I know that Susan M warned me that I’d better take pictures at the Alestorm concert on Saturday, but guess what?  I didn’t.

[Ducks]

Yeah, I’m just really bad about stuff like that.  And by “stuff like that,” I mean a) taking pictures, b) carrying objects with me into places where I really don’t want to hold them or be responsible for them, and c) just being agreeable in general.

Actually, I didn’t even see Susan M’s comment before the show, nor did it ever occur to me that I should have had a camera on me until I was actually in the Satyricon and realized how close the band was going to be.  I could have at least had my camera phone on me–that wouldn’t have cramped my head-banging style too badly– but then again, I still don’t know how to get the pictures off my phone and onto the computer, so even if I had gone that route, you most likely still wouldn’t be looking at pictures.

I would say that my superior writing skillz could paint you a picture better than any camera could, but…yeah, that just ain’t true.  Your loss, kids.  You shoulda been there, what can I say?

Alestorm was one of three bands on the marquee, the other two being Suidakra and Tyr.  When we first arrived at the venue, most of the people already in line were young and male, and I felt a tad…old and female.  However, soon enough some older folks showed up, including these three ladies behind us who…how can I put this?  They looked like mild-mannered librarians.  They all sported knit caps, and one of the caps was like a squirrel head, complete with ears.  It was unexpected.  They were there to see Tyr.  Tyr is a Norwegian  Faroese (thank you, Jeanet) Viking-metal band.  They sing in Faroese.  More on Tyr later.

As I was saying, when we got in line, it was about 6:30.  The show supposedly started at 7:30.  They didn’t open the doors until about 8 p.m.  When someone finally got on stage, it turned out to be not Suidakra or Tyr or Alestorm, but these two young boys who looked to be about high school age, and they introduced themselves as “Doomsower.”  They played about five songs, each about seven minutes long, with names like “Spellcaster” and “Evil Possessor.”  I won’t comment further, except that it put the start of the actual show a lot later than I would have liked.

Suidakra went on first, and they played a really good set.  I was a tad mesmerized by the lead singer, Arkadius.  He had a certain magnetism about him.  Perhaps it was the German accent.  I suppose I can’t say anything further without incriminating myself.  I should just move on.

It might make you feel better to know that Alestorm were not dressed up as pirates or anything as awesome as that.  Actually, most of the band was half-naked because apparently it was really hot onstage.  (And by “half-naked,” I mean shirtless, not anything scandalous–unless doughy white skin and underdeveloped pecs are scandalous.  Hey, they’re folk metal artists, not rock stars.)

One of the guitar players for Alestorm was a really short guy in a long bear who also wore a kilt.  They are Scottish, you know.  (And no, I have no further comment on kilt guy.)  The lead singer played a key-tar.  That cat was out of his mind.  I think you should have to be, if you’re going to carry off a key-tar at all.

I reckon it goes without saying that Alestorm was the antithesis of Doomsower.  They were very high-energy and did I mention that all their songs are about freaking pirates?  It was the kind of show where you heard stuff like, “This next song’s about drinking beer, [bleeping] girls and slaying sea dragons!” and “ALL RIGHT, MOTHERF***ERS, ARE YOU READY FOR A GOOD OLD-FASHIONED HOE-DOWN?!!!”

That kind of show.

Unfortunately, thanks to the late start (and Doomsower, no offense to them, they seemed like nice boys), Tyr didn’t come on until about 11:30 p.m., at which point Sugar Daddy and I had been on our feet for five hours straight, and we’re just not as young as we used to be.  We had to stay to see Tyr, because hello, what part of “Viking metal” do you not understand?–and Tyr did not disappoint.  Three burly, bearded blond guys, stripped to the waist and singing in Faroese–FREAKING METAL VIKINGS, MY FRIEND–what more could we ask for?  Well, we had to leave halfway through because we were just too stinking tired, and also, the babysitter needed to get home.

So to sum up, sorry, no pictures.

I got me a cool t-shirt, though.

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Rock on, me hearties!!!

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