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Though usually panned by the majority of film critics – the mainstream ones anyway- horror films seem to be a Hollywood mainstay that just won't go away. This is hardly shocking – if there's one genre of film in which a low budget doesn't seem to be that much of a hindrance, and may actually help a film's chances, this is it. Many of the industry's biggest names got their start in horror – Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks, Jack Nicholson to name but a few – and whole legions of stars were known primarily for their work in films designed to frighten and shock audiences.

The genre has changed substantially over the years, moving through phases where most of the “action” was implied or occurred offscreen, to periods where psychological issues were the focus. Since the 1960s, special effects have not only become an integral part of the typical horror film, but have actually served as a sort of litmus test for genre fans who wanted to see ever more gory and disturbing visuals in these pictures. It's largely the element of one-upmanship that has led to today's (flourishing) “torture porn” subgenre, but the films seem to have suffered as a whole in the process. Horror films are now more reliant on horrific special effects than on any notion of story development or acting chops.

What some people don't realize is that the horror picture has been a part of the bigger history of cinema essentially since day one: Georges Méliès (most famous for A Trip to the Moon) is credited with making the first such picture in 1896. By the 1920s, German filmmakers like F.W. Murnau (Nosferatu) and Robert Wiene (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) had established the visual palette used later in America for films like the original Frankenstein and Dracula films. Soundtracks in film at this time were exclusively orchestral – performed live during screenings for most silent pictures – and even the classic Universal horror films (the aforementioned Frankenstein and Dracula, as well as scores of related films and things like The Wolf Man and The Mummy) used music that was more flowing and unobtrusive than what would come to be the norm later.

Arguably, it was Alfred Hitchcock's 1960 Psycho that took the horror genre into the modern age: here was a film that was not only almost intolerably violent for its time, but also introduced very unsavory story material into the mix (fun fact: it the first film to GASP! show a toilet onscreen). Incalculable films have followed suit in the years since, but Bernard Herrmann's intense, jarring music score for the film has to be considered among the reasons the film worked as well as it did.

Sound design is probably one of the most under-appreciated aspects of the typical horror film, and music certainly figures into that design prominently. Though Psycho's piercing strings and Jaws's nerve-rattling two-tone bass are probably the best known horror movie soundtrack cues, having entered the popular consciousness on a level that few pieces of music have, numerous other films have effectively used music to heighten their sinister intentions. Here's are some of some of my favorites:

Extreme warning! Several of the trailers linked in this article are disturbing and very NSFW.

Carnival of Souls (1962) -Made for almost no money by a cast and crew of unknowns, this ghost story's surreal, unsettling atmosphere is complimented by Gene Moore's supremely creepy organ music.

Night of the Living Dead (1968) – The original modern zombie picture. Kind of amazing that director George Romero could find library music that precisely captures the sense of dread and doom in the film.

The Mutations (1974) – A gorgeously-photographed (and downright strange) British-made hybrid sci-fi/horror film about a scientist trying to interbreed plants with people. Contains perhaps one of the wildest soundtracks to ever feature in a genre film, created by experimental musician Basil Kirchin.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) – A film more horrific for what it doesn't show than what it does. A creaky, almost industrial soundtrack by director Tobe Hooper only cements the distressing mood.

Eraserhead (1977) – The nightmares of a young married man come to life in this utterly unique cult classic. Dark ambient soundtrack ranges from grating industrial noise to the innocent yet worrisome old-time pop song “In Heaven.”

Suspiria (1977) – Hallucinogenic tale about a coven of witches running a dance academy in Germany. A tough choice to pick Goblin's best horror soundtrack, but this one gets my vote...

Dawn of the Dead (1978) - ...yet I can't make a list of this nature without including this one. Second in Romero's Living Dead saga, with an unbeatable combination of pounding Goblin compositions and comical, frequently bizarre stock music selections.

Halloween (1978) – The defining moment of John Carpenter's career, the film that set the ground rules for American-made '80s horror, and one of the best horror themes ever laid down.

