The tonic qualities of booze and great live music should not be underestimated. Turning up at this gig when I really should have been at home attempting to battle the wee germs assaulting my body was perhaps ill advised, but I wasn’t going to miss Baroness live now was I?

The support provided by indescribably dire metal-or-some-such-bollocks-core Sondura did nothing to help my frail state. In intent, this formulaic tripe could not be further removed from Baroness. At best ignored and at worst booed by the crowd, by the end of their dire set I was wondering whether I’d make it as far as Baroness. For purely medicinal purposes I chucked back a shot of JD and stood firm.

I’m glad I did. The unassuming Georgians, who uttered not a word until the very end of their set, hypnotised the audience with their frantic intensity and epic heaviness. Singer/Guitarist John Baizley has become somewhat of an icon as the artistic lynchpin of the sludge stoner groove (whatever you want to call it) movement occupied by the likes of Kylesa and Torche. Standing before the diminutive, bearded one was like being in the presence of greatness – this was like watching a band fronted by Vincent van Gough.

Baroness delivered almost entirely unbroken set comprised largely of tracks lifted from the Red and Blue albums. The Baizley/Adams psychedelic guitar assault delivers precision tempered by occasional improvisational flourishes that are the hallmark of a really great live act. But Baroness aren’t showy, Baizley and crew seemed utterly emerged in these gargantuan riffs and progressive noodlings – here, the music does the talking, not the band.

The only disappointment of the evening was the omission of the brilliant Rays on Pinion, but the inclusion of a rousing rendition of Grad and The Birthing. Prior returning for an encore Baizley finally broke bands silence with a long, largely inaudible ramble about how London held a special place in their hearts and they are humbled by our support or something. Awww. Please come back lots more Mr. Baizley.

It seems a travesty that Baroness are playing such small venues when they deserve to be playing arenas. Alas, they are one of those bands that will probably never make it really big, but will constantly be cited by bands, bad and good, as a massive influence and clueless fans will pretend they always liked them.

By the end of it I felt pretty much ‘cured’ and when awoke in the morning, despite a mild hangover, was largely free of my ailment. Thank you Baroness – now can you get to work on the verruca I’ve got on my toe?

Sunn O))) and Om are two extreme (and very distinct) interpretations of the doom/stoner genre. Both contain members from very distinguished doom/stoner bands (Goatsnake/Khanate/Thorr’s Hammer & Sleep respectively). Sorry to state the obvious, but this seems appropriate given the crowd that have turned up to this gig, at this one of the trendiest of London venues, seem largely oblivious to this fact. Instead of the usual gnarled, bearded and blackened misfits (who are here but lurking ominously in the shadows wielding the claw of doom) I am surrounded by NME kids (‘good’ hair aplenty) and art school ATP fops (more ‘good’ hair, but with stupid hats and glasses too). The fact that Sunn O))) have become ‘trendy’ is one that I was largely oblivious to until now, but the ‘lambs to the slaughter’ atmosphere it lends to the evening makes it feel perfectly appropriate.

Om seem totally out of place in this largish, bright venue, and struggle to really get out of the starting blocks. The mix is all over the place particularly with the drums, which instead of underpinning Cisneros’s hypnotic bass sound more like someone was cooking popcorn somewhere out back. The addition of a crazy ascetic frantically wafting a tambourine and providing multi-instrumentalism accompanied by intermittent, semi-tuneful pig squeals does nothing to elevate this muted performance. I’ve never seen Om live but I always imagined that they belong in a small, dark auditorium with the bass turned up to 12, where the crowd shuts up, closes their eyes and saturates in the cosmic vibes. Wrong place, wrong crowd for Om then.

Any worries that Sunn O))) would befall the same fate are soon dispelled. A good 10 minutes of solid, bone rattling guitar/bass drone from the robed duo have the trendy kids looking decidedly confused and perturbed, but this is mere whimsy compared to what is to come.

Sunn O))) have essentially taken the doom and black metal aesthetics and turned them into minimalist performance art. On record they are interesting, but it’s impossible to really appreciate the truly malign spectacle that it is supposed to convey. If you want to experience this at home, then turn the stereo up full blast, switch off all the lights, set light to the sofa and then invite a serial killer in to join the party.

