing remarks--"That's all we have to say tonight. Thank you"--all the more eloquent.

Fortunately, Euro-thrashers Skindred were not nearly so chatty. Fusing the seemingly dissonant virtues of Shaggy, Helmet and Bad Brains into an onslaught of ragga-metal raunch, Skindred alternately bounced and raged through a set that included "Brain Killa" and the predictably titled "Babylon." And when Skindred did talk, people listened. Like when dreadlocked frontman Benji demanded, "Don't bullshit me; put your hands in the air"--an order that most of the crowd was inclined to follow after he threatened to drag a heckler outside and give him "a sound rogering" after the show (a threat he punctuated with a series of violent hip thrusts).

Which left the stage set for nu-metal meatheads Nonpoint--an opportunity that they promptly squandered with their repellent blend of retread lyrics and watered-down rage. Failing to draft off Skindred's momentum, Nonpoint repeatedly implored the crowd to "Wake the fuck up!" as it lumbered through lifeless renditions of "Mint" and "Get Inside." And, to the dismay of the starry-eyed maidens lining the stage, the band refused to indulge the crowd with its one semi-notable hit, "Your Signs." "We don't play that anymore," said stern-chinned singer Elias Soriano in response to a series of screeched entreaties--words that for many might have been the most annoying of the night.--Newt Briggs