It was an all Southern affair in Melbourne as the shred king addressed
his subjects from stately chambers, occupied in the name of the Black
Label Order.
Sultry, rainy, miserable. To the perpetually meteorologically bemused
residents of Melbourne, experiencing all four seasons in the space of as
many minutes is a given; we see rain, take a piss and by the time our
flies are half way done up, it’s sunny once more. Ho hum, pass the
butter. After two days of summer, it rained and rained. Fortunately this
humid night just lent itself to the atmosphere. With beer in hand as
the aroma of cheap cigarettes wafted over me, I felt like I was back in
Atlanta, GA hanging out with pre-fabricated good ole boys wearing denim
and leather kuttes direct from the merch desk - the real 1%ers were most
likely cooling their boiling blood with beer as they planted themselves
on the edge of the pit, their arms as thick as oak trunks folded
together and just as immovable.
Read the rest at Metal as Fuck.
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