As the dense smoke (or perhaps funeral fog) billows across the stage you catch fleeting glimpses of messrs Anderson and O’Malley – dark spectres in ceremonial garb, statue-like but somehow frantic and intense. Towering in front the harrowing master of ceremonies Attila (a renowned black metal vocalist by the way NME kids) is imposing as he narrates our demise. Illuminated from below by a green haze, his snakelike hands signal dark semaphore while his terrifying growl threatens to bring the roof crashing in on us. For a period of a cappella snarling and chanting his magnificent voice tears through the crowd leaving those of good hair looking terrified and the rest of us awed.

As the drone returns and intensifies, Attila writhes, wraithlike in a column of thick smoke and green haze – smoke pours out from the arms and face aperture of his robe making for a truly ominous spectacle. By now the auditorium is thick with smoke and the view across the hypnotised heads of the crowd is like tombstones in cemetery mist.

Attila leaves Anderson and O’Malley to worry the foundations (and the indie kids) for a deafening while before returning in a multi-coloured, metallic, spiky suit. Like an evil technicolor dreamcoat, lasers shoot from his fists piercing the gloom to magnificent effect. The insane chanting and osteoporosis inducing noise finally builds to a pounding finale that’s both frightening and elating.

Sunn O))) gigs are not an occasion to guzzle beer, punch the air and sing along. They’re all about the intimidating atmosphere and earth shattering noise. At times it was a little tedious and laboured but the sheer majestic perversity of it all just keeps dragging you in to Sunn O))) nightmarish world, and oh what a wonderful world!

Enough has been said about Alice in Chains’ comeback minus the late, great Layne Staley – over the past year the band have done more than enough to be judged on their current merits alone. A sold out Brixton show seems to demonstrate this.

First up, a quick note on support bands. Surely a band of AIC’s calibre would warrant some slightly more heavy hitting or at least suitable support? What we got were two unknown British acts that seemed disastrously out of place on the same bill as these legends. We started with a spirited performance from Little Fish – a 3 piece with a lady vocalist who can really belt it out – sounding sounding somewhere between PJ Harvey and The Datsuns. Entertaining but somehow inappropriate. Then the truly dismal Healthy Minds Collapse – somewhere between Foo Fighters and McFly. Their performance was competent, but supporting Alice in Chains? Really? I can think of a dozen local doom/grunge acts more appropriate/deserving then these acts. The promoter should be shot.

Alice in Chains, on the other hand, are not in the business of disappointing. Kicking off with a medley of Dirt stompers – Rain When I Die, Damn That River, Them Bones – the crowd were ecstatic. And so the mood remained throughout the show. The set spanned almost their entire back catalogue (only Sap remaining unrepresented), and contained little in the way of surprises. This is just fine, at least for the moment. The fans starved of an AIC fix for a decade would have expected a greatest hits set, and that’s largely what they got.

Perhaps the only surprise was William Duvall, finally being allowed to show of his vocal skills, belting out a convincing performance of Staley set-piece Love, Hate, Love. Both Duval and Cantrell seeming exceptionally pleased with themselves about this, and so they should be; it felt like the extra present that you missed at the bottom of your stocking.

The show was bisected by a 3 song acoustic set comprising of new track, Your Decision, live favourite No Excuses, and a muted performance, dedicated to Staley, of Black Gives Way to Blue which culminated with images of the great man himself projected on the big screen drawing solemn applause from the audience.

This was not a case of a band relying on former glories though. The new album was well represented here, with at least half the tracks off of it being included in the set. These were received well, but with nothing like the rapture of the old classics.

After being treated to live favourites We Die Young, Angry Chair and Man in the Box, the band disappeared to return minutes later with the second highlight of the show – a stunning version of the beautiful Nutshell culminating in an extended signature Cantrell solo. Perennial favourites Would? and Rooster are delivered with gusto and the crowd bounce out of the auditorium, throats raw and once again convinced that Alice in Chains are still truly legendary.

Some bands are amazing on record, but can’t pull it off live while others are spectacular live, but don’t manage to capture this magic on record. Electric Wizard tend towards the latter category – somehow their bass laden, toxic cacophony never packs the punch it should on record. Live, on the other hand, they’re simply stunning.

