Impaler Brings Gore And Joy To Turf Club!
Oh, hello there! Hopefully February is treating you decently.
Minnesota finally got a break from the cold snap we were stuck in, beckoning a few days of false Spring feelings to the Twin Cities for a short while. Sun staying for a few more precious minutes every day. The middle of winter, or the end? Feeling the groundhog may have been wrong in his predictions. Let’s hope. Being my first time to Turf Club, was not sure what it would be like. Have heard good things, and they have beer. So if it sucks, at least I can drink a cold one as I thrash about the venue to some good ol’ shock rock.
Arriving a little after 7pm, I parked behind the club on the street. Fun fact, don’t do that. Apparently I chose the one of two streets implementing a “pilot program” to keep winter parking every other side of the street. No signs saying this, of course. Thought I was golden. Nope. Came out to a lovely ticket tucked into my car door. Gonna fight this one seeing as it’s my first ticket EVER. EVER. I have never gotten a speeding ticket, no moving violations. Nuffin. As anxious as the day is long, I ALWAYS check where I park. And then check again. Then…just to make sure. Take another reassuring look before deciding, yep, this is a good spot. Thanks, Saint Paul, for making my Friday the 13th.
Had to get that out of the way, to the show! Got in pretty fast to a most delightful space. Having been open since the 1940s previously as a supper club, Turf Club has tall ceiling and oodles of seating. They serve food, so gonna hit that up next time since dinner was already had at home, but spied the cold taps calling my name. Sat down at one of the little high tops, server came over and took my beer order. Fast and friendly service. $11 for a Fresh Squeezed IPA. Not cheap but not the $15 at almost every other venue, thankfully.
A shiny red “Be Mine” letter sign above the stage was getting a lot of attention since the Valentine’s Day was right around the corner. Popped up to the stage before any action to creep on the neat props for the night. Crowd was filling out nice for the opening act. The Cobra Jets were up first and they started off the mood right. The stage littered with iconography and props for Impaler, they strummed along in front of spooky severed heads and fake-blood soaked mannequins without a care in the world. They were fast and fun. Very engaging with the slowly growing audience, which was a little shy at first and stood a bit farther back from the stage. A splash of vintage sound mixing with grungey punk garage rock, a wonderful choice to crack open the show.
No time to wait, a quick change of instruments and the next band was up on stage about ten minutes after The Cobra Jets finished. The seamless transition on any stage can be a challenge, was great to see friends and staff help facilitate a smooth and quick changeover with 4 bands on the bill.
Bad Idea was a treat. Self-described “Foot-stomping, blood-pumping, blare-it-in-the-car, punk-rock-n-roll,” they are very bit of that and more. Fast and hot guitar, the members seamlessly shredded together, keeping up with the mood of the club. The drinks were flowing, and the moshpit was growing. Not as wild as the average pit, but definitely saw some mighty crash dancing and mobbing amonst the 7 people in it. The overly cautious ring was encompassing almost half of the front floor. Audience members not taking part in their mosh were being shy and didn’t wanna risk a flailing limb move bopping them in the head. As I walked through the side of it to snap some more close shots after getting a back-of-house photo, a 40-something year old man with something to prove deliberately slammed into me. Not being my first rodeo by far, and used to much bolder stallions than these, stopped him dead in his tracks with my forearm with a sharp check. With a muffled “sorry” from him, bushed past the brute with a “no worries” and continued shooting as usual.
Time for some Fret Rattles. Running a little late, but not too bad, they landed on stage like tidal wave. Little bit action rock, a healthy dash of punk. They sounded fantastic. Every member felt present and invested. From the guitarist and bassist jumping off their own cabs, to letting the front row warriors strum on their instruments in-between lava hot licks and solos. The audience was prepped and ready. A few scrambling to squish into the front to make sure they didn’t miss a second. Maybe a few were a little too ready, having let their working-for-the-weekend drinking levels get to an 11. Would one hundred percent love to see them again. Honestly, I’d see the whole lineup. We have so much legendary creativity and talent in our state, tis not rare for each supporting band to be equally as stellar as the headliner.
Was a biiiiiit of a waiting game for Impaler. Their set time of 10:15pm long overdue after Fret Rattles ran over it. The setup suddenly just stopped, and the stage was vacant for about 20 minutes. Well, pull my arm, I’ll get another beer. This time, a tallboy Surly Furious, who were the sponsors of the show. Keep it up, Surly. We have to continue this tradition of art and music excellence, and these smaller shows are critical bloodflow to that pipeline. Chatted with a few other humans while checking my watch every so often, the mood was light and friendly. Exchanging stories from past shows, got to look at some sweet photos from past shows fans were sharing on their phones. I will ALWAYS look at your photos. No need to convince me. Show me eeeeeem. Finally taking the stage around 11pm, the anticipation was vibrating.
Stunning fans and foes since 1983, Saint Paul’s own Impaler must be witnessed in person. Have you seen a man crack a cold one into a head and of course attached spinal column beer bong and crush it in less than 30 seconds, all while playing badass tunes alongside his horror-clad musical brethren? Shout-out to "Dr. Corpse" Zach Lindsey and his delightful antics. My favorite aesthetic details of the night know no limit, from skull encrusted knee-high boots and lightbulb biting corpses to bloody plastic sheeting billowing behind the drummer like deadly butterfly wings, this was a show and a performance. Lead singer of the band since its birth, Bill Lindsey breathes pure metal and rock and roll. His dedicated base rides on every word uttered from his lips, the patronage by music fans is a long lasting love proved by people like Lindsey and his bandmates.
Strolling back to my car after a lovely night of music, the night air was cool and calm. Delicate pitter patter of splashing Converse kicks and laughter echoed gently in the sleepy Friday Midway streets. What a fantastic show.
