A visitor entering the Hanger 24, Rishon Le'zion (a suburb of Tel-Aviv), on the night of Vader’s show, could see a well-reflecting microcosm of the Israeli metal scene, or, to be more precise, its actual non-existence.

The crowd was composed mostly of young men in their mid-teens, lingering and loitering on the floor of a rather bizarre venue for such a malicious act, featuring a lush cocktail bar, and complex, multi cornered architecture. Weird ceiling decorations, including no less then two disco-balls, further added testimony to its originality.

Although aptly following the metal dressing code, there is no scent of underground in the air, no atomsphere of insidious movement or rebellious vitality; more of walking around, telling stale jokes and talking about everyday issues such as the latest developments in politics, the upcoming military service or bothersome school teachers. After all, in a country surrounded by ravishing foes, in which any non-patriotic act is considered blasphemous, and under the impending shadow of reaching the age of 18, lawfully cutting your hair and joyously jaunting to the army recruitment base, the existence of a scene loyal to the principles of Nihilism is nearly impracticable. The only possible nests of turbulence emanate from the rather dominant presence of Russian immigrants.

The opening band, Azazel, appeared to congruously fit the casual atmosphere. Playing quite a predictable brand of epic black metal, featuring simple fairly simple, usually harmonious riffs and catchy power metal-ish, clean vocal choruses, they seemed to please the crowd quite a bit, sweeping many of the viewers to cheerful session of slam dancing. However, as immense as the enjoyment of the masses had been, it surely didn’t near the satisfaction levels demonstrated by the members of the band.

Although some of Azazel are rather experienced performers, they seemed to be exalted by the presence of the attentive masses, imparting the stage with a jolly aura of gleeful euphoria.

Next came on Shworchtsechaye (don’t even try to pronounce it, unless you find uttering Yiddish words a worthy challenge). Unlike their predecessors, these fellows somehow seemed to actually take themselves seriously, trying to incite aggresion amongst the viewers wielding some crunchy, thrashy death metal phrases . Although delivering some surprisingly original material, including (probably unintended) refreshing hints of death n’ roll, old fashioned black metal and palatably dissonant chords, all played professionally and smoothly, they didn’t manage to achieve a strong impact over the crowd.

Indeed, many of the present kids came mainly to bang their heads; but for that purpose we have Vader.

While Azazel satisfied certain light-headed, humorous needs of the masses, Shworchtsechaye, being an appetizer too similar in essence to the main course, were put in the shade of the upcoming main act, failing to transcend the status of a superfluous intermediary course... not to mention their incoherent session of political protest, dedicating a song titled “Fuck You” to the newly elected orthodox mayor of Jerusalem. None of the audience was impressed.

Finally, before Vader came on, the true stars of the evening played their part: the security men. Fearing the dangerously spreading mosh pit, they didn’t stop at merely threatening to cancel the show if there was any disorder, but also threatened to “break some bones.” Unfortunately, they kept their word: a squad of five admonishing bullies treated the crowd of youngsters with ruthless violence throughout the whole evening, reaching unbearable peaks of vulgarity just before and during the final act.

Which brings us to the headline of the evening: Vader, Polish gods of death metal. Actually, there isn’t much to say about their show, as no deviation of its absolute forseeability was apparent: the band churned with accurate aggression an array of numbers, all sounding quite identical, ending with a Slayer cover. There weren’t many nuances or subtleties; Vader simply delivered the goods flawlessly, doing nothing more, or less, then they were expected to.

A special praise should be given to the rhythm section, especially the drummer: while many bands get carried away and fail to keep the beat on reasonable speed while performing live, reaching an up-tempo in which the maintainance of tight playing is rendered simply impossible, Vader’s drummer had diluted his outbursting rage with mild
sensibilty, rarely gliding to unleashed blast beating. Furthermore, on the few times that he did slip, he was swiftly and efficiently harnessed by the attentive bassist and rhythm guitarist.

Vader’s interaction with the crowd was fantastic. I would say that this is the ideal band for Israeli metalists: They smilingly growl, indulge themselves in chatting with the crowd, stammering Hebrew words, speaking Russian at times (thus raising themselves to the level of true idols amongst many of the immigrants) taking short breaks, perfectly matching the overall feel.

Just like the members of the crowd, they don’t seem to absorb their metal creation as a life philosophy, but as an extreme manner of entertainment, offering an intense multi-dimensional experience of raging power and aggression, not leaving room for any form of ideology, interpretation or other intellectual explication, satisfyingly fulfilling the simple wish of the masses. However, as I mentioned earlier, their correspondence with the fans was constantly screened by the regime of bald, exhorting devils seperating the floor from the stage.

At one point an intro of Gregorian chants was played, and the spotlights were directed from the dark stage towards the viewers, leaving only the silhouettes of the three front men visible. For a moment the stage looked as a sacred ground, populated by three long-haired figures (captured princesses?), watched over by a group of mighty swollen gargoyles.

Finally, a sole moment of genuine, consequential atmosphere adorning Vader’s engineered, unspontaneous presence. High point of the evening? Perhaps. I stood at the back.

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