Throttlebomb unleashes debut release at Hi-Dive
A NEW DENVER ROCK BAND TO CHECK OUT
Published: Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Updated: Wednesday, March 6, 2013 02:03
Red Stinger’s punk rock rumbled wooden black doors, sent out a bat signal for all the smokers, greasy, long-haired, bearded, cloaked in black, and draped in chains, to take their last few puffs outside the Hi-Dive on Saturday for a few heavy pints of rock.
After Red Stinger set the energetic tone, familiar faces made their way closer to the stage with recently found friends nearby. Newly formed Denver band Throttlebomb set up its instruments to promote its debut album with some brand spanking new sounds. Stickers, shirts, and CDs were finding their way into the right hands, while guitars strapped on and tried to find the right notes.
The best seats in the room were right next to the speakers. Thumping glasses of beer across four foot high boxes girated while an already rowdy mosh pit formed as Throttlebomb opened up its set with a fury of speed metal.
Many came for Black Lamb later that night, but were pleasantly surprised to experience a new Denver band unfurling its breakneck chops. Briefly, in between whirlwind songs like “Bar Fly” and “Everyone I Know Is Going To Hell,” chatters of acceptance and acknowledgement popped and crackled around the dark den of the Hi-Dive.
Toilet paper wads, large crusty globs of snot, string, and everything sticky hung down from the loose ceiling boards as Throttlebomb rushed headlong and carelessly through the night like first time bank robbers.
Throughout the show, bassist Jenn Rad fingered her glow-in-the-dark strings—which looked like they were exposed to high levels of radiation—along with Adam Mullins’ drums, establishing a strong footing for the band’s sound, allowing lead singer Bart McCrorey and guitarist Justin Delz to really let loose on some devouring snaggletooth solos.
Influences of Motörhead soon came to mind, but Throttlebomb’s lack of giant moles, along with more youthful vocals make them their own. McCrorey let sweat fly from his headbanging head as the band tore into “You Stole My Shit,” reminding Denver rockers of all the good times spent with local hard rock bands, PBR, and all the rocking brick and mortars still standing strong, supporting shows like these.
At the end of 50 minutes Throttlebomb closed its set—as short and action-packed as its music making—and packed up its gear. For a good 15 minutes, Black Lamb was a screwdriver—the tool not the drink—away from playing its show, which seemed to be caused by a loose screw on one of their guitars.
If it wasn’t for McCrorey from Throttlebomb loaning his guitar, Black Lamb would’ve never played its set.
It was a very short five song set because of the delay, yet long enough to usher out a confused crowd into the frigid night air tugging on jackets and
huddling in circles of drunken conversations.