The mythos of all-encompassing evil that surrounds Seattle speed punk freaks Zeke would lead you to believe they crawl into pentagram-lined coffins at the crack of dawn and quickly say their anti-prayers to Lemmy before the goodness of the sunlight burns them whole. Our boys in black have done little to dissuade this theory. From their legendarily crafted rider that promises an appetite for destruction of proportions so epic it makes Dethklok look like pussies (and releases the band from any and all liability) to their commitment to crafting the fastest, loudest, craziest music this side south of heaven, Zeke have taken a persona that could easily been perceived as shtick and owned the hell out of it for the last bazillion years. MACHELL DUMA LAVASSAR
Fri., March 12, 8 p.m., 2010