Zombie Flesh Eaters (1979) – Incredibly bleak Italian-made zombie ripoff that may just one up the Romero films in terms of outrageous violence. Fabio Frizzi's music is one of the best, most influential synth scores of its day.

Cannibal Holocaust (1980) – The infamous “found footage” film that goes way beyond anything made since. Composer Riz Ortolani has a tendency to use the most pleasant, gorgeously orchestrated themes right when something truly horrible is onscreen – which only makes the film more shocking.

The Shining (1980) – The opening scene of this film is more genuinely ominous than whole films made today despite the fact that it's made up of nothing more than landscape photography and music by Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind. The music selections actually get even more distressing from there.

The Thing (1982) – For my money, the greatest film composer to have ever lived, Ennio Morricone made hundreds of movies better solely because of his participation in them. Every one of his scores is fascinating in its own way, but this is my favorite of his work. The main title gives me goosebumps every time.

Razorback (1984) – Universally hailed as a Jaws ripoff, this super-stylish Australian film is actually most frightening for to its deranged outback characters, not the giant, man-eating boar it centers around. Iva Davies's music, made with then-state-of-the-art synthesizer tech, is definitively haunting and moody to the extreme.

Certainly, there are many other outstanding horror soundtracks out there. Any number of obscure movies have soundtracks that are fun or effective in their own way, and individual moments of genius occur in many genre films. Though I prefer the stomping, disco-funk main title of Part III to anything in the original, 1980 Friday the 13th, Harry Manfredini's famous “ch-ch-ch-ha-ha-ha” has to be acknowledged for what it is - brilliant. Other inspired uses of music include the end title theme from 1983's Sleepaway Camp, a film that boasts one of the most jaw-dropping endings in horror movie history, the positively sublime, piano-based “love theme” from Nekromantik, and the use of Iron Butterfly's “In-A-Godda-Da-Vida” in the wild 1986 film Manhunter, the first to include the character of Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lector. Considering the creative bankruptcy that has strangled the horror genre in recent decades (how many sequels, remakes, and retreads can Hollywood produce?), I suppose it's no surprise that most modern horror films don't quite measure up to the best the genre has offered in terms of soundtrack music. With any luck, a new breed of filmmakers – and musicians - will eventually breathe new life into the genre, one that seems unwilling to simply fade into the ether.

Made in 1957, director Roger Corman's typically efficient low-budget sci-fi flick Not of This Earth came to be regarded as a minor genre classic in the years to come – and mostly for good reason. Dealing with an alien who's come to Earth to evaluate whether human blood can save his dying species, the film boasted special effects that ranged from impressive (faces and bodies disappearing in a device similar to Star Trek's famous transporters) to not-so-hot (a flying monster that looks suspiciously like an elaborately adorned dust cover), but packed precisely the sort of material drive-in audiences of the time would have wanted to see into a slim and trim 67 minutes. It's also instantly apparent that, from its opening scene where a couple necking in a parked car chatter back and forth with as much “hip” dialogue as could be crammed into thirty seconds to a fiery climax and wonderfully ambiguous conclusion, Not of This Earth is nothing less than prime Mystery Science Theater 3000 type material.

Thirty years after the release of the original film, Corman (by then an incredibly prolific film producer) accepted a bet from director Jim Wynorski (perhaps best known for 1986's Chopping Mall) that a remake could be made for the same amount of money, inflation being considered. The resulting film (completed in just twelve days) hit theaters in mid 1988 with a thud, but grew a reputation mostly due to the fact that it was quintessential video store fare.

