November 15 was a historic night for the Louisiana metal scene. Acid Bath, which has been selling out venues far and wide since making their first two reunion appearances at The Fillmore in April, headlined the UNO Lakefront Arena and likely became the first Louisiana metal band to ever headline an arena in New Orleans. Local metal legend Phil Anselmo also headlined the UNO Arena in 1996, but he did so as part of Pantera, the anthropomorphized “Don’t Mess With Texas” bumper sticker of a band. While his decidedly more NOLA group Down did appear at the New Orleans Arena (now known as the Smoothie King Center) in 2008, the band was supporting Metallica. After extensive research and consultation with scene elders, it seems that even your drunk uncle’s favorite Louisiana rockers Zebra appear to have never headlined an arena in New Orleans, despite having opened for KISS at the Superdome and Journey at City Park Stadium (now known as Tad Gormley Stadium). Zebra and Anselmo’s biggest projects make sense in these types of spaces as acts that rose to prominence with the muscle that comes from serious major label backing. In stark contrast, Acid Bath’s two albums When the Kite String Pops and Paegan Terrorism Tactics came out via the seldom-remembered indie label Rotten Records. The latter of those two albums came out in 1996, 29 years ago, and the band slowly bled out the following year after the tragic passing of bassist Audie Pitre. For many, Acid Bath’s arena-headlining set would be their first time to witness a band whose mystique has grown extensively into the stuff of urban legend since their breakup. As with many of their successful post-reunion shows, Acid Bath brought some local acts along for the ride.
As chants of “Acid Bath! Acid Bath!” ricocheted from walkways leading into the arena just minutes before doors opened, I wandered away from the venue, lured by Paranoize zine master Bobby Bergeron‘s social media posts promising a parking lot set from his solo noise project Shitload. As I approached Bergeron’s white truck, he told me that I already missed the set but I was persistent enough to conjure up an encore: Two minutes of a ponytailed man in a paper mask and Incubus (the old New Orleans one) tee screaming at the top of his lungs as he bashed his fingers into his bass for a small but devoted audience of five people. A few minutes later, photographer Gary LoVerde, Eyehategod bassist Gary Mader, and Mader’s wife Tomasa approached and yet another chaotic encore was summoned up by the small but growing group of fans. As another group approached, we bullied Bergeron into a third and final encore while the Acid Bath diehards finally entered the arena. Afterwards, I dutifully grabbed the latest issue of Paranoize from a stack nestled next to the tiny Fender Rumble amp in the bed of Bergeron’s truck and made my way inside, bringing an end to my Heavy Metal Parking Lot escapade.
In the time-honored tradition of metal show pageantry, the arena was covered in a sea of black tees professing attendees’ allegiance to heavy metal glory-year icons like Metallica and Megadeth. However, in contrast to typical arena shows, local band names were especially prominent on shirts. Local heavy-hitters Crowbar were undoubtedly the band branded across the most chests. In addition to high-profile touring locals like Eyehategod, BRAT, and Thou, others promoted deeper cuts like instrumentalists Spickle, annual underground gathering Creepy Fest, and even the late, great scene icon Hollise Murphy of the powerviolence band Fat Stupid Ugly People. It was clear that this show was, for many, a celebration of local underground music culture. For one night, Louisiana metal was elevated to one of the highest stages this city has to offer and celebrated with the same reverence typically reserved for more stereotypically Louisiana genres such as jazz and zydeco. Attendees, through their choice of attire, made it clear that, as locals, this is their music, regardless of what the powers-that-be continually reinforce about the region’s musical heritage.
The first of the official performers within the arena itself was the mighty Suplecs, the hard-hitting local power trio that celebrates its 30th anniversary next year. I last saw them eight months ago during their annual Mardi Gras show at Checkpoint Charlie’s. That multi-set bacchanal of riffs, booze, and costumes consumed the tiny bar for hours on end. This time, the trio stuck to a lean and mean four-song set that lasted just 20 minutes. As I sat in one of the upper seats bopping my head and shouting along, I kept trying to calculate how many Checkpoints I could fit between me and the band as I squinted my eyes and tried to squish the tiny ant-sized rockers on stage with my fingers. “I gotta be honest, I’m nervous as hell! But these bands are all like family and it’s an honor to play with all of them!,” announced bassist Danny Nick before launching into their third tune “Rock Bottom.” Despite the nerves, Suplecs packed their brief moment in the spotlight with the mean grooves, psychedelic guitar leads, and revved up cockiness that have made them a cornerstone of the local rock scene for nearly three decades. I hope Suplecs sold at least one specially arena-priced $50 shirt (the minimum going price for all bands’ tees at this event) because damn it, they’re worth it. “I got kicked out of here in 1989 for slam dancing during the Metallica concert… This is my redemption arc. Look at me now, 1989 security guy!” Nick proudly proclaimed before the band dove into their fierce closer “Moped.”
