On March 27, 2026, I witnessed a rare performance by Crowbar at Ventura Music Hall opening for the almighty Eyehategod and it made me ask the question- how well do social media and heavy metal truly mesh? It’s nice to see our favorite bands gain exposure and release content for us all to enjoy, but is anything lost in the transaction when a band subjects themselves to tap dancing for mass media?
In the case of Crowbar, they’ve gained quite a bit of notoriety from TikTok after their song “Repulsive in Its Splendid Beauty” went viral and meme-ified the band into music made for big boys who ride hogs and take no shit. The virality of the band didn’t just lead to exposure, though. It translated into ticket and merchandise sales that are noticeable to everyone in the know.
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Crowbar is a legendary band, and the song was a classic off a sludge metal masterpiece long before TikTok was developed. They didn’t need this bump in fame to cement their status as heroes in the worlds of sludge metal or their hometown of New Orleans, Louisiana.
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This tour, which saw their Ventura Music Hall show sell out with merch lines running through the venue into the pit, was shared with another iconic sludge metal band from NOLA, the one and only Eyehategod.
If Eyehategod ever went viral, you would see an uptick in criminality, drug abuse, and all kinds of nihilistic activity that the band is associated with. The two bands were alternating the headlining spot on this tour, with this Ventura show being finished off by EHG, but the LA shows treated the hardcore kids to their delight with Crowbar headlining.
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Arriving to see Crowbar and getting right in line to snag a shirt featuring the album cover of Sonic Excess in Its Purest Form, the album that holds the viral song in question, I was very excited to see Crowbar again. The first time I saw this band, I was in New York City, at the Gramercy Theatre, for the first time in my life. Since then, I was only able to catch the band’s leader, Kirk Windstein, playing guitar with Down.
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Refreshing my memory of Crowbar live, the band was a riveting, rock and roll based form of sludge metal. As heavy and doomy as they got, I felt a classic sensibility that I don’t always feel in other bands with the same DNA. The show was completely filled to the brim, with everyone applauding their favorite songs, including those off the album on my new shirt. Among the audience, you noticed certain fans stick out like sore thumbs. They weren’t metalheads, but they did seem to love heavy music. They were new fans who found the band on TikTok, and though they weren’t acclimated to the culture inside the metal scene, they seemed to contribute something fresh to the experience.
Once Crowbar was finished, a large segment of the audience simply left before Eyehategod came on. Those who took flight were mainly these TikTok fans, but the ones who stayed and just wanted to enjoy insane metal were dancing in the pit like no metal fans you’ve ever seen in your life. They were expressing their Gen Z manosphere obsessed testosterone rage, the sort of rage you saw Black Flag bring out of jocks when they infiltrated the punk scene. These fans may not have been as violent as the Black Flag jocks, and they may not stay in the scene for as long, but it was fun to see them tour our world and bring something different to the live show experience. You never know when one fan’s unique way of feeling themselves inspires the scene to try something new.
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As Eyehategod took the stage and let their jagged feedback deafen the audience before finally ripping into their first song, all I could fixate on was the legendary status of this band. As cool as Crowbar is, as amazing as their sound and songs are, Eyehategod has an aura and legacy around them that none of their peers meet. Eyehategod isn’t just the best example of sludge rock with conviction or NOLA music with attitude. They are true examples of punk rock and DIY ethos. Eyehategod may tour more often in Southern California than Crowbar, but every time Eyehategod comes here, Mike IX and Jimmy Bower always bring something new and undeniably raw to LA.
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I’m not trying to hate on TikTok or diminish their success with this take, but I can’t help but give all my flowers to Eyehategod for being so passionate about music and creating art that they can remain such a resilient band, one that cares so much more about being the wildest band in their lane than how they market themselves online.
In many ways, social media is the least punk and metal activity an artist can partake in. Whether it’s supporting corporations or watering down an artist’s mystique or underground credibility, the kind of moments that make a lasting impression on audience members don’t appear on a phone. They appear in person, and in person, Eyehategod is a force to be reckoned with, a band that scares you just enough to pique your curiosity and get you to listen to more. At this point in their careers and in the long story of sludge metal, Eyehategod are on Mount Rushmore, with a higher ranking than bands that may have made a bigger splash in the past for a moment but couldn’t stay on top of their sound for as long as the one and only Eyehategod.
Words by Rob Shepyer
Photos by Michelle Evans
