Ernie November’s, Cheyenne, May 26th, 2024

Photos and article by: Ashley Parrish Otteman

It's not every day you find yourself in Cheyenne, Wyoming, contemplating whether a metal scene can thrive in a place better known for big skies and cattle than for crushing guitar riffs. Yet here I was, standing at the threshold of Ernie November’s, a record store turned occasional mosh pit, diving headfirst into the trenches of Wyoming’s metal underworld.

Ernie November's has been a staple in Cheyenne for the past 26 years, serving as the epicenter for the small but fierce metal community that thrives there. Here, the DIY ethos isn't just a trendy catchphrase; it's a survival strategy. There's no stage, no barriers—just the unadulterated chaos of bands and fans coming together on the same worn carpet, mere inches from the salt lamps and manifestation candles, all set against the colorful backdrop of tie-dye tapestries. For a show, the transformation is straightforward yet effective: they push aside the clothing racks, cover the crystals and nag champa displays with sheets of plywood, and roll in the mixer board. Voilà—showtime. The music this place hosts? Not exactly easy listening. Bands like Eyehategod, Goatwhore, Vitriol, The Casualties, Escuela Grind, and Exhumed have all graced this chaotic makeshift venue, among many, many others. 

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect for my first time here, so I positioned myself near the front, off to the side—my usual spot at shows. I managed to endure a whole thirty seconds of the opening act, Pig Splitter, before an elbow to the gut prompted a rapid reassessment of my viewing strategy. I don’t flinch easily, and after twenty-plus years of attending gigs like this, I’ve amassed my own list of mosh pit war wounds. But hey, I'm old now. I left my mosh pit glory days back in my twenties. So I wandered around to the back and secured a spot that offered a panoramic view of the ensuing madness.

Pig Splitter, a power grind duo from Fort Collins, Colorado, features Gavin Nance on drums and vocals, and Sam Brown handling guitar, bass, and also vocals. Despite them being barely twenty and only being two of them, these guys were an absolute assault of energy. Midway through their set, Brown switched from guitar to bass, and for their final song, they brought in an extra drummer while Nance hurled himself into the pit. The entire place erupted in motion, leaving me scanning the crowd, wondering how I didn’t know this place existed for so long. 

Following their explosive set was Old Skin. Their sound—a potent blend of sludge and aggression—maintained the frenzy that had me questioning the structural integrity of the building. The pit was beyond wild. At one point, a piece of the plywood barrier was hoisted into the air, with a brave soul surfing on it as it was passed through the crowd. I had seen these guys play before, and they continued to deliver their set with intensity, speed, and originality.

Dystopioid was up next. Cheyenne’s own beloved wastelandic thrash metal band felt right at home here, having stormed this "stage" plenty of times before. Though I’d seen Dystopioid perform before, experiencing them at Ernie’s—where video clips just don’t capture the full experience—was something else. I reclaimed my spot in the back behind the band, one of the few safe refuges, and awkwardly peeked out from behind the marijuana leaf tapestry I was using to blend into the background. Standing there, you can’t help but feel like you are part of the band. (Quick, someone toss me a keytar.) The unusual vantage point offered a rare perspective on the drummer, Gabe Wagner, as he thundered through blast beats, driving the frenzied pit into even wilder territory. The speed of their music charged up the crowd even more, confirming that my decision to watch from a safe distance was a wise one. 

Finally, it was time for Church.

Gospel choir music filled the store as one of the "snake people" walked around baptizing members of the crowd. Saint Anthony strolled in through the front doors, followed by the rest of his band, the other "snake people," with a plume of smoke visible through the glass. Suddenly, he transformed into a whirlwind of energy, wrapped in a white, blood-stained robe. He tore pages from his blood-soaked Bible, scattering them across the floor, enhancing the visual spectacle. Members of the band wore reptile masks, concealing their identities. The scene felt like part sermon, part siege, challenging every religious norm with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

According to the Cancer Christ website, Saint Anthony and the snake people have been sent down from heaven on a holy mission to make all politicians, pedophiles, and police officers suffer slowly. Their genre? “Reptilian power violence.” Obviously. It’s not every day you hear lyrics that aggressively invite you to heaven while calling you a 'little bitch'. I won’t lie, I loved it. However, their main message is about inclusion—acceptance of all sexualities, genders, and races. I bet you didn’t see that coming, did you? 

Thanks to Vinny, the sound guy, I snagged a ladder to watch the theatrical chaos from a few feet up, tucked back in a corner. It’s hard to put into words what I saw—a whirlwind of bodies and raw energy in a spectacle unlike any other I’ve seen or been a part of, and that’s the thing—no one was merely just an audience member; we were all part of the show. It was like being at a gig in your friend’s basement—if that basement also sold incense and band tees.

The night was non-stop motion, a relentless energy that made me question if someone had dropped acid into my pamplemousse LaCroix. I couldn’t stop smiling. I still haven’t stopped. At one point, Saint Anthony had everyone kneeling—part mosh pit, part revival meeting, all insanity. I won’t ever forget this show; it’s forever burned into my brain.

So, to wrap it up, I can see why bands want to play here. It really is an experience unlike anywhere else. It’s a place where boundaries blur and a reminder that some of the most memorable shows aren’t always in the biggest venues but in the places you’d least expect. It’s a testament to the raw, unrefined, and unapologetic spirit of heavy music that thrives on the fringes, far away from sanitized stages and overpriced beer.