Wynorski's remake closely mirrors the action of Corman's original, again revolving around a mysterious, sunglasses-clad man (identified simply as “Mr. Johnson” and played by an admirably stoic Arthur Roberts) who waltzes into a clinic demanding an immediate blood transfusion. After forcing his will on the doctor with some sort of mind control, Johnson insists that one of the nurses on staff takes up a position as his permanent medical adviser, moving into his rather extravagant estate across town. As it turns out, young nurse Nadine Story (ex-underage-porn actress Traci Lords, in her first mainstream gig) settles into her new position nicely, but quickly becomes aware of the fact that something's not quite right about her all-too-generous new employer. Johnson's caretaker Jeremy (an enjoyably sleazy role for Lenny Juliano) informs Nadine that people enter the house but never leave, and Johnson also refuses food, instead seeming to get nourishment from a sort of supplement he adds to water. Eventually, it's up to Nadine and motorcycle cop Harry (portrayed by a hammy Roger Lodge) to uncover the truth before Johnson gets to enact “phase VI” of his nefarious plan – which involves the harvesting of the human race.

Consistent with a film that was thrown together with this much haste, Wynorski's film is capably made but largely unremarkable from a technical standpoint. Cinematographer Zoran Hochstätter merely seems to be getting the job done, the hectic production schedule not affording him any time to craft something truly special with regard to the various shots in the film. I also should point out that there are numerous errors visible in the final production – no less than twice, one can easily see the reflection of the film crew in the polished finish of Johnson's Cadillac. Viewers familiar with previous Roger Corman productions will also notice several instances where stock footage is used in Not of This Earth: the credits sequence is made up entirely of special effects shots pulled from other films (including the infamous tentacle rape from 1981's Galaxy of Terror), and fright scenes taken from Hollywood Boulevard and Humanoids From the Deep are also utilized.

Without doubt, this recycling adds to the campiness of this tongue-in-cheek production. There are numerous in-jokes for the attentive viewer to enjoy, and Lords in particular seems to be having a good time playing up the inherent goofiness of the story. Special effects in the film are obviously dated but fun in a nostalgic sort of way - I especially liked Johnson's “burned in” eye effects – and rather abundant nudity only adds to the film's B-movie appeal. Considering Lords's previous occupation, it's not surprising that she not only parades around in very revealing costumes, but also drops trou on two occasions (and, it must be said, looks great naked). Wynorski, who's makes his living these days with Skinamax-type movies which play late-night on the pay channels, doesn't stop there however, throwing in various other completely gratuitous nude scenes for the sole purpose of appealing to the youthful, predominantly male audience that a film of this nature would have.

Honestly, Not of This Earth is unexceptional in most every regard but remains entirely watchable – and maybe even quietly enjoyable - throughout. Some credit for that must be directed towards composer Chuck Cirino, who was responsible for the film's soundtrack. Cirino's music packs the energy that the film itself often lacks, making various sequences which would otherwise have seemed bland and forgettable genuinely exciting or at least tolerable. I don't think anyone is going to confuse Cirino's vintage electronic soundscapes with the sweeping, orchestral compositions one would expect during masterpiece theater, but his music works perfectly in context, adding significantly to one's enjoyment of the film. At the end of the day, the 1988 Not of This Earth remake (the story would, inexplicably, be remade again in 1995) plays as a prime example of '80s genre cinema, the sort of film that video stores were made for. It's hardly something that would positively need to be seen, but I could think of worse ways to spend eighty minutes. Best enjoyed with some friends and some adult refreshments.

Blood & Guts = 4/10

Smack Talk = 2/10

Fap Factor = 8/10

Cult Appeal = 6/10

The More You Know =  “I was jacking you before. Now I'm just telling you something.”

In the midst of the opening credits sequence for Italian director Dario Argento's 1975 Profondo Rosso (a.k.a. Deep Red), the viewer is treated to a truncated scene appearing to show two figures in shadow in front of a Christmas tree. One pulls a knife and appears to stab the other, the bloody instrument then dropping to the floor where it's approached by shoes of a child. This sequence establishes much of the framework for the rest of the picture: a mystery centered around an English-born jazz pianist named Marcus Daly (played by David Hemmings, best known for 1966's Blow-Up, a picture somewhat similar to this one) who witnesses the violent murder of a clairvoyant woman in his apartment building. While attempting to put the pieces together to solve the murder along with a plucky reporter (Daria Nicolodi in a role that's largely an annoyance), Marc stumbles upon a legend about a haunted house, and after locating the building and digging around its decrepit interior, finds a drawing that seems to represent the Christmas-time murder depicted at the beginning of the film. This all leads to the expected showdown with the murderer, but the guilty party may not be the one the viewer was expecting.

