As we’re walking towards the Posthalle in Würzburg, I know I’m neither over- nor underdressed.
I’m basically not dressed wrong, either, it’s that my attire simply just so misses the mark, as I’m comparing my outfit to that of others around me.
I am dressed in black, sure. And wearing a skirt. But, though above the knee, it is still a couple of inches too long. At least compared to the
skirts belts I see other ladies in. And mine has white polka-dots.
My black high-top sneakers aren’t helping my case, either, as the other girls’ shoes make up in inches what the length of their skirts is lacking. Darn it.
We’re standing in line to swap our tickets for festival-bands, basked in beerfumes and eau-de-I-haven’t showered-in-days. Behind us are a couple of guys that remind me of Garth and would later inspire me to the following textmessage to my brother:
“Remeber Wayne’s World? That’s what this looks like”
They are all acting very civilised and make me wonder what I was worrying about earlier, when posting on facebook:
“Lisa Prosch is looking forward to Hammer of Doom with Nick, Leo and Maria!
Hopefully they will take care of her and protect her against the hordes of Doom!”
to which I was friendly reminded:
“Remember WE ARE THE HORDES OF DOOM!!!:D”
Ooops! My mistake.
I never made it a secret that I’m a doom novice. Sure, I’ve heard about some of the bands that would be playing. But what doom exactly was, I wanted to find out. Besides being the perfect opportunity for catching up with our Maltese Posse, Hammer of Doom posed the possibilty for a scientific endeavor:
Finding out what doom is, first-hand, and observing, maybe even inter-acting, with the common “doomster”.
And finding out if you call doom-listeners “doomsters”, anyway.
Before travelling to Würzburg I had a vague picture in mind of how such a guy would look. I envisioned long, dark hair, lots of leather, possibly tight pants and an overall mean appearance.
I googled for a picture to show you what I thought of, but all I found was this:
Yes Google, that’s a metal-fan, thank you for your help!
Most of the guys crowding the Posthalle weren’t as scary as I had imagined. I wasn’t new to metal concerts, as I had visited quite a few in Rock City No.1, and the mixture of species I encountered were what I had expected.
There were those of the “Metallus Blackus” type, with tight black leatherpants and long dark hair, as I described above. Kind of like these guys, who named themselves after a bloodtype:
Then we had the common Viking type, hair as long and blond as that of a Northern Maiden, soft and shiny in most cases. Terrifying. The “Vicus Northernitis” seems to have a practical demeanor and carries his own drinking horn attached to his hip, so that he does not have to drink out of unworthy plastic cups. He may warm his chest either with denim or fur and his legs and groin-area tend to have more breathing room than the above mentioned species.
When I heard that Vikings would be attending, I was hoping for guys like him:
And was deeply disappointed. No Erics around. I got these guys instead:
and actually enjoyed them. Though they fall more into the “Epic Metal” category, as I learned.
There were lots of those fans around, clad in denim wests covered in patches. Or just lots of patches with glimpses of denim inbetween. I even saw one guy with a pants covered in patches. There were so many that you couldn’t make out the original trousers anymore. It made me wonder what he would do if he gained so much weight that the pants wouldn’t fit anymore. Remove them all and transfer them to another pair? Or just add another row of patches in the top, to make more room for the belly? I will never know.
My favourite patch of all the weekend was a very scary one, though.
(Excuse my cellphone’s crappy pic, they wouldn’t allow my Nikon at the venue)
The female metal-head basically fell into two types (except my lovely Maltese friends):
- The “Metallus Bitchus”
- The “Metallus Butchus”
The former I already described in this post’s beginning, all short skirts, high heels and low shirts. And loooong hair. Most of them looked really good in their stuff and were ogled by all the male species mentioned above.
These ladies get quite close, though those that I witnessed looked somehow classier, even dressed that skimpily:
The “Metallus Butchus” got less attention, but had the advantage of being able to move freely through the crowd and could flip through the merch at leisure, not being interrupted by drunken advances. Their long, loose cargo-pants and jeans vests just didn’t seem to attract as much attention as the mini-skirts of the “Metallus Bitchus”.
(This is the first part of my doom-tastic encounter at the Hammer of Doom, stay tuned for Part II)