Hats off to the marketing gurus behind this show - the powers-that-be managed to squeeze artists from four different labels into a single night at the Whisky; showcasing RCA, Roadrunner, Century Media, and Artemis. The tour trucks alone took up two blocks' worth of Sunset Boulevard, and after scrounging around for an overpriced parking garage, dealing with a box office with no record of my name on any guest list, and tracking down a photographer to give her a photo pass, I was just about ready for a stiff drink -- only to find out the Whisky's upstairs bar was closed.

Hotwire's brand of garage/punk/metal seemed to have a Southern twist to it, so I was surprised to later learn this band is actually from L.A. I was convinced they were from the Buckeye State, especially after their singer mentioned there were people from Ohio in the audience, including some members of Chimaira. (This is the same state that's given us eight presidents, the Pretenders and Marilyn Manson -- but I digress.) Hotwire started their set with a nice, raw sound; think White Stripes meets Boss Hog. Unfortunately their brassy guitar rawk gave way to a dissonant mush, made worse by their singer's atonal squeals. This didn't prevent their upbeat stage presence from shining through, however, and they refused to be silenced by the crowd's stereotypical indifference. Pretty tough for a "home team," eh?

Within the next thirty minutes, I could feel the crowd's anticipation -- literally -- as they turned the Whisky's main floor into a fire marshal's worst nightmare. Security dutifully compressed the fans' bodies tighter by the minute, and when Killswitch Engage took the stage, they hit the crowd like a scalding pot of coffee straight to the lap. Think Stuck Mojo without the rap and Slayer with breakdowns. The crowd fed off the band's intensity voraciously; respectfully returning the mainstay of signs: crossed hardcore forearms and metal devil horns alike. K.E. continually added fuel to the pit's fire, be it from a riot-inciting glare through crazed eyes or a devastating breakdown of double bass and half-tempo riffage. As a result, security had their hands full with the pitgoers, bouncing not less than a half-dozen gents by the end of the set. Listening to the singer, you'd think he had written songs like "My Last Serenade" and "Numbered Days" himself; he delivered them with such passion and conviction. One of their two guitarists (Adam Dutkiewicz) could easily be the evil twin of SNL's Will Ferrell. His bleached and spiked hair was only outdone by his facial contortions; each emphasizing his godlike guitar pinches and bends. After a post-show visit to their website, I learned their current singer (known only as "The Howard Jones") has only been with the band for a number of weeks, and guitar deity Dutkiewicz was formerly their drummer! Is there no end to the talent in this band? This is one Killswitch I hope never disengages!

The crowd was introduced - or should I say forewarned about - Shadows Fall by "the Howard Jones" of K.E.: at the end of their set, he bent over and twisted his ass toward the crowd, stating, "…get ready for a big dose of metal right in the browneye!" And that's exactly what we got. From Shadows Fall's opening crunch, I made sure to study the crowd carefully - many of the kids seemed at a loss. These dazed children - primarily an eyelinered and chin-studded all-ages collection -- weren't quite sure what to make of the band, but at least I understood their confusion. Where were their landmarks? Where were the familiar icons of gothgrrl, pimprock and nu-metal marketing that L.A. seems to spawn on a daily basis? There was no crossfading D.J. nor raven-haired keyboardist; no references to the West Side, Dark Side, or any other side; no mention of nine-double-ems, trey-eights or Lucifer's sword. There were no chains nor chokers, no upside-down Puma visors nor upside-down crosses; nothing. Just five men dispensing pure metal. Not that metal wasn't represented accurately; the dual guitarists (Jonathan and Matthew) of Shadows Fall were kind enough to match their guitars' arachnid shape and crimson color. They headbanged in unison, hair flowing in a cascade of aggression. They played in perfect synch whenever appropriate, and they also exchanged leads fluidly; one faithfully riffing while the other soloed. These guys were good. There was more fingering than a pickpocket at a state fair. Their riffs were complex yet engaging; paying homage to old-school legends such as Maiden and Queensryche while evoking new-school mathcore similar to labelmates God Forbid. Vocalist Brian Fair -- hands-down, the longest dreds I've ever seen -- even maintained his composure while singing into a giant black cock. (Apparently he was the victim of some last-stop-on-the-tour Tom Foolery, and someone stretched a dildo over his microphone just prior to their set). Shadows Fall served up metal breakdowns and thrash, even leaning toward the progressive and melodic in certain songs. Overall, this band is a welcome new addition to the already incredible roster at Century Media.

Kittie milked their star-status a bit too much for my taste. They kept the sold-out crowd standing for an eternity, even after the sound crew triple-checked their equipment and overstocked their water bottles. They prepped the audience with a female R&B number over the house P.A. system, and then set the mood with a droning distorted bass hum. They emerged one at a time, with Mercedes climbing behind her elevated drumset and her bandmates following with wireless equipment. Even after the hype, though, Morgan seemed a bit nervous. She fidgeted with her axe and seemed to have trouble looking the audience in the eye. What happened? Aren't these the same girls (well, two of them, at least) who played OzzFest two years ago, and as teenagers, no less? If they can handle a few hundred thousand diehard metalheads in outdoor arenas, then they should surely be able to handle an all-ages crowd at the Whisky! Morgan's growling vocals were overdistorted and heavily echoed, which was great for a few songs, but got old fast. Jeff (their guitar tech) did an adequate job of filling in for Fallon, their still-not-yet-replaced other guitarist. Jennifer (their newest bassist; replacing Talena, who replaced Tanya - still with me?) was the most energetic of the bunch this time around - she strutted back and forth across the stage, half-sneering and half-smiling at the fans; thrusting her low-slung instrument forward at all the right moments; gyrating and headbanging to every song. Kittie's set was thick and heavy, like coagulated blood oozing from a head wound. They covered both old favorites ("Charlotte") and new ("Pain"). It's reassuring to know that the world of metal is not a male-only environment (see My Ruin for additional proof), and I can only hope these ladies stay coagulated long enough to give us another album!