Suplecs
Fans were hungry to see local legends Soilent Green again and let it be known. The pit action during their 25-minute set made it clear that the security at this show was not as opinionated about the dance style as the staff at that 1989 Metallica show. Soilent Green, founded the year prior to that Metallica show, recorded some of the most devastating albums in New Orleans metal during the ‘90s and Aughts but has rarely been seen around here in recent years. Although the band made their return to live performance in 2024 after a decade of inactivity, their only recent appearance in the greater New Orleans area was a show at Southport Hall last year. Members from the band are among the city’s most respected metal musicians, having also contributed to seminal local projects like Crowbar, Eyehategod, and Acid Bath guitarist Sammy Duet’s band Goatwhore. On songs like “Sewn Mouth Secrets,” the band masterfully fused sludge, grindcore, and death metal into a gnarly barrage of bombshell snares, slicing guitars, and venomous vocals. It was abrasive in all the best ways. As I was swallowed by the decibels booming from the arena sound system, I wondered if Soilent Green’s sonic filth had ever sounded so massive.
“We should’ve been playing first,” noted Amigo the Devil, the night’s first out-of-town performer, at one point acknowledging the differences between his banjo-plucked tales of woe and the distortion junkies that dominated the bill. Although musically an outlier, friendly devil Danny Kiranos’ bleak tunes fit right in, and his approach wasn’t too far removed from mellower recordings by Acid Bath, the post-Bath project Agents of Oblivion, and Dax Riggs’ solo output. Throughout his set, Kiranos, a Floridian who has made his home in Texas, touched on mass suicide (“Hungover in Jonestown”), an alternate timeline where serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer went into talent scouting (“Dahmer Does Hollywood”), and a friend who got shot in the face while working at a gas station (“Once Upon a Time at Texaco”). Kiranos and his band bared it all in blood red lighting underneath a massive LCD backdrop depicting a Jesus-esque figure being flayed by his disciples. While not heavy in the same sense as other acts on the bill, Amigo the Devil was undoubtedly brutal.
After Amigo the Devil encouraged singalongs from the seats, Power Trip got the adrenaline rushing again. Songs like “Executioner’s Tax (Swing of the Axe)” and “Manifest Decimation” are the perfect mosh music: a headfirst collision of ripping guitar leads, roaring vocals, and rapid speed engineered to send shoes flying. Watching Power Trip from a chair felt like a cruel and unusual punishment. I fondly recall the Texas band’s early shows at Siberia, when people crammed up close to the tiny stage and a murderous air filled the pit regardless of how few people were there. This time around, they were performing as an arena support act in front of a massive audience that wasn’t necessarily there for them, which can be a death sentence for bands that demand anything from an audience. Thankfully, Power Trip’s non-stop riffage and seemingly endless calls for pits conjured plenty of action from the crowd on the floor. Much like Soilent Green and Acid Bath, the thrill of seeing Power Trip was enhanced because many thought the band would never play again after original singer Riley Gale‘s passing in 2020. There is no replacing Riley Gale, a burning flame of a frontman who helped usher in a new era of metal and hardcore crossover with his bold presence, but Seth Gilmore did a solid job of whipping moshers into a frenzy.
“I think we had our first actual Mastodon show here in New Orleans,” recalled guitarist Bill Kelliher, echoing Suplecs’ claim on Instagram that the Atlanta band debuted as their openers at the Dixie Taverne in 2000. Having come a long way since those humble beginnings, Mastodon was certainly the most arena-seasoned act of the night, having spent over two decades in and out of massive spaces as a support act for big shows like Ozzy Osbourne’s final performance earlier this year. Perhaps familiar that little of their movement would translate to nosebleed seats, much of Mastodon’s visual impact came from psychedelic animations that played during each song, transforming their set of sludge-indebted, slow-rolling trip outs into something akin to CoComelon metal. At one point, the group’s own character the Cysquatch, a massive multicolored cyclops beast, stumbled on stage in a fashion that felt like a more cartoonish take on Rob Zombie’s ghoulish productions. While the revved-up closer “Blood and Thunder” conjured some movement on the floor, much of the set felt like something to view rather than engage with. Like a poster from the Mushroom that had been brought to life, Mastodon’s set was perfect stimuli for the seated masses that had been pumping themselves full of beer and god-knows-what-else the whole evening. Although it’s not my thing, the cheers were undeniable evidence that it clearly resonated with much of the arena. Notably absent was face-tatted founding guitarist Brent Hinds, who very publicly parted ways with the band earlier this year before later passing away in a motorcycle crash. While his absence went unaddressed during their set, Mastodon displayed photos of him and Ozzy after the performance.