Last night’s double dose of doom begun with label-mates Blood Ceremony from Canada. Basically Sabbath, if you swapped Tony Iommi with a flautist and Ozzy with a fit bird, they played an entertaining set of old school psychedelic doom. Singer Alia O’Brien dominates proceedings with her sultry pagan chants and multi-instrumentalism, although the band deliver some convincing old school noise, albeit with some Jethro Tull style jazzy flute. Blood Ceremony delivered a great performance, and the crowd really seemed to appreciate it, but it would be difficult to not be somewhat squished by what came next.

Electric Wizard don’t play live very often, and it’s not hard to see why. This short set of bludgeoning noise is delivered with immense amount of energy and conviction – with portly singer/guitarist Justin Oborn playing like his life depended on it and the commanding presence of sumptuous second guitarist Liz Buckingham adding a touch of class to the overall sweaty dingefest. Their music, hernia inducing on record, really comes alive on stage, and wow, that bass – I think it may have triggered the onset of osteoporosis for those in this little hall. The noise these guys create with their instruments is magnificent – the feedback they generate alone is worth turning up to hear – and where they can sometimes be ponderous on record, I found myself wishing these songs wouldn’t end.

This is a pretty big venue for the Wizard, but they dominated it like a band used to arenas. Strangely, the Scala is well lit, which  distracted from the overall ambience, and the folks enjoying the show the most were doing so with their eyes closed. The show ended after a hour and a quarter with (apparently typicaly) no encore – with the amount of energy they put into their performance it’s not hard to see why. Being left wanting more is better than being bored shitless, and although I left feeling slightly short changed, it’s hard to complain after seeing such an awesome show.

Never having seen the Wizard live before, they provided an amusing, but not essential, diversion on record, but having seen this show you now find me a convert. All hail the Wizard!

iPhone - making people seem smaller the world over (in this case, Alice in Chains)

I wasn’t sure whether I’d bother going to Sonisphere, it all looked too commercial to me, like V festival. It was also ridiculously expensive. However, since I couldn’t get to Download or Bloodstock I decided to give it a whirl. The line-up on the Sunday was also hard to resist.

The sun had mad an appearance for the first time in weeks and not even the police with sniffer dogs arresting skunk-laden youths and the ridiculously long wait for the festival bus could dampen genial my mood.

Walking past the campsite, was an eerie experience. It was like a ghost town. You usually expect to hoards of youths wallowing in beer cans and piss sodden dirt attempting to dampen their hangover with stale beer. Not here. It even looked fairly tidy!

I turned just in time to catch Lamb of God (7/10). LoG are heavy hitters in the modern metal arena. With over a decade of experience behind them, and some highly acclaimed albums, they should be pretty good at their art by now. The ferocity of their music translates well to the festival environment, and their performance is tight. Randy Blythe has real presence, but his incessant intra-song posturing wears thin after a while. Yes we know you are real metal and your music stimulates circle pits. Yes, the idiots at the front will continue to beat each-other up for your gratification. Shut up and get on with the music!

No sooner had LoG finished than Mastodon (9/10) lumbered onto the other stage. Now, I recently threw my toys in this post about Mastodon’s performance at Islington Academy. I was expecting an abridged version of Crack in the Skye, so I wasn’t particularly looking forward to their set or surprised when they kicked off with album opener Oblivion. I’d also resolved not to be such a cancerous old git this time, so I stuck around. What we were actually treated to was a spirited set that, although was largely derived from Crack in the Skye, also contained some classics from previous albums (although Blood Mountain was entirely absent). Flying through Megalodon and Blood and Thunder, we were then treated to a note perfect performance of this year’s best metal track The Czar: Usurper/Escape/Martyr/Spiral – the whole bloody thing. Crack in the Skye’s title track was an absolute pleasure, followed by the brutal Iron Tusk and March of the Fire Ants from Remission.

Mastodon are on flying form. I saw them a few years ago at Wembley arena supporting Tool and they really seemed like they felt out of place in such a large venue. The band I witnessed on Sunday seemed like they owned the place. Not only are Mastodon recording some of the most original and high quality music in any genre, but they are one of the coolest bands around – these guys a really starting to look like rock stars.

That left me with a smile on my face and wondering if anyone could top such a gargantuan performance.