Sometimes titled as The Hatchet Murders in its English-language prints since its killer occasionally uses a heavy butcher's cleaver as a murder instrument, Profondo Rosso clearly displays a mesmerizing, idiosyncratic visual style that would be utilized to perfection in Argento's later, undisputed classic Suspiria. Puzzling montages appear intermittently to provide a glimpse into the mindset of the killer, and the actual stalking/murder sequences are jarring and considerably violent (remember – this film was made before the explosion of slasher films in the early '80s). Clairvoyant Helga Ulmann's murder features several brief but graphic special effects shots of a cleaver being sunk into soft human flesh, and a later murder sequence features a man's face being bashed off the woodwork around a fireplace before a close-up of his teeth slamming into the pointed edge of a table. The final minutes also feature a gloriously grotesque death scene involving an elevator, but the film's best moment isn't so much disgusting as plain creepy. After being startled by noise while on the phone in his study, a man is rushed by a flailing robot designed to look like a smiling young boy. Forget the fact that it's illogical – this is about as unexpected a situation as could be imaginable, and definitely the film's most genuinely unforgettable moment.

Aside from providing unique vantage points throughout the film (the extreme high-angle views of a mysterious figure rushing through an abandoned town square after dark are especially good), Argento's camera frequently seems to “know” more than the characters or audience does, focusing on seemingly inconsequential detail that will shortly be of the utmost importance. Easily the best example of this occurs in a scene where Daly hurries through the Helga's apartment in an attempt to save her from her murderer. As he hastens down a hallway, the viewer's eye is drawn to a series of paintings, one of which looks substantially more life-like and bizarre than the others. Showing a groups of faces, only one of which truly appears to be human, the painting lingers in the viewer's mind even though its only seen onscreen for a second or so. Ultimately, solving the mystery comes down to this fleeting image – Daly's convinced it reveals the murderer's face.

Along with the tantalizing visual clues, Profondo Rosso also offers up a series of strange plot twists and turns. Indisputably, the painting being a key element in solving the mystery is the script's most masterful idea, but I also rather liked the moment when, while combing through the supposedly haunted house, Daly spies a drawing covered up by drywall and proceeds to chip away at it, slowly revealing the picture. That being said, the script by Argento and Bernardino Zapponi seems overlong: running 126 minutes in its uncut version, the picture has noticeably sluggish pace to it, with distracting moments of comic relief and romance interrupting the unfolding mystery. It's not at all surprising that some 22 minutes were hacked from the original Italian version of the film when it was imported to the US.

Profondo Rosso's almost dream-like atmosphere is complimented by truly magnificent sound design. Squeaking shoes, the ringing of phones, blustery wind, cackling birds, wailing childrens voices, and more figure into the ambient soundscape of various key scenes, and it's typically these background sounds that create the dark and unsettling mood which hangs over the film. Especially nifty are a few moments in which Daly attempts to talk on a phone – it seems the man can't get a word out without being interrupted by racket of every sort.

Also worth mentioning is the film's soundtrack. Originally, composer Giorgio Gaslini was attached to the picture, but a disagreement with Argento led to progressive rock band The Cherry Five being brought in to record the music. The band permanently changed their name to Goblin around this time and the rest is history: Goblin went on to provide extremely memorable scores for numerous horror and action-oriented films, and Profondo Rosso became one of the best-selling horror movie soundtracks of all time. The music here ranges from typical '70s progressive rock to more spooky cues. I think the main title is probably the best track – when the rhythm kicks in, the viewer knows something bad is about to happen...