After Mastodon’s set, there were murmurs around the arena that the entire facility had sold out of beer. Supporting this claim was the fact that the twisted lines that once led to $225 signed Acid Bath arena show posters now led to the bathrooms. Founded by a group of small town weirdos around Houma in the early ‘90s, Acid Bath had finally made it to the big leagues with big ticket prices, big piles of merch moving, and big lines for the bathroom. On stage, a slideshow acknowledged the band’s more humble beginnings by rotating between old Acid Bath fliers, photos, and even original bassist Audie Pitre’s obituary. In the moments leading up to Acid Bath’s set, I looked around and tried to gauge if this whole arena show was merely a product of nostalgia. It wasn’t hard to spot graying, thinning hair throughout the arena but there were also plenty of youthful faces free of any wrinkles. Although Acid Bath made some underground commotion during the band’s original tenure in the ‘90s, their two studio albums When The Kite String Pops and Paegan Terrorism Tactics slowly grew through word-of-mouth to achieve legendary status in the decades absent of the band’s presence. Chalking up the large audience to mere nostalgia would discount the numerous teens present who found something that resonated with them in this bleak, messed up music.
“The agents of oblivion descend upon the sane.” The stage succumbed to a red glow as twisted poetry, a pre-recorded track manipulated to feature a disturbing unnaturally low voice, consumed the arena. The crowd cheered furiously when we were suddenly blinded by pulsating lights as guitarists Sammy Duet and Mike Sanchez launched into the driving guitars of opener “Tranquilized.” Dax Riggs masterfully traversed a wide emotive range as his voice fluctuated between croons and hysterical shrieks. “Let the blackness roll on,” belted Riggs during the first line of “Bleed Me an Ocean.” His call was answered swiftly by haunting screams summoned from the deepest depths of Duet’s soul. The music was slow, heavy, and, at times, abrasive—yet the sheer catharsis of it uplifted the downtrodden spirits of those that filled the arena.
Underneath the arena-ready light rig and tailormade visuals that flashed across the massive video screen dwarfing the band, it was clear these were far from the legends of shirtless drugged-out freaks screaming in your face in dive bars littered with broken glass. Their discography’s most frantic, gutwrenching moments were largely absent but, while fan favorites, those moments don’t quite reflect who these musicians are in 2025 anymore. As Riggs explained to ANTIGRAVITY back in our February issue, “I see how other bands do reunions and it’s cut-and-paste from exactly the way it was and I’m really opposed to that kind of thinking.” Acid Bath are objectively not the same band they were in the ‘90s nor should we expect them to transform into some living reenactment of an urban legend that has been passed down again and again.
The current band’s remaining original members have gone through almost three decades of life since Acid Bath’s initial end. They’re also drawing fresh blood from Crowbar bassist Shane Wesley, who is filling the late Pitre’s spot, and Goatwhore drummer Zack Simmons, who replaces original drummer Jimmy Kyle. The infusion of new blood and new perspectives gained over the past few decades give the songs a slightly different flair, as in “Dead Girl,” which didn’t sound like the somber, sparse acoustic version on When the Kite String Pops or the rockier full band rendition recorded by Riggs and Sanchez’s post-Bath Agents of Oblivion. Preceded by a half-minute of loud walls of guitar feedback, this night’s version felt utterly metallic, driven by Simmon’s pounding drums underneath the big lights. Despite some changes here and there, the emotive core of Acid Bath still resonated, dragging attendees deeper and deeper into the abyss with them.
Audience members occasionally screamed out for specific songs like “Jezebel” to no avail. Instead of veering into potentially choppy waters they once traversed long ago, the band stuck to the same exact ten songs they diligently prepared for their initial reunion appearances. The show climaxed with the band at their most demented on “Dr. Seuss Is Dead,” which ignited the floor and set even the highest seats into a furious whiplash.
Before that final number, Duet remarked, “This is fucking amazing! You have to understand how many bands I’ve seen in this room that made me who I am now.” Even with a lengthy six-band bill, Acid Bath didn’t sell out the arena, but I’m not sure that such a feat was ever their true goal in the first place. “What a trip, right?” noted Riggs before “Graveflower.” “It’s like a family reunion.” Fans gathered everywhere from the floor to the highest row of seats and the beer stalls were bone dry by the end of the night. All those pretty, pricey posters that fans endured lengthy lines for are going to live on walls for years to come in commemoration of that one time that the regional metal community wasn’t just relegated to whatever space was left. For one night only, Louisiana metal was undeniably front and center in the spotlight.
Photos by Dalton Spangler
