By: Ashley Parrish Otteman
Photos by: Amy Asche
The vibe inside The Summit was exciting yet somehow laid back. The venue was big and open, with fresh air pouring in from the open doors. It felt like the first nice day of the year—and a great night for a concert. The drive down to Denver was surprisingly pleasant as well. Along the way, I picked up Bre, my new concert buddy, who has the same stream-of-consciousness speaking habits, so I'm pretty sure we became best friends ten minutes into the forty-five-minute drive. It’s nice when you find your people. And after a brief adventure securing parking—we were ready to thrash. Or at least stand in line.
Once inside, we secured our spots in the merch line just in time for the first band, Denver-based Frontside Five. They commanded the stage with undeniable presence. Their sound, a refreshingly modern twist on skater thrash, melds the aggressive edge of hard-hitting riffs with the infectious melody of smooth harmonies, all while maintaining a thread of punk rock rebellion. Their undeniably energetic approach set the stage just right, ramping up the energy.
With our newly acquired merch securely fastened, Bre and I navigated through the crowd of black tees and battle jackets. Fortune smiled on us as we landed front-row spots at the barricade next to our friends Amber and her son Max, who is arguably the metal scene's most hardcore fourteen-year-old.
Dead Heat's entrance was nothing short of electric, capturing the essence of what it means to truly ignite a crowd from the moment they take the stage. The frontman, Chris Ramos, embodied the very spirit of the band's energy, as he danced across the stage, becoming a beacon of energy. His stage presence was as distinct as it was entertaining. Their sound—a gritty, adrenaline-pumping fusion of hardcore punk's intensity and the speed of '80s thrash metal—creates something that feels familiar yet new. The frenzied guitar riffs weave together speed, aggression, and melody in a way that's both chaotic and captivating.
Necrot was up next. Their sound, a mix of death metal's brutality with punk rock's raw, unfiltered energy, resulted in a performance that was both aggressive and refreshingly straightforward. The guitar work from Sonny Reinhardt, was notably distinctive, with leads that veered off the beaten path to carve out memorable melodies amid the chaos. Meanwhile, the heavy, growling bass tones coming from frontman and bass player, Luca Indrio added a palpable weight to the music, grounding the guitar parts with a thump that you could feel in your chest. These guys were my dark horse of the night.
At last, the moment arrived for my beloved masked mutants, Ghoul, to take the stage. Their set was a perfect blend of horror and humor, thrashy riffs, and catchy choruses—it had everything. The mix of thrash metal's aggression with the melodic sensibility of punk, and the speed of grindcore, all wrapped up in a theatrical package, was both engaging and energetically charged. They even showered the crowd with mystery liquid—and who doesn’t love mystery liquid? On my left, Max headbanged with a fervor that would make a chiropractor wince. On my right, Bre unleashed her inner banshee. I couldn't resist joining in, horns raised high. Ghoul’s performance of tracks from their new EP, like 'The Eyes of the Witch,' and 'Noxious Concoctions,' only deepened my love for them. They also played older favorites like ‘Dungeon Bastards’ and ‘Splatterthrash’ which got the crowd fired up. In my opinion, you must see this band live. They bring more than just music to the stage—they bring an entire narrative to life.
Headliners Municipal Waste brought on the grand finale, turning the night's energy up to pure insanity. The crowd, now a living entity fueled by music and drinks, erupted into chaos. As the mosh pit expanded and surfers rode the crowd, I clung to the barricade—imminent clashes with airborne Doc Martens keeping me on edge. Amidst this, Max's relentless headbanging never let up, while Bre heroically sacrificed her spot to a young man on crutches, guarding him like a soldier against the ever-expanding mouth of the pit, all while screaming at the top of her lungs, 'I’m sorry I peed on your couch!' at no one in particular. The madness was all-encompassing, with Ryan Waste and Nick Poulos delivering a relentless barrage of fast, intricate riffs that weave through each song with ferocity. The thunderous drumming from Dave Witte dared you to stand still. Songs like 'You're Cut Off' and 'Headbanger Face Rip' really kicked the chaos up a notch, with everyone shouting the lyrics. Their mastery wasn't just in their music but in their command of the crowd's energy, transforming chaos into a collective celebration. As Bre and I headed out towards the end of their set, finally done with the moshing and, yeah, the sweat smell up front, I glanced over my shoulder just in time to witness frontman Tony Foresta, being a total legend, chuck a rubber trash bin into the crowd.
In the eye of the storm stood the Summit’s security staff. As someone not usually at the barricade, I gained a newfound respect for these metal warriors not on stage but in the trenches, offering water and climbing up to catch the crowd surfers as they spilled over, ensuring heads didn't meet concrete. They did a stellar job making sure the controlled chaos never tipped over into actual chaos—and the magic of these shows lies in its controlled chaos. The term might seem contradictory but perfectly encapsulates the essence of a metal concert. It's an environment where the frenzied mosh pits and the relentless headbanging are not signs of disarray but of unity and release. This chaos is not only expected; it's celebrated, a vital component of the experience that allows fans to express themselves in the purest form, liberated from the constraints of daily life.
See you in the circle pit!