http://www.nuvo.net Templars of Doom festival review, May 7-8 by Emma Faesi Posted on May 13, 2009 The third Templars of Doom festival, back after a three-year break, brought some of the best names in doom metal to the Melody Inn for three days of fuzzed-out distortion. The crowd multiplied rapidly from day to day, making me wonder if metalheads might be capable of some sort of amoeba-like binary fission: Each two newcomers bore a striking resemblance to his long-haired, denim-vested predecessor. Thursday night kicked off with some talented locals. Opening the entire festival was NecroPharmacon, who performed their stoner-laced hard rock to a decent-sized crowd. Order of the Black Hand followed; darkly quirky frontman Dru Cadaver says his band played "a decent set even though it was light out." He continued to explain that "[our drummer] Craig was not as drunk as he should have been, but I tried to make up for it. I think it was just too early for Black Hand." Next up was Bulletwolf, who opened their set in the accustomed fashion by raising their four respective cups of beer and easing into a slow intro that exploded startlingly into set-at-11 loudness. Worm's unmistakable growl, gritty as kitty litter, was a force as tall and burly as his person; he never missed a beat in the vocals as he picked out chunky bass lines that underscored the rollicking, head-nodding guitar riffs. The single out-of-town group of the night - Rebreather from Youngstown, Ohio - made good use of a screen and projector that told a story of a bunny's death accompanied by dark swirls and falling fetuses. It was a psychedelic nightmare of crawling powerchords, near-constant droning and flailing drumsticks fronted by agonized vocals that had the desperate, wide awake lolling effect of the end of a drug binge. Some of Indy's early forerunners of fuzz, Devil To Pay, followed Rebreather's edgily punk-influenced metal with a more classic doom sound. The jagged riffs had sharp distortion tempered with intelligent pedal effects and backed by smoothly sliding bass and durable drumbeats occasionally accented with cowbell. Vocals were languidly articulated low rumbles that lent a murky, menacing sense to the general stoned heaviness. This was a contrast to the blazing beats (played by the brilliant and barefoot drummer known as Scoth) and chaotic solos of the closing band - Indianapolis' You Will Die - whose lack of vocals allowed the artistry of the instruments to show through.