All in all, Profondo Rosso is a worthwhile flick and a prototypical giallo that stands as one of the best of the genre. Still, it's overlong in my opinion, and isn't nearly as much fun as either Argento's best (the very spooky, if somewhat incomprehensible, Suspiria) or my favorite giallos (among which would be Umberto Lenzi's Seven Blood-Stained Orchids and Spasmo, the proto-slashers Bay of Blood and Torso, and the super-sleazy 1972 Delirium). Fans of Argento's work or Italian genre cinema should absolutely check this film out though: its combination of mystery elements with graphic horror violence helped solidify the path that many subsequent horror films (Halloween and Friday the 13^th among them) would follow.

Blood & Guts = 7/10

Smack Talk = 1/10

Fap Factor = 1/10

Cult Appeal = 6/10

The More You Know = “But... I'm just trying to understand, because... You know, sometimes what you actually see and what you imagine... get mixed up in your memory like a cocktail... from which you can no longer distinguish one flavor from another.”

Titus Andronicus

Brighton Music Hall, Boston, MA

October 15, 2015

Like any show I’m excited about, I was really scared of disappointment while driving to this Boston Titus Andronicus (hereafter +@) concert. Since The Monitor, +@ has been one of my favorite bands. They combine dynamic, epic rock songs with to-the-point chord progressions embedded in punk rock history; and Patrick Stickles delivers growly, Joyceanly specific lyrics that are nonetheless deeply relatable. I fell in love with their latest album, The Most Lamentable Tragedy (a punk rock opera about manic depression, in classic +@ style), and there haven't been many weeks since 2010 when I don’t listen to them at least once. On top of all this, my girlfriend - who has a tendency to shout +@ songs in their entirety whenever she hears a single word of a lyric - was going to the show, too. There was a lot of hype, and we weren’t the only ones - the show sold out months before. The comfy Brighton Music Hall was packed, and nearly everyone jumped, yelled, and danced in unison as +@ delivered a fantastic 90-minute set. There was loud, pit-inducing punk rock. There were quiet, somber moments. There were everyone-come-together anthems. It was one of the best concerts I’ve been to.

The show started with frontman Patrick Stickles and keyboardist Elio DeLuca coming on stage. Stickles was wearing that olive green jacket and 18th-century-German-philosopher beard we’ve seen him in lately and the classic black +@ shirt. Casually strumming his guitar, he looked into the crowd and said, “You know, I guess this is when I give a really long speech about how punk rock is about freedom, and having fun doing whatever you want, and being American. But those speeches are usually really boring. And I don’t have to say that anyway, because it’s already said up there.” He pointed to a sign that’s always been up at Brighton, and read it: “‘No moshing or stage diving. Keep your feet on the ground and have a good time. Violators will be ejected without refund.’ We don’t want anyone to get EJECTED, now do we?” Stickles went on for several more minutes, talking about punk rock and the idea of putting on a concert, and occasionally saying, “Those long speeches are so boring…”

Eventually Stickles started playing his guitar, but with only DeLuca on stage. It was quickly apparent that Stickles was playing a solo version of “Upon Viewing Oregon’s Landscape With the Flood of Detritus,” a usually bolting, foot-stomping song about driving around the country and seeing people die on the highways while traffickers “sit and grit their teeth, hating that which comes between them and their coffee.” The room sounded like half the audience was sitting and gritting their teeth, hating that which comes between them and +@’s MAD RIFFS, while the other half sounded silently affected by Stickles whiningly crying out, “There are a thousand dreams never to come to pass, because dreams can’t be, nor people, indeed, built to last.” Regardless of which half of the audience you were, everyone chanted that last line, “Built to last,” over and over with Stickles.

After the odd-but-moving solo, the whole band came out - including Adam Reich, who I recognized as playing guitar for the So So Glos show I saw at Paradise a while back. The lights turned green and purple, and the band played the first three songs of The Most Lamentable Tragedy straight through, and then immediately jumped into “Still Life With Hot Deuce And Silver Platter.” At this point, the room was going nuts, and you could already hear people’s dry throats trying to keep up with Stickles you-gotta-sing-along growls. The only reason Stickles wasn’t totally dead after “Hot Deuce” was probably because he was chugging a water bottle after each song.

