Ed. Note: Whoa, man. Just…whoa. With the sweat and the beef and the lights and tats and the hair and what is it about girls playing bass that is so goddamn titillating to men like me that came of swooning age in tandem with the rise of the drop-d monsters turning metal into meditations on the classic HC breakdown as theme to the rise of the machines? Is it an Oedipal thing? Like, am I just chasing heartbeats, blinded straight up from the boot of the pit into the old comfort of the womb? Maybe. Or, perhaps, I just got stuck on girls who can kick the shit out of me. Either way (and back to base), the other day, Mr. Sipes got his business end all up in the grill of this Coal Chamber, Filter, et al. American roadhog juggernaut when its size twelve creeper landed firm as fuck on the neck of the bay and his evidence is about as epic and exhausting as you’d expect. So please dig, if you will, his pictures.
American Head Charge