So a while back I was out at the park and I saw this big guy wandering around in old Victorian clothes monologuing to himself. Now I’ve seen a lotta weird fuckers in my life but this was a little bit out there. He was going on and on in a Shakespearean lingo that I couldn’t make heads or tails out of so after curiosity got the best of me, I wandered over to see what this guy was all about.
I think what he told me was that he’d been out monologuing in the village square one day when some chick started screaming something about him being a witch, he tried his best to ignore the woman but then she started chanting “Stone him! Stone him!” Well this caught on and before he knew it he’d gotten nailed in the head with a giant rock and bam.. he blacked out.
When he awoke, he was downtown Toronto in this park. He really was a space cadet. Everything seemed to bum him right out. A chick skated by on roller blades and this sent him into another monologuing fit something about “wheel footed Harpies”… he really knew nothing of our 21st century ways so I thought it my duty to take him under my wing and teach him what I could.
My first assignment, Rock n Roll. I had an extra ticket to a Black Label Society concert and he came out with me. Turns out the guy is something of a writer so I asked him to write me a story for the opening act, Dope. What he came up with was completely different than any review I’ve ever read. Keep in mind, this was his first attempt at a concert and it took him a good hour or so to get over the sheer volume but I plugged him in a set of earplugs and off he ran into the mosh pit. I was totally impressed. So this here is probably the first of many reviews by my new 18th Century buddy, Andrew. Check this shit out!!
What is one to think of Dope? Could it be that Dope is like a pluck’d string, resonating a tune that only a Muse could inspire – A tune that will propel them to musical heights known only by the gods? Or is Dope more like the capricious zephyr, who’s tune doth curdles the milk of the maiden who saw fit to grace their set by exposing her most righteous funbags? Nay, methinks Dope merely had the dishonour of gracing the stage before Zakk Wylde; a barbarian so menacing that Zeus himself would not challenge the mighty lightning that thunders from his axe, itself forged in the fires of Vesuvius. Faced with a crowd that was no more drunken than disorderly, debauched than doped up, and dependent upon destruction than the Toronto Chapter of the Black Label Society, Dope took to their fates easier than a couple I know from Verona (nice kids, a tad dramatic if you were to ask me)
Surprisingly, to myself, my brethren, and to the maiden with exquisite grapefruits, Dope laid forth a mighty siege, one that even inspired the crowd not to destroy them on sight. Why, Dope was admirable! For, like a drunkard to his ale, they took to the challenge of rocking thy house. Nay, the fleeting night was not without its sorrow. When one doth bask in the essence of a guitar god of Zakk Wyldes stature, a lead singer, despite all inspiration and thought, shall not face the temptation of slinging an axe. Edsel Dope, thou art a singer in a guttural and visceral sense, but I give thee advice freely: plucking three chords in a chorus doth not make thee a guitarist. Thou shalt focus on thy occupation; for when you sang, I felt the demons in my ears, the power in the body and the passion in the heart.
But one doth admire the effort put forth by such a band. Clearly lingering in the Garden of Shadows for the better part of a decade, one thinks that Dope must knoweth thy proper way to play a show, and daring Persephone herself, they proved it! Full of rancour and villainy, they doth commanded the stage with a presence only experienced musicians know intimately. By my troth, prove themselves they did. The singer, like a possessed bawdy house, did shriek like a maiden, tortured by her inconsistency. A guitarist, skilled in the trades of soloing, did best of any man to raise the roof, and a rhythm section so tight that Juliet could use it as a man-baiter. But what else do they offer in their cacophony of musical feasts? Alas, whereas the effort doth shine with light heralded by Phaeton, quickly did it fade. As much as Dope may appeal, they also stagnate; this humble servant of Rock could barely establish one song from the many others!
Forsooth, what else is there to say about such a band? I believe that Dope did offers’t an honest effort, yet in the face of the monster BLS, one could not hope to challenge the power of the beast and emerge victorious. All that was accomplished by them was rivalled in passion and response by the crowd observing the fleshtastic fun offered by the three harlots who, like Jezebel herself, offer’d up the sins of the flesh. In truth, if Dope had sought devotion and love, they had been better to mount a tour in their sole namesake; otherwise, this night doth belongst to Black Label.
Rebel Reviewer Dot Com