Receive Weekly Email and Text Message Updates:
Sign up for latest info on concerts, dining, promotions and more!
Go!

Related Stories ...

Most Popular

Reader's Picks

Top Recommendations

A short list of San Francisco's most popular hot spots.
user content provided by: LikeMe.net & SF Weekly

National Features >

  • City Pages

    Michele Bachmann, Unmuzzled

    You don't need to read Sarah Palin's book to hear the ravings of a mad woman.

    By Matt Snyders

  • Miami New Times

    Pimp Daddy

    The rise and fall of a chubby sex-cult leader.

    By Natalie O'Neill

  • Riverfront Times

    Babe 'n' Arms

    Tom was a hot-tempered cross-dresser with a garage full of guns--and then he became Rachel.

    By Nicholas Phillips

  • Dallas Observer

    The Fight for Texas

    Rick Perry and Kay Bailey Hutchison are locked in a battle over the soul of the GOP. They're also running for governor.

    By Sam Merten

Early Man

Closing In

Share

  • rss

By Michael Alan Goldberg

Published on December 21, 2005

When I listen to Closing In, the new riff-fucking-tastic retro-metalfest from Early Man -- the duo of singer/ guitarist/bassist Mike Conte and drummer Adam Bennati that, thanks to the power of overdubbing, sounds at least three members larger -- several things rush into my mind all at once: Heavy Metal Parking Lot; Sabbath's Master of Reality; that dirtbag Hessian in eighth-grade homeroom scrawling band logos and Maiden's Eddie on the back of his ratty spiral notebook; Metallica's Kill 'Em All; getting rides home from school in my friend Steve's trashed '75 Nova and nearly choking to death on the stench of exhaust fumes; stale Schlitz and overstuffed ashtrays; the cover of Priest's Screaming for Vengeance (thanks mostly to "War Eagle," during which Conte shrieks, "I am an eagle made of steel ... my eyes shoot laser beams at will/ They're dialed in and set to kill," pulling a little Halford outta his ass to turn that last word into a high-octave "Kiiiieeeeeeeeyyyaaaaiiyyyyhhhll!"); that sixth bong hit; rifling through musty stacks of Creem and Kerrang! in Tad Gileo's basement; walking out of a million rock shows with no hearing and feeling like I got body-slammed by King Kong Bundy. Dudes, it's a beautiful thing.