Necrot / Ectospire / Dust Lord
Whittier Bar
Tulsa
Feb. 11, 2024
Oklahoma has long harbored a love for the Heavy Arts. Black Sabbath played their second to last show here in 2016. GWAR play Cain’s like 12 times a year. And we’ve always got the odd cult one-off like Finland’s Archgoat back in the day. But with the help of bands like Tulsa’s Dust Lord and Ectospire, we are becoming a place to be and not just happen upon. These local talents are constantly traveling out of town to showcase Tulsa’s metal proficiency and bring new talent back to the state.
A sold out death metal show featuring those bands in support of Oakland’s Necrot at Whittier Bar on Super Bowl Sunday was a blazing testimony to this. For anyone keeping up with Tulsa music, Whittier Bar must be consistently on your radar. The non-genre venue has the distinction of being Rex Mundi for multiple genres, with metal finding Whittier as its ground zero. And with events like the Queer Art Market and drag shows in the rotation, it’s also a rallying space for marginalized groups, regardless of music fandom.
The Sunday show in question was packed with every kind of hesher: patched-up long hairs, gym short slam-curious bros, and the denim and leather classic. I saw a dude buy a Necrot shirt and immediately put it on over the shirt he came in wearing. That’s some real death metal dad-core, and I respect.
It was surreal watching the Chiefs win the Super Bowl and not realizing who was screaming for them or for the doom assault of Dust Lord. I once called this band “heavier than a dump truck full of dabs,” and I stand by it. They take Tony Iommi’s “salvation through riff” promise and drag it to its La Brea Tar Pit conclusion. Low. Slow. And demolishing. There’s a reason the blues was originally viewed with demonic suspicion. Dust Lord remind you why.
Ectospire took the stage next to one of the more rabid crowds I’ve ever seen on a Sunday. The cheers definitely weren’t for the Chiefs this time. Their brand of paranormal skullduggery takes knuckle-dragging, mosh-ready riffing and pulls it into the esoteric realms of ripping death metal. Originally a recording-only project, the outfit underwent several mutations until settling on their current specter. Once delivering an exceptional spin on Bolt Thrower-style death metal, they’ve come into their own Altars of Madness-worshiping sound, playing countless shows and solidifying themselves as an olive branch to the Oklahoma hardcore scene.
Necrot closed out the night, and logic dictated this was who the sold-out crowd were here for. “Alright guys, just one thing,” singer/guitarist Luca Indrio said. “I don’t wanna see you guys staring at us. I wanna see you guys fuck shit up.” I eyed the collection of pinball machines near the crowd and gulped a little. Necrot ripped through their set, as the crowd ripped through each other, and I played Doom Eternal on Whittier’s PS4 with my ears attuned to the audio violence on stage. “Rip and tear,” as Doom commands. Necrot did, and I followed suit.
Necrot are one of the bands in mid-capacity-room death metal right now, and for damn good reason, but people visibly went wild for Ectospire, whose vocalist, Brihana Marie, gave an impassioned appeal for donations to the Dennis R. Neill Equality Center at the end of their set.
The Equality Center has been struggling to keep its lights on, and Marie — a trans woman — reminded everyone of the life-saving importance of such a space. “It’s our community center, and it’s our healthcare,” she said. As Oklahoma and increasingly the world are reeling from and reckoning with the recent death of non-binary teen Nex Benedict, who was bullied for months and finally violently attacked in an Owasso High School restroom, a point could be made that Marie — a vocalist in a genre rooted in gore, violence, and well, death — is doing more for our state’s at-risk youth than self-appointed saviors like State Superintendent of Education Ryan Walters.
Next at Whittier Bar: Starjuice + Peyton Flocks Band, Feb. 27