Metal fans amuse themselves by making themselves dizzy while Machine Head play

The crowd now meandered back to the main stage – the subject of everyone’s conversation: who are the mystery “Special Guests”. The subject of much media speculation since Machine Head acrimoniously pulled out of the festival when (infinitely more successful) Limp Bizkit usurped them out of their original slot in the line-up. Randy Blithe had previously let the cat out of the bag but obviously no-one was listening as they all seemed surprised when Machine Head (5/10) took the stage. Confusing? The word you’re looking for is demeaning. The Brits, never known for their likelihood to forsake a little ironic taunting, were chanting ‘Limp Bizkit’ while MH vocalist gave his speech about “doing it for the fans”. Also, the boasting about the 28 circle pits, or whatever, formed by obviously bored fans during their set, made him sound like a ego bruised 12 year old.

MH’s set was uninspired at best. They never sound good live. Their set was punctuated by long, uncomfortable silences and self-aggrandising rhetoric. Robb Flynn has since been demeaning himself further online by continuing this one-sided war of words, while (somewhat ironically) Limp Bizkit remain commendably reticent. This isn’t David and Goliath, it’s Goliath and some irritating little fly that needs swatting.

Feeder were up next so I wondered off and bought an Alice in Chains t-shirt and got increasingly drunk while I waited for them to finish. The only tracks I saw them play were an ill-advised cover of Nirvana’s Breed, and a rendition of their only good song Just a Day, which was very enjoyable in the sun with a pint of cider.

Next up were the mighty Alice in Chains (9/10). Here’s an occasion that was making many folk nervous. The legendary Layne Staley replaced by some unknown bloke with an afro? You better be sure about this Mr. Cantrell!

Going straight for the nuts with Angry Chair merging into Man in the Box the crowd’s tension dissipates. AIC sound massive – heavy and assured. New guy William Duval gives his own spin to these classics. He’s no Staley, but then who is? He sings the tunes faithful to the originals but doesn’t try and ape his distinctive predecessor. He’s got a strong voice and is very much his own man. He still lacks a little of the stage presence needed to really command a festival stage, but he’s strutting his stuff with the best of them.

4th track in and Duval broaches the subject of the new album before launching into Looking in View. Several folks around me (who clearly hadn’t heard this new track) were audibly nervous about hearing new AIC tracks, but were blown away by the tracks slow, heavy doom genius. AIC are really back!

The band saunter effortlessly through Dirt’s Them Bones and Dam That River and the crowd are getting really animated. We’re then treated to a second new track, the much jauntier Check My Brain. Like a perkier Again, this track has a really memorable chorus.

The closing salvo of crowd pleaser Would? and the haunting Rooster has the crowd singing at the top of their voices as the sun sets. Perfect.

So, fired up and raring for more top grade metal, the crowd once again makes the merry trek up to the main stage for Nine Inch Nails (3/10). This supposedly NIN’s last ever tour. They’ve had a long and distinguished career, and countless, memorable tracks that the majority of the crowd would surely know. So did they rattle of a greatest hits set for this rapturous audience? No, like the petulant and self indulgent tosser he is, Trent Reznor ‘treated’ us all to a set comprised of mostly ambient and barely audible arty numbers. I can’t even be bothered to track down what was actually played. Every time a track finished (it was kind of difficult to tell one track from the next) you could hear an audible intake of breath from the crowd hoping that the next sound would be the first few notes from Closer.

They closed the set with a note for note version of their (now) best known track Hurt. This seems entirely out of place as the crowd mumble along dispiritedly with the Jonny Cash version in their heads.

I’m a big fan of NIN, but this display was nothing short of offensive. Not appropriate or impressive, just shit.

I’d like to tell you all about Avenged Sevenfold, but they’re shit, so I didn’t watch them. I got through about 3 songs of Metallica’s set before James Hetfield, clearly taking notes from Robb Flynn’s earlier waffle, decided to indulge in some sycophantic crowd wooing. I saw then live, and much closer, a few months back, and I had a long journey home ahead of me. There was no way they would top AIC and Mastodon, so I left Hetfield wittering on and went home.

A Thom Yorke played a new track and some rarities in a rather daring midday solo slot at Latitude festival according to NME.com. What possessed that mad pixie to play this usually mortuary like slot is anyone’s guess (perhaps he was hoping that no-one would turn up), but never-the-less he apparently played storming set including classic rarities True Love Waits and fan favourite Follow Me Around among highlights from his solo album and recent Radiohead back catalogue.

