Soulfly @ Rescue Rooms, Nottingham

Posted: Fri, Aug 10, 2018
Last updated: Sun, Feb 9, 2020

Soulfly were one of a long list of bands that I never got round to properly listening to. I’ve heard a few Derrick Green-era Sepultura songs too, which I suppose is enough. The tickets were reasonably cheap and it’s not like I get out very much. Not a lot of bands I like tour near where I am, so it’s at the point where if I’ve heard of a band and feel like they’ll put on a decent show, I’m going.

I rushed from work back home to get dressed and knock a few back before doors opened. Little did I know that there were in fact no opening acts, and Soulfly would not grace the stage until 8. I had 2 hours to kill and I was drained from work. Time to drink my sorrows away… I guess.

Skip to 7:30, and I am dying for a slash. Absolutely bursting. A feeling of dread washes over me as I know I’m going to have to subject myself to the absolute filth that is the concert venue public toilet.

Now, I am trans. It is not possible for me to do a quick slash-and-dash in one of the urinals. I need a stall.

I lock myself in, do my business. Fine. I tried to pull up my shorts and stand at the same time. Not fine. I was a little unsteady on my feet and before I know it, my packer has fallen out, and as it’s made of silicon it bounced off the floor and under the fucking stall door.

When I was younger, about 10, I stayed at my friend’s house for a sleepover. We spent the night watching a couple of horror movies before scouring YouTube for the scariest shit we could find. This was a dumb fucking idea because I didn’t sleep a wink (and nor did she). We were both laying in our beds frightened out of our damn skin. I didn’t think it was possible to be in a state of fear greater than the state I was in as a little kid that night.

Until now.

I had to queue for the stall, so my initial thoughts were that a line of big, sweaty guys had just watched as a limp penis bounced out from under the stall door. My hand darts out to grab it – I could just about reach it – before hurriedly hoisting up my shorts and making sure nothing would be falling out again.

Before unlocking the door, I got on my knees and peered underneath it into the room, expecting to see Death herself staring back at me.

There’s 2 guys. One’s pissing in a urinal, and the other is washing his hands. They look pre-occupied. There’s a very good chance neither of them saw anything. I exhale, feeling the crushing weight of fear being lifted from my shoulders.

I left the stall as one of those 2 guys left the bathroom. The other one was pissing away, staring at the wall in front of him. I wash my hands and fucking bolt back to the barrier about 10 minutes before Soulfly came on.

Every song was good. Not absolutely incredible, but fun songs to lose your shit to. I got crushed against the barrier by a few drunken dads multiple times during the show.

Mark Rizzo also treated us to a seven minute guitar solo. He went hard as hell, and I’m thankful for that.

A girl about a head shorter than me had weasled her way in beside me at the barrier. This girl must’ve been 4-foot-something considering I’m not much over 5-foot myself. She was very sweet, but kept trying to talk to me during the set. Every time I went to answer her she was like “WHAT!? WHAT!?”

Girl, my ears are currently being blown off. I can barely hear you either. The bass is tearing my body apart.

After a lot of smiling and vigourously nodding my head to let her know I was listening and attempting to answer her, she got her phone out and took a photo of herself and me both looking a right mess. No idea what she’s done with that photo. I vaguely remember some bunny ears on the screen so perhaps it was just a Snapchat thing. I’ll never know.

This shirt I impulse-bought is, uh, very edgy. It’s been quickly relegated to pyjama status. Sorry Max.