by Make Us Gods

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To start off with, he was one of those guys who showed his enthusiasm for a band by calling them them names.

“You fucking assholes!” he’d scream between songs. “Keep it up fuck-faces,” was another one. The crowd gave him a wide swath—he was a one-man mosh pit, pacing in a wide circle like a caged rhino, pumping his fist and cussing to himself in way that most people in most circumstances, would interpret as rage. Apparently he liked us.

Clarence lifted the neck of his guitar and leaned into my ear: “I remember this guy from the last time we were here.”

“Guess he qualifies as a superfan,” I said.

Denise turned to look at us, clinging to the the mic stand like she was leaning over a chasm. A good-sized crowd always freaked her out but any kind of rough stuff was more than she could take and this guy down below was pumping like a hot piston.

I did remember the from the last time we’d played Shitsville. He was least six-five and looked like he was about forty years old; so those two things made him stand out right there. He wasn’t buff like a body builder but he was what I call working-man strong—like he had a steel skeleton with kevlar stretched over it. He was clean shaven (a severe contrast from the rest of the crowd), his hair was precisely clipped, and his arms were the only tattoo-free limbs in the place. Overall, he gave me the impression of a simple but unidentifiable tool just removed from its packaging: like some kind of scary drill. He was also wearing one of our t-shirt neatly tucked into his black jeans.

To break the spell, I whistled and made eye contact with the rest of the band: Clarence, the other guitar player besides me; Aldridge, the bass player; Endicott behind the drums.

Leaving Denise to her own devices, I called for the next song on our setlist: “A Thousand Leviathans Cannot Arrest this Approaching Cataclysm” which is usually just abbreviated as “Lev”.

Endicott got three clicks into the stick-click then squinted down at the list. “Wait…which one?” he said.

“Leviathans!” Clarence and I shouted simultaneously.

“Which one’s that?”

I rolled my eyes: we’d been playing the same set every night for a week. Clarence attempted an accapella of the opening riff for him. Endicott still didn’t get it. I stepped on my distortion pedal and played a quick snatch of the opening riff.

Our super-fan bellowed: “Fuck yeah! Fuck yeah you assholes! Fucking Leviathans! Let’s fuck it up! Fuck a Leviathan…”

Denise turned around again, she looked like a cat on a tree limb.

Endicott lifted his sticks, “Let’s go,” he said smiling.


releases October 17, 2017

Demosthenes Q. Drake III, Clarence Horne Hamms, Piers Christchurch, Endicott Phillips, Aldridge Stoddardt



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Make Us Gods Chicago, Illinois

Demosthenes Q. Drake, Clarence Horne Hamms, Endicott Phillips, Aldridge Stoddart.

They were raised nearly feral in the Northwoods of the Great Lakes region of North America. Since they were rescued by authorities from the remote community of shanties and underground dwellings where they were found, hypnosis has recovered memories of disrupted childhoods spent immersed in occult activity. ... more

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