I’d love to see him tour with a set like this – which of course he won’t. He’ll more likely play a one off show in a supermarket composed entirely of Talking Heads covers played on a Commodore 64.

Old Devil

It’s difficult for me to write about AC/DC without being autobiographical. At the age of 9, my only exposure to popular music was Wham! and dancing to Howard Jones with my sister. We’d recently moved house to a new area, and I got in with the local crowd of greasy youths, who were into some strange music that I’d never heard of before. My cultural consciousness was ripening and I was ready to belong, to something, to anything. So when one of those listless youths played me AC/DC’s For Those About To Rock…We Salute You (and, incidentally, Iron Maiden’s 2 Minutes to Midnight) my brain lit up like a torch – I was infected.

Years later I still rate that track as the greatest piece of rock ever recorded. I mean seriously, it’s got a 21 gun salute! In recent years it became an ambition of mine to see it played live. What more spectacular event could there be? A culmination of a lifetime of love of the rock and roll art form.

Before this year I’d never seen AC/DC live – never managed to experience the movable rock and roll mecca that is For Those About To Rock… live. They’d not been to these shores for many years and many expected that they would never return. So as you can imagine, when they announced the tour I snapped up tickets as fast as Ticketmaster could get me through the booking process (which is actually quite fast – there’s a nerve pummeling time limit, it’s like being on the Crystal Maze).

I actually bought 2 lots of tickets, one for the 02 gig and one for Wembley – I wasn’t going to miss this, no siree! But, it was seeing this spectacle in a stadium that was really my dream, and could imagine that I was seeing it at Monsters of Rock. So it was all building up to last night.

The O2 gig was fabulous. The set was solid, but the set list was published in the paper the previous day, which removed some of the flavour of proceedings (see also my rant on predictability in live shows), but all in all it was fist in the air rock and roll fest.

Now, on to the review of last night’s gig. First thing’s first – the set list was the same as the O2 gig, exactly the same. To all intents and purposes I saw the same gig, just with more people watching it. The predictability, however, was largely balanced out by the atmosphere, which to use a hackneyed but appropriate term, was electric.

This is all the more impressive given that the very evening before, Michael Jackson had keeled over and died. There’s some interesting juxtapositioning here; according to Jackson’s lawyer, Jackson died of a heart attack brought on by an overdose of painkillers. Jackson was abusing these pharmaceuticals to calm feelings of anxiety over the 50, I repeat 50 consecutive gigs he was to play at London’s O2 arena. I challenge even a spring chicken like Miley Cyrus to pull off such a feat, let alone a 50 year old with mental health issues.

AC/DC, somewhat Jackson’s senior, didn’t go for the trendy option of a residency at the O2, they did a standard tour with a few stadium dates, but seeing them up on stage you can imagine them being able to do what Jackson clearly couldn’t. They may look old (Young’s thinning hair was painfully apparent) but they don’t act it. What’s more ironic is that whereas Jackson is clearly deranged, Angus Young, who on stage would appear deranged, almost certainly leads a understated suburban existence in one of Sydney’s leafier suburbs and is as well balanced as they come.

Sweaty daddies and big explosions

The previous night’s events hadn’t dampened the crowds thirst for rock and roll. A set that confidently lifted several tracks from their phenomenally well timed new album Black Ice didn’t skimp on the classics either. The fact that everyone knew that AC/DC would play  their most well known and loved song Back in Black 3rd in in the set didn’t spoil anyone’s night. Young’s extended guitar thrash-outs didn’t bore anyone, they knew what to expect, cheered at the right time and marveled at his ability to make an increasingly discordant and evil noise with his guitar. There were explosions, which are always cool, and a giant lady pleasuring herself against a train. Nice.

The classics were rolled out exactly as they should be. The energetic stage act is played out exactly as it should be. Angus excreted exactly 7 gallons of sweat, exactly as he always does, and his brother and the other bloke stay at the back where they belong.

Everything in it’s right place. Just as it should be. That’s what rock and rolls about, right?

Actually no. No it’s not. The most rock and roll thing I saw all night was the drummer playing with a fag drooping from the corner of his mouth.

