Concert Review
Photos and article by: Ashley Parrish
Let me tell you about this strangely amazing night I had.
It was just a regular Wednesday, and I was in a bit of a rut. The show I’d been looking forward to was postponed, leaving me a little bummed. After all, writing about live music requires one thing: live music. As I doom-scrolled through my socials, a flyer caught my eye: "A cinematic love fest inspired by heavy riffs." The image? Two cowboys kissing from Brokeback Mountain. The intrigue? A top-secret location. Well, count me in. Only thirty tickets were being sold, so I shot off a few texts, and an hour later, I was on my way—with absolutely no idea what to expect.
The forty-minute drive between Fort Collins and Cheyenne always feels like a journey back in time, with open terrain offering a nice break from the absolute clusterf%ck that is now northern Colorado. I was told where to meet, and the secret location, only referred to as “The Thrash Zone,” would be revealed upon arrival.
I drove past abandoned buildings, weaving in and out of suspect alleyways until I arrived at the spot. Hidden in plain sight, two men dressed in black met me outside. I should really make better choices, I thought as I was led into a small room with white concrete walls. Wooden shelves lined the space, cluttered with crates of old papers and random office supplies. A giant Ghost Busters logo hung by the makeshift sound booth. A few people were already standing in the back, so I found a spot next to stacks of Foreigner and Allman Brothers records and waited. The room filled up quickly—no more than thirty people, but it felt packed due to its size.
N.I.A.T. (Night In At Tiananmen) kicked off the night with an explosive mix of Math/Grindcore. Hailing from Billings, MT, and currently on tour, their instrumentation was impressive from the get-go. If Mathcore can boast one thing, it’s technical prowess. I’ll admit, I’ve had a hard time with the genre in the past; it can be a bit boring to watch since the focus required to play their instruments often detracts from stage presence. But N.I.A.T. defied that norm. Not only did they sound tight, but their vocalist, Will, brought a lot of energy, waking the crowd as their set began. The momentum built as the room’s temperature soared. When they launched into “Head First into the Berkeley Pit,” I couldn’t help but appreciate the solid bass tone and infectious groove. The dynamic shifts and vocal parts kept things interesting, and, of course, the guitar work was the shining star.
After their set, everyone spilled out to catch some air. The alleyway was lined with drum sets, sticker-covered guitar cases, and makeshift merch booths. I walked around talking to people, but the hundred-degree heat was quickly zapping my charisma. As much as I didn’t want to go back into the sweltering room, I had a job to do and was not to be deterred. For the next band, I secured a spot closer to the front so I could snap some photos for this article—and to have an easier escape route should the need arise.
It did. It absolutely did.
Turns out, Sewerslide, the next act, is a hardcore band out of Denver. Big mistake getting up front. If you have ever been to a hardcore show, you get why. I shielded my face in an attempt to deflect the windmilling, floor-punching, two-stepping, and spin kicks that erupted the second the first note was played. Their raw, chuggy sound was delivered with emotional intensity and plenty of breakdowns that the crowd was hungry for. After managing to snap a few blurry photos, I made a run for it just as an elbow collided with my solar plexus. A slow grin spread across my face as I retreated to the open alley. I cannot help that hardcore will always hold a special place in my warped and weird little soul, as many of the values I choose to live by stem from this genre of music.
Back in the alleyway after their set, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this night wouldn’t be so quickly forgotten. As someone who doesn’t partake in any form of drugs or alcohol, this is where my addiction lies—shows like this, held in obscure locations, never knowing what's about to happen or what to expect. When you stumble upon a great band in such strange and unusual venues, it feels like you’ve uncovered something valuable, like you discovered something before anybody else.
Even with my optimism, I wasn’t prepared for what was next.
HIRS Collective is a queer punk band, often referred to as queercore and was not what I expected to find in Cheyenne, Wyoming, which made it all the more amazing. Based out of Philadelphia and in the middle of an extensive tour, this band blindsided me. A collective ranging from two to six members, there were just two of them tonight: Jenna Pup, founder and vocalist, and Jason Eldridge on guitar.
Their performance blew me away with a brutal vocal assault that shifted seamlessly between intense growls and dancy pop samples. The stark contrast made it interesting, to say the least. Their musicianship and all-out intensity showcased undeniable skill, along with a little something else I can't quite find the words to describe. Their radical lyrics and high energy delivered a message that doesn’t often find its way to Wyoming, and the crowd went crazy for them. After the show, you could overhear numerous conversations about how thrilled people were to have this kind of representation here. They were a blast to watch, and I highly recommend catching them as they continue to tour.
Finally, Dystopioid took the stage. Cheyenne natives, but they are no Jason Aldean cover band, despite what they’ll tell you. I’d seen them before, and they were the reason I found myself in this unusual situation to begin with. I’m not sure if it was the strange white room, the energy of the crowd, or Vinny the sound guy, but these guys were the best I’d ever heard them. Their music is a thrashy mix of grindcore, hardcore, and who knows what else, culminating in what they refer to as "Wastlantic Trash Metal."
The last time I saw them, they launched a blow-up doll into the crowd (RIP Svetlana); this time, it was streams of toilet paper. The pit was in constant motion, toilet paper littering the old tile floor and sticking to the soles of our shoes. At one point, someone charged in through the back—a woman, probably around sixty-five years old—bounced into the pit like she owned it, swiftly disappearing out the back again just a few moments later, making me wonder if I had imagined it. Although I had seen them in the past, what really stood out this time was how well frontman Billy and guitarist Tylor collaborated on their guitars, creating a speedy barrage of intricate riffage full of twists and turns against constant blast beats—it made me feel all toasty and roasty.
The night ended on a high, reaffirming my belief that sometimes the smallest shows are the best. It was a memorable night with a good mix of talented bands that meshed well together while having distinctly different sounds. If you ever get a chance to attend a secret show in a hidden spot, take it—you never know what kind of unexpected experiences and bands you might discover.
Click the band names for link’s to their pages.