Fire, death metal, and 666 smoking tires!

Introduction: A flaming article on the US band Inferion’s Colombian tour between August 2nd and 6th this year.

The tour bus driver was the most disoriented ever: a 17-hour journey, from Pereira to Santa Marta, man. Six cities, the most unlikely bands to go on tour together because of the variety of genres—sometimes you see festivals where there are two genres at most—Colombian trash, death, heavy metal, and black metal bands, besides the foreign black death metal band Inferion, which this time featured a Colombian drummer, Eddy Sepulveda—who is also in the Colombian band Luciferian—and a single bus. The fact that somebody came up with all this was a dream come true for me.

Two days earlier, on my way to José María Córdova Airport, I wondered who the hell came up with this chaos—was it Eddy, Ray, or Nick from Inferion?; or maybe Alex from Shadows and Chaos came up with it from Pereira? "Beats me, man!", I told myself, dulled by the drowsiness of the buses that take you up to Rionegro.

And how could you imagine that you’re going to be hired to have a good time, listen to kick ass music all the way there, and more at every show? What I was going to find there was pure fun, so much that you could even forget about the work—which happens sometimes, though no doubt some dimwits would say "that doesn’t happen to me". Oh well. Arriving in Bogotá will always be a lovely experience, and more so when you fly there… by plane—don’t jump to conclusions. Needless to say, love and hate grows there, but luckily, in this case "infernal" love trumped hate.

The place would be Ozzy Bar. I’d never been there, and certainly not in such good company. Yes, I know what some will say, but let me tell you—I’m honest and that was my first time there and in such good company. The pub is designed to put on a great show; there’s a hall for selling merchandise which also functions as a resting area, an entrance leading to the stage and the backstage area, and large stands for the audience. And tables, of course.

Inferion, the band whose guitarist Ray Mitchell (friend and "cousin"-in-law of mine) invited me to participate as the official photographer for the Holiday in Colombia Tour 2017, had already been here in 2013 and 2015 playing alongside other bands. I hadn’t had the pleasure of listening to them, and while waiting for the bands and Ray to arrive to say hi, I was talking to my beautiful companion, Lila Coronado Bonilla—model, performance artist, and metal enthusiast—who that night would, in a sensual performance ritual, introduce Sacrofobia, one of the bands from Bogotá that would start the show together with El Sagrado and Ataque de pánico.

The first band member I saw enter Ozzy Bar was Nick, who rushed by me with gear and cases along with Frank, the bassist; Ray, the guitarist; and the Colombian roadies. Leaving aside the lovely and curious detail of my resemblance to Ray, I also know Anita, his wife; she is a charming woman and clearly loves the band and Nick’s work. I got up to say hello to them and talked to them for a while, I took some pictures of them with people from the pub, and I began to white balance right there so I would be ready before the blasphemous performance.

That was a night of friends and unexpected fans—very intimate, by the way. Still, every band killed and the audience felt their might. I must say that starting the tour with such an atmosphere, and at that speed, was fitting. I thought I’d see more heavily invested hardcore fans of metal in Medellín and Pereira, the next cities in the tour, and I did.

We arrived in Medellín with Inferion. Their show would be at Nuestro Bar, which for me is not the best choice for a show, since it is far and hard to get to, and besides the space there is reduced. My suspicions about Nick were confirmed there—the man fought in Iraq as a US soldier. In fact, the cover of one album by Inferion, The Desolate, features the shores of Cobe Speicher base in Tikrit (Iraq). I thought such "integrity" was worthy of a soldier, but that attitude was just to hide his acid sense of humor. The jokes between him and Frank were very funny, which allowed me to see another side of his personality. As for Frank, he’s a super easygoing and great guy who also writes vampire books. He and Nick are very good friends, and the good energy they have shatters the stereotypes and rather dumb judgments created by the status quo, which in the end mess you up and make you a participant of today’s contradictions.

