When Warchild promised they were back from a long winter and ready go to war, they weren’t kidding.
Look, I’m pretty used to a crowd getting (somewhat) rowdy, or at least be a bunch of dicks because I have a camera in my hand. What I wasn’t expecting (silly me!) was getting knocked to my ass in the first forty-five seconds, being punched in the right eye and having to retreat/climb on top of a speaker for safety. (Shout out to the buff gentlemen who not only picked my very very naive ass up from off the floor, but also played bodyguard for the remainder of the show. Chivalry ain’t dead, ladies… you can find it in Billy English, Brandon Moses and Mike Danko).
In short, Warchild dole out the brand of metal that would make your Grandmother sure you were in a satanic cult.
They’re the kind of boys you don’t take home to Mommy and the ones your older sister warned you about if your older sister was Kelly Bundy.
And like a good little disciple of Sacher-Masoch, I stayed til the very end to watch those dude-babes shred, spit out beer and beat the living christ out of everyone in their way.
TAKE AWAY: WARCHILD IS NOT FOR PUSSIES. BLACK EYES ARE COOL. THIS SHOW WAS EPIC.