I’m not saying that it wasn’t an immensely enjoyable gig; it was – like being at a party with 50,000 of your mates who all like the same songs. Hearing that many people hollering the chorus to You Shook Me All Night Long is a wonderful thing. AC/DC should be celebrated, and this may be the last time any of us get to do that. But that’s just what is was – a celebration. Not a night that you will remember and cherish, something spontaneous, one in a million,  “were you there when…?”. Perfectly executed, passionately delivered, meticulously rehearsed and continuously repeated.

So, back to the culmination of my rock and roll loving life. I was about to rock. I was quite drunk. I was suitably boisterous. When the encores arrived, I was excited. Then it came.

How could it ever live up to my expectations? The crowd weren’t waiting with bated breath for this singular spectacle. They knew it was coming. They’d seen it before and were thinking about how to get to the loo and still stay ahead of the crowd to get on the train. The guns weren’t very big and there weren’t 21 of them (6 to be precise). It all finished too quickly, and was punctuated by sweaty daddies squeezing past me to leave the stadium.

Disappointed? Only in myself. At my age I should know better. Thank you AC/DC for 25 years worth of pleasure and for the countless more moments of pleasure you provide via my iPod. For that, I salute you.

(4)

Setlist:

1. Rock N’ Roll Train
2. Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be
3. Back in Black
4. Big Jack
5. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
6. Shot Down in Flames
7. Thunderstruck
8. Black Ice
9. The Jack
10. Hells Bells
11. Shoot to Thrill
12. War Machine
13. Dog Eat Dog
14. Anything Goes
15. You Shook Me All Night Long
16. T.N.T.
17. Whole Lotta Rosie
18. Let There Be Rock
Encore:
19. Highway to Hell
20. For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)

If I had to sum up my thoughts on last night’s Mastodon gig at the O2 Islington Academy in less than 5 words, they would be “It is not cool”. Allow me to elaborate.

Mastodon't

When Iron Maiden, touring to promote their (admittedly excellent) album A Matter of Life and Death they played the whole album, note for note, in its entirety from the beginning of the gig. That was not cool. However, in the fullness of time we forgave the Maiden their misdemeanor as, as they rightly put it, they had earned the right, after 2 and a half decades, to play their prized and critically acclaimed new album from start to finish live, should they so wish. Or to put it another way “we are Iron Maiden, and we can do what we want, so f*ck off!”. Fair enough as they did conclude the gig with some time honoured classics, but it still spoilt my enjoyment of the gig.

When The Mars Volta did the same thing, on their debut tour, celebrating their debut album, it was also not cool. But in fullness of time we learned to forgive them as, at that point it was the only material that they had ever recorded. They could have jumbled up the order a bit to make things a bit more exciting, but Deloused in the Comatorium was a concept album which threads a narrative, so playing it out of order would have seemed a little strange.  Fair enough, and the quivering afros did enhance the entertainment value somewhat.

When Metallica chose to perform their seminal album Master Of Puppets (1986) while on tour in 2008, this was cool. This album had earned its right to be performed in its entirety live. I would have killed to have seen that.

When, last night, Mastodon decided it would be appropriate to perform their (admittedly excellent) album Crack in the Skye in its entirety (I can only assume as I left half way through track 6) IT WAS NOT COOL! It still is NOT COOL. Neither band nor album had earned that right, and they had plenty of other astounding musical ditties to choose from.

You see, live music is all about spontaneity. If I want to listen to an album I can stick it on my iPod anytime and listen to it. I can even jumble up the order so I don’t know what’s coming next. I don’t need to spend 15 quid to breath in other people’s sweat and queue at the bar for overpriced beer – I just put my headphones on. Unpredictability cannot, and should not be taken for granted. Part of the mystique of the live experience hoping, nay praying that they play your most prized track, watching the clock thinking closing time is drawing uncomfortably near. Will it come as part of the encore? Will there be explosions or and extended space jam (thank you for this many times Queens of the Stone Age)?  Sculpting a set list is a different discpline than putting together an album’s running order. Knowing the setlist of AC/DC’s phenomenal gig at the O2 arena earlier this year actually detracted from my enjoyment of it, despite the fact that they always play the same stuff.

Hear me now Mastodon (or should that be Mastodon’t), it is NOT cool!

I can only thank Valient Thorr, last night’s support, for an electrifying and highly amusing performance in which the songs were in a random order and from multiple albums. Your beards are truly inspirational. Valient Thorr, that IS cool.

(1.5)