At Nuestro Bar, I had a chance to talk more with the guys in charge of the tour, and also to know what they thought of this daring and stubbornness of hitting the roads of Colombia with some metal bands. The show was very intimate there too, and the audience showed their dedication to the scene with their head banging, their loud applause to every band, and their vibrating to the chords from these demons. Even John Fredy Mejía, vocalist of the Antiochian band based in Florida The Glorious Death, showed up to greet and share with those who came by on that devilish night.

The end of the tour was approaching. We took a bus out of Medellín and headed to Pereira at 2:00 a.m. We were tired and sleepy enough to conk out, but once in Pereira, the reception was great. Pereira is definitely a lovely city, especially because of the people supporting these kind of events. I must admit that without them many of the requirements of the show—and also some personal cravings—wouldn’t have been met, so I take this opportunity to thank María and Bryan, who enthusiastically oversaw the logistics and comfort of all the bands.

Oz Bar was the place chosen for the show. As claimed by "Caliche", its owner, it is available for metal 24/7. They were very accommodating and kind, which is worthy of admiration, especially in this shithole of a country where you don’t know who to trust anymore.

Also there were Shadows and Chaos and Katarsis from Pereira, as well as Perpetual Warfare and Holyforce from Bogotá, Hell's Wrath from Tunja, and Resistencia al Olvido from Yumbo (Valle del Cauca)—bands that filled the stage with energy and were met with a frenzy by the entire audience. Everybody was enjoying it, but I had as hard a time as I did in Bogotá and Medellín; anxiety was taking over me as I had to fight the lights—or lack of them—even though I was using the most luminous lens I have. But I had to bite the bullet, find whatever threads of light I could catch and play with that, besides using a flash, which I definitely do not use. The show ended late at night and the bus tour continued. We were migrating to a new and warm destination, Santa Marta, and the cases and gear didn’t stop marching into the bus—though later the driver, as if he was playing a game of Tetris, had to work wonders in order to organize that world of luggage.

Once on our way, the atmosphere inside the bus turned fully metal. Despite the tiredness, there was room to relax in different ways… and what ways! The only bad thing was the music; why the hell did they think it was a good idea to play music at low volume in a bus full of metalheads? Yes, I know, everybody wanted to sleep after the shows, even on the chairs, although they always had a hotel at their disposal. Besides, a few bars of volume wouldn’t have hurt anybody and would have made the journey rougher.

I initially got on the tour bus as just a fellow countryman; some knew me, while others began to know me. Despite the low volume of the music, the atmosphere was really warm, with jokes and hugs, photos and selfies—obviously!—but I soon felt the weight of the day and fell asleep. Nothing to do about it.

I woke up in the morning with that fucking bus cold that chills you to the bone and Frank’s trombone-like snoring. When he woke up, some started taking pictures with him and it was the sensation of the morning. "How long?", he asked me, and I told him I didn’t know where we were going. I told him we were five hours away from our destination, after traveling for about ten. "Should be two hours now!", they yelled from the back, a little annoyed, and still we laughed to keep from crying, as Carlos "Neus" would say. We finally got to Santa Marta almost after noon, fed up with the bus and with a journey that took up to 17 hours. Or more.

We got off to stretch out body and mind. Bending on a seat for so long made me feel like an object; I’m 6 ft and I was bending like a folder. I looked for a place to stretch out and, while some were checking into the inn, Ray signaled me with his hand and I went over. "Cuz, we need a Uber. You and all the band go to Rodadero", he said to me, and my eyes lit up with bliss and fortune from such emotion. I needed to rest—properly—and what better way to do that than at the beach.

We ordered the Uber and it took us to El Rodadero, where we relaxed and recharged enough to go to the pub later. Since my sister and niece live nearby, I called them to see them and they very graciously brought us food. We ate and, with a full stomach, they and my favorite brother-in-law drove us to Bumayé Temple Rock y Metal, where the show would take place.