“Oooh, Dasani!” Stickles commercially said, taking a breather with everyone else. “You know, people come up to me and they say, ‘Yo Patrick, how do you stay so thin and tight?” He rolled up his sleeves, to show that he really was a twig of a man. “You want me to tell you how I keep it so tight? It’s all because my life is a FOOD FIGHT!!!”

The band jumped into the one-two punch combo “Food Fight!” and “My Eating Disorder,” which is one of my favorite +@ songs. It really was something else to have a dreadfully skinny bearded Patrick Stickles shout with hair covering his eyes, “I know the world’s a scary place, that’s why I hide behind a hairy face” and then constantly croon “My eating disorder, my eating disorder, my eating disorder it’s inside me!!” Already it's a rare treasure to have a songwriter pour out his emotional struggles in front of you - but to see hairy, skinny reflection of struggle staring and shouting at you is moves you to the point of terrified paralysis.

If everyone wrote down all the songs they hoped +@ played that night, I doubt many would leave without a checked-off list. There was the trio "Fired Up," "Dimed Out," and "More Perfect Union" that finishes off the first half of The Most Lamentable Tragedy; that eponymous song from their debut; "No Future" Part III" from The Monitor; "In A Big City" from Local Business. And looking back at that checked-off list: If +@ ever put out a Greatest Hits, a suitable title might be Anthems for Losers: Many +@ hits involve repeatedly shouting lines like “YOUR LIFE IS OVER,” “YOU’LL ALWAYS BE A LOSER,” and “I HATE TO BE AWAKE,” which have a self-deprecating euphoria that made the show feel like a Shaker worship service for unfulfilled twenty-somethings.

One of the best moments was “A More Perfect Union” (not to be confused with the aforementioned "More Perfect Union"). “Now let’s travel back in time, back to 2008!” Stickles shouted. “I was 23 years old, and - true story - I lived here in Somerville, MA for a brief but formative period of my life. I was living with this girl and commuting to New Jersey every day, which was plenty of thoughtful time to write lyrics. Then one day the girl broke up with me, and I fled Somerville, never to return again, except to rock you guys. Yeah...There isn’t really a convenient punchline to this story, but it’s true, all true.” Then the band started that perfect opener to The Monitor, and Stickles’ lyrics resonated with me more than they ever did playing through my headphones, as he yelled about “waiting for the Fung Wah bus” and standing “beneath the lights of the Fenway.” The whole place went crazy as people screamed “Give me a brutal Somerville summer, give me a cruel New England winter!” For a place to be stamped into the opener of an album that so many people love, and then to be in that place...I’ll never forget that moment.

Before their last song, Stickles idly said, “Yeah, rock is cool...Baseball is pretty cool, too. Let’s go Mets!” He pointed to the back of the venue, through the window, to the bar across the street, where you could see the Mets vs Dodgers game on a big TV. You could also see a few people trying to watch +@ in the Somerville cold. “And look at those sad faces in the window. We’re just going to play one more song. Can we let those people in? Just for one song??” Sure enough, they let those ten people in for “To Old Friends and New,” one of the softer songs on The Monitor with that final, Velvet-Underground-influenced chant “Well it’s alright, the way that you live - it’s alright, the way that you live” that’s perfect for a final +@ moment.

The band left the stage, and I really wasn’t expecting an encore. The band already played a fantastic 90-minute set, and I figured +@ was above cramming in a bunch of hits into another 20-minute encore. The audience kept shouting, though, and +@ came back. “Alright,” Stickles said, “One more, but that’s all you get! It’s the bottom of the eighth inning - we gotta get outta here. Here’s one more song for you, Boston!” Stickles yanked off his shirt, revealing his incredibly pale, nearly emaciated body, and danced as the band burst into a cover of The Modern Lovers’ “Roadrunner,” by far the most fitting song for the end of a Boston punk show (and, fun fact, the song I got my first speeding ticket to). And they kept their word, walking off stage after that - and Stickles got to see the Mets beat the Dodgers a minute or two later, who went on to win the NCLS and play the Royals in the World Series.

