Oh Stigmata, How I love Thee

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When life kicks you in the backside, a pious person would turn to his faith, run to the closest place of worship and ask God for relief from pain. I run to my collection of music. Without it, I may have lost my mind long ago.

Following 30 of the worst hours of my life between Wednesday night and Friday morning, I needed solace that only music could give me. Fortunately for me, the Sun FM birthday bash was happening a few blocks from where my work place. Fortunately, because Stigmata were playing; there was no way I was going otherwise.

I left work around 6.45 and reached the convention centre around seven. As I walked into the hall, it was pretty deserted and clichéd hip hop was being played. The party was yet to start. I bought myself a slice of pizza, a hot dog, a cup of beer and took a seat behind the mixer console.

I was looking around when I happened upon a curious sight. Five or six guys, wearing oversized pants, oversized t-shirts, way too much jewellery and what looked like championship belts (yes, you read right), the likes of which professional wrestlers and boxers wear around their hip. They looked like a bunch of 50 Cent impersonators, except 50 looked like a perennially pissed off chipmunk. These guys acted like Orangutangs instead. One of them walked holding his crotch. Another was dressed all in white topped off with a white hat. He was obviously the pimp amongst this group of guys who, instead of heading for a fancy dress party, stumbled into the Sun FM bash.

Slightly disturbed, but strangely entertained at the same time (hey, it saved me a trip to the zoo for one), I texted a friend saying that I hoped a good collection of “our buggers” were coming. He replied in the positive. I was relieved, but I have never felt so out of place in my life. And I’ve been in the midst of a few hundred chicks screaming for Shihan Mihiranga.

I walked out and bumped into one of the Rock Saturday regulars. I had never spoken to her before, but I knew her name and she mine. The delight upon seeing one another in this unfamiliar environment was all too obvious in our faces.

We chatted while Crotch Grabber, who was obviously on some strange substance or another, walked around, “rapping” to an imagined beat in his head, showing off his bling to any stranger willing to humour the joker. We laughed until he walked in front of my acquaintance and said something. We think he was trying to chat her up, but we could be wrong; neither of us are fluent in Sri Lankan gangsta speak.

Acquaintance stared daggers at him first time around. A few minutes later, he blocked her way at the door. I was hoping that he’d get a good pussy whipping, but he was pulled away by his friends.

Soon after, “our buggers” started filing in. My best friend called from inside the hall and informed me that Stiggies set was set to begin. As we waited for our friends, Crotch Grabber came in front, blocking our way and began stroking best friend’s beard. Best friend is a rather large individual and looks a bit like Kerry King, only darker and a bit more muscular. Crotch Grabber looked malnourished. It was the proverbial David versus Goliath except I found myself hoping that goliath would take a swing at this David’s fucking face, but he (best friend/goliath) stood and stared instead. The look on best friend’s face was priceless.

When we walked in, a covers band was playing. Usual shit, but they covered Bohemian Rhapsody so that automatically meant they were cool. Or something. We gathered around Stigmata and wished them well before the concert. The stage was then set for DJ music. Hip hop. Crotch Grabber was the first to hit the dance floor.

Someone in our crowd shouted out, “You bitches will be clearing the dance floor in a few minutes, aye?” Hilarious because it would probably turn out to be true.

As Stigmata went in, we walked into the dance floor, stood amongst the dancers, watching the band plug in and prepare. Hip hop was still being played and Andrew, the lead guitarist, stared at the crowd in front of him and then looked in our direction with a huge smile. It was hilarious to watch a metal band prepare to play in front of a crowd like this. There’s a first time for everything I guess.

I’d say there were around forty of us and a few hundred hip hop dudes. Come what may, we were going to give Stigmata a thunderous reception. We began to show the Corna hand signal and the chants for ‘Stigmata’ rose to deafening screams.

Andrew started by playing the riff for their 2003 single ‘Andhura’. Crowd went crazy and mosh pits began forming. Around us a few guys stood wondering if we had completely lost it. Crotch Grabber and friends joined in, dancing for a while. When Andhura ended and ‘My Mallice’ began, the crowd in the dance floor reduced dramatically. It was just us. Oh it was beautiful.

I saw Stigmata last Sunday at an unplugged concert. I don’t know if it’s just me, but every time I see them I am convinced that they’ve improved from their last performance. They have this incredible gift for sounding tighter and more intense in every show. On Sunday, they began with a 15 minute jazz improvisation that had me completely floored. I love metal and I love jazz, but a metal band that can incorporate jazz into their music has my absolute respect. I left that performance thinking that they’d have to try very hard to better that. On Friday, they did just that: upped the ante and gave a performance that I will probably never forget.

Set-list was standard Stigmata stuff: “Andhura”, “My Mallice”, “Solitude”, “Jazz Theory” – one from the first album and the rest from the second album – and new material to be released in their upcoming third album: “March of the Saints”, which I’ve heard performed a couple of times, and the first public performance of “The Cry of Ares” (Hopefully I got the title right).

In the midst of the set, some guy from the audience went up to Suresh, the lead singer, and whispered into his ear. Suresh smiled and turned to us, “Err….he wants a dance song.” We laughed and Stiggies played ‘The Cry of Ares’. Anonymous guy was no where to be seen after that.

The new song begins with Suresh chanting, before descending into the usual chaos. In the middle there is a drum break that was probably the highlight of my night. Suddenly, Ranil, the drummer, was no longer the shy kid we all loved. With the light behind him, the drum kit shaking – literally shaking – he looked and played like a silhouetted monster. Ranil, machang, if you are reading this, I owe you that Flo Mounier DVD for those two minutes of absolute bliss. Rhythmic, you really need to check this kid out when you come down.

Before ‘March of the Saints’ began, I looked behind our little circle of metalheads. There was quite a big crowd, arms crossed, staring at the monstrosity unfolding in front of them. I pointed it out to best friend and we laughed. As the beat for ‘March of the Saints’ began, T suggest that we ‘go ahead and fucking march’ to the song. And we did. Row after row of guys and girls marching with hands on each others shoulders. It was a powerful moment of connection between friends and complete strangers.

While moshing I realized two things. One; if I hadn’t turned up, the thought of recent events in my life would have depressed me. In the circumstance, Stigmata’s performance was as close to spiritual retreat as a Godless bastard such as I will ever get. For that Stigmata - Suresh, Andrew, Tenny, Ranil and Vije - many thanks and much love. You provided me with more than mere entertainment.

Secondly, I realized that I no longer cared if I never got a chance to see the metal bands of my generation that I adore. If I go through my life never getting a chance to see the likes of Tool, Agalloch, Wolves in the Throne Room, Ulver, Negura Bunget, Rudra and co, it’s okay.

I have Stigmata.

PS: Photos will be added in the coming days.

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Filed under 2007, Bands, Music, Sri Lankan Rock