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LA Weekly Cover story
THERE IS A SMALL CHROME SKULL EMBEDDED IN ONE OF SHAWN McPherson's long, brownish dreadlocks. He's 21 years old
and loves heavy metal music. Not the prancing corporate rock of Motley Crue and Kiss, but underground, faster than shit, stop-on-a-dime,
hardcore speed metal. His band is called Hostile Groove, and they're setting up to rehearse in an empty classroom.
Shawn
stands over 6 feet tall and talks with a thick Massachusetts accent, like JFK after a few thousand bong loads. At the door,
he politely offers a set of earplugs, which are accepted with slight indignation. The rest of the band consists of his hometown
friend and drummer, Dan Welby, and their new bass player, a lanky young Texan named Aric Wright. Shawn nods okay, and Dan
clicks his sticks together, counting off a quick meter. The three lean forward and rip into their first song, "On a Mission."
The volume is incredible. The school desks begin vibrating and moving about the floor like amusement-park bumper cars. The
earplugs are suddenly appreciated.
The music is complex and loaded with passion: Hank Williams filtered through punk
rock and a thundering Black Sabbath. Shawn's singing alternates between a low-end growl and fast, staccato rapping. He stomps
the floor in a steady cadence, whipping his dreadlocks through the air and battering his guitar. Dan is behind his set, feet
driving the double kick drum, arms in constant motion. He resembles a shirtless Gene Krupa -- with nipple rings. Aric, who
minutes ago was the very embodiment of a laconic suburban kid, is now hunched over his bass, jaw clenched and fingers flying
about the neck at a phenomenal speed. This is modern soul music, complete emotional catharsis.
-John Albert
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