+@ is one of the fun bands keeping rockin’, fervent punk alive, along with their buds The So So Glos and Diarrhea Planet. Please keep coming to Boston, +@ - I’ll always see you.

Run The Jewels

First Avenue

Minneapolis, MN

October 23, 2015

“I’ll apologize now. If you are wearing glasses, you might want to put those away. If you hate being slammed into by people, you might want to make your way to the back. If you’re rocking brand new sneakers, I’m sorry. I’ve been there. I understand. But you’ve been warned. I’m sorry in advance about your new shoes.”

The speaker is El-P. He and his partner in rhyme Killer Mike are known as Run The Jewels. Maybe you’ve heard of them. No doubt a result of their relentless tour schedule—this being their fifth appearance in the Twin Cities alone in just three years—Run The Jewels have mastered the art of house-rocking. We’re midway through their headlining set at a sold-out First Avenue, where they’ll give this seemingly honest and understanding forewarning just a moment to sink in before Zach de la Rocha’s sampled machinegun-fast vocals crack from the speakers, signifying the arrival of “Close Your Eyes (and Count to Fuck)." “Run them jewels fast, run them jewels fast, run them, run them, run them…fuck the slow-mo...”

And then it happens.

BOOM!

Trackstar The DJ drops the beat and the audience explodes into a frenzy of neck-snapping, pogoing, fake gun-in-the-air-firing, fist-pumping lunacy…again. This is how it’s been since they took the stage. You wouldn’t think it could any crazier, any sweatier, or any OMG-ier. But it does.

Louder than fuck and with enough sub-rattling oompf to run a nuclear reactor, RTJ perform on this night—the second to last of their current tour—as if they are auditioning for their first record deal. Keeping the eager crowd enthusiastic for an hour plus in stifling heat, the duo themselves are intense and furious and restless and command the proceedings instinctively; reaffirming that they are thee force to be reckoned with in the hip-hip pantheon.

The openers Fashawn and Boots fill their roles adequately. The former, clearly understanding the importance of high spots, brings locals Prof and Brother Ali on for one song each. Meanwhile the latter’s The Weekend meets Nine Inch Nails gimmickry (about all the was missing was a bunch of mud and keyboards on boomerang stands) seems a tad out of place, but provides ample time to hit the bathrooms and grab last-minute drinks. And oh boy, the drinks are being had tonight.

RTJ enter the stage as they always do: with Queen’s “We Are the Champions” playing over the PA. They seize control immediately, doing “Run The Jewels”, and then “Oh My Darling Don’t Cry”, and later “Blockbuster Night, Part 1” and “Banana Clipper.” They bark out lyrics like Southern gospel preachers while Trackstar The DJ works the decks, providing a hard-thumping backbone and flexing his turntable dexterity.

Following “Love Again (Akinyele Back)”, the track with the famed hook “She wants this dick in her mouth all day”, El-P and Killer Mike spend an inordinate amount of time trying to drive home the point that it’s not the misogynistic sex rap it’s been mistaken for. “That’s the stupidest lyric for a love song we ever wrote” says El-P. Killer Mike adds, “But don’t get it twisted; it’s a love song. And if Gangsta Boo was here she’d tell you the same thing.”

Okay guys, whatever you say.

The set, which by my estimation contains just about every RTJ song there is—including “Lie, Cheat, Steal”, “Pew, Pew, Pew”, and “All Due Respect”—closes out with a rousing rendition of “A Christmas Fucking Miracle.” And when all is said and done, the crowd is left swaying in their own sweaty puddles, kind of drunk, and in complete awe.

“Dude, that was so awesome. My brand new Jordan’s are fucked. But I can’t wait to see these guys again.”

The speaker is my friend; a young Nebraskan transplant who has just witnessed his first rap show.

Follow Nathan on Twitter at @OMG_NOB