I never thought that Santa Marta had such passionate metal fans, but at Bumayé I got to meet several of them. "A strong Caribbean scene, brother. Here in the Costa we enjoy metal and we are passionate about it", I was told by a Caribbean metalhead with a very distinct accent. I loved every moment there, although there was chaos, fire, blood, and even fights outside the pub. The show was put on by an Atlantic black metal band with a brutal display on stage: pig head very close to the mic, lyrics from the beyond—though that’s not what one expects from a show. The mood was very heated. Rum, heat, and metal; that’s a heavy combo, and the craziness of the night delayed the concert, which among other things had to go on for longer because of the incidents caused by some people and the band in question, whose name no one could remember and many won’t even want to.

One that I do remember is AK-47, also from the Caribbean. They were a mixture of rap metal and hardcore, certainly impressive; the strength of their lyrics, clearly antigovernment, showed how the people of Colombia do indeed feel rage and make their case through songs. I’ve never disdained the rage of the people or their showing it in the best way they know, but thankfully the guys in AK-47 don’t go out with guns blazing; it sure would be very hard for them in combat.

Nick and the boys in Inferion were impressed with the level of dedication and passion that could be confused for aggressiveness, though rightly so in many cases. Still, they felt they were facing an audience who received their music with the strength of a metalhead; many put their arms up or gave the sign of the horns in clear display of fervor, as if the back-and-forth movement was invoking the fucker himself, while moving their messy hair like there was neither tomorrow nor herniated discs.

When the show finally ended I felt relieved. So did everyone, as they were tired of traveling and the adrenaline from the show ran out for many of us. I left with Ray and whoever fit in the car, though despite the exhaustion we later started drinking, with a view to the sea, until almost 3:00 a.m. We had an inebriated spirit, but it was time to go to sleep; we had to get up at about 9:00 a.m. to have a swim at the beach, eat breakfast, and take the bus to Cartagena, the last stop of the tour.

Despite the early rise, I was psychologically ready to once again endure the fucking bus cold and the snoring from Frank, who had selfies taken with his mouth open. There was laughter, jokes, and excessive brotherhood, but then we went to sleep because Cartagena was waiting for the last show of this metalhead tour. At this point in the journey it was inevitable to feel some nostalgia, since despite the dizziness and the very fleeting things lived there—worth repeating for their fondness—it was a great opportunity to grow in many ways, as a photographer but especially as a person.

We arrived in Cartagena and it turned out to be hotter than I remembered it. We got off the bus looking forward to it all—but first a little bit of sea. At night we headed to Dogma Ensayadero Café, where the show would take place. Besides the Caribbean bands there, we were joined by the bus crazies, so the night was well set. The place was lovely, except for the lights, which were not the best. I was fuming inside as I tested the ISO of each room—I would have rather been part of an ecliptic solar sacrifice or had the building collapse than having to use that fucking flash I so hate. Anyway, in the end the job got done while the bands showcased all their power on stage.

Violence and Gigal, local bands from Cartagena, opened the show with excellent musical twists and hard, strong riffs. Out of the bus crazies, the daring ones were Bogotá’s Holy Force; they gave it their all from the first moment, in every song. That is commitment. Right up next, shining as bright as they’d been doing all tour, Hell's Wrath: five guys who fearlessly got up to smash heads! Ray and the guys from Inferion once again made clear what they’re made of and their commitment to their audience was total; always flooring it and 100% kicking ass! Shadows and Chaos and Katarsis put an end to the night, always giving good metal, leaving their print in every placed they played. Cartagena was no exception, and people had the opportunity to experience these two bands, besides the tribute to Elkin Ramírez by the friends from Pereira. With the best music and energy, each made heads move, prompting many requests for more songs at the end of their shows; something that also happened with Resistencia al Olvido, a band that showed quality and dedication to the audience with furious music.

And so the tour, the crazy bus, the small hotels, the stops in the journey, the laughter, and the good music were behind us. It was an absolute privilege to hear from all of them the life force that moves them, the right amount of chaos in order to create. Collective initiatives like this have the power to inspire hundreds; even though it will never be easy to satisfy everyone, fans and detractors, we must definitely make a huge effort not to lose heart and make national metal live long—the present belongs to it, the future is unknown, and the past is prologue. Let the demons run free in this forest of sound-loving specters!