After a 28-year hiatus, legendary sludge metal band Acid Bath returned to the stage this past weekend with their first show on April 25, 2025, at The Fillmore in New Orleans. The performance was a seismic event for fans, blending raw energy and haunting melodies that captivated the audience. Acid Bath’s return not only rekindled the fire of their loyal fanbase but also showcased their enduring influence in the metal scene. This milestone event marked a powerful chapter in the band’s storied legacy. A story that is part of my story, as well.
The year was 1995. I was 15 years old. My mom had just gotten clean and decided to move us from San Diego to Panama City Beach, Florida. In her heart, I think she believed that putting distance between us and our delinquent friends would somehow make it easier to manage my sister and me while she got her shit together.
Boy, was she wrong. Finding new friends to get in trouble with was super easy—and one thing was for sure: Floridian delinquents in the ’90s were a whole different level of crazy compared to San Diego kids.
It felt like a dream. We lived at the beach, swam with dolphins, and spent weekends inland with long-haired hessians at secret freshwater springs that only locals knew how to find. Every Saturday morning at 6 a.m., our new friends would pick us up in a gutted-out ’75 Chevy van, with a keg of beer, an arsenal of D batteries for our boombox, and a sick collection of cassette tapes and CDs. Motörhead, Slayer, Corrosion of Conformity, White Zombie, Cannibal Corpse, Morbid Angel, and of course, our beloved Acid Bath were on constant rotation
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We were floating on a moment—no ambition, no future goals, no worries, no discipline—and especially no cameras or internet to capture the fun. We filled our time with meaningless bullshit. We fucked, we fought, we got loaded and played air guitar. We were free, and we didn’t give a shit about anything except having a good time—and at the center of it all was a very specific soundtrack.
In the ’90s, Florida was the death metal capital of America. The rage and trauma I had accumulated by the time I reached my teenage years fed straight into my love for the dark, angry intensity of the genre. The double bass drums, heavy guitar riffs, and screaming vocals spoke directly to the rebellious, adrenaline-addicted little monster I had become. I felt right at home in the panhandle.
One night, as I was laying my head down to sleep with music blaring from my bedroom, my mom heard the lyrics: “Drop some acid, kill your parents, then we hit the road.”
She opened my door and said, “You shouldn’t be listening to that shit while you’re sleeping.”
The woman I grew up with was fearless. She said what she wanted, she’d fight a man if she had to, and she wasn’t even scared to shoot cocaine and meth at the same time. Nothing fazed her—but I think in that moment, for the first time in her life, she was fucking terrified.
I just replied, “It helps me fall asleep.”
I still giggle a little when I think about that exchange. There was nothing she could do—I was fully in. My mother had completely lost control.
A buzz started growing around town that Acid Bath would be playing a show at Mescalito’s. We all had little flyers xeroxed on neon green paper. My whole friend group was hyped with anticipation for the upcoming gig—but there was one problem for me: I was only 15, and it was an 18+ venue.
The night of the show, I was decked out in full death-hippie garb—Birkenstocks, an ankle-length flowing textile skirt, a crop tank top, and one of those neat silver arm cuffs that were popular in the ’90s. On the way out the door, my mom chimed in with her best attempt at parenting: “…just don’t take any LSD or get in the mosh pit, okay?”
“Sure, Mom.” As if I was going to listen to anything she told me.
“And be home by 2,” she followed up from the porch as I hopped into the van with all my hessian homies.
“I’m stayin’ at Jessi’s tonight,” I yelled back as the dust kicked up in the dirt driveway. Then we were off to the show.
We arrived at the venue parking lot. As we hotboxed the van and tried to map out a plan to get me past security, the LSD started to kick in—and so did my anxiety. I’d snuck into biker bars before with my crazy ex-convict Uncle Virgil, but this time I wouldn’t have him with me to intimidate the door guy—but I sure as hell didn’t intend on missing this show. Acid Bath was my favorite band! I turned to my little sister’s 24-year-old boyfriend Jason and said, “Dude, they’re not gonna let me in.”
That’s when he grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, “Just go around back, grab a damn guitar stand, and walk in like you fucking own the place, Jess.”
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By this point, my pupils were black basketballs, and any fear I might’ve been feeling had vanished. The pep talk got me pumped—I was ready to make that night my bitch. So I did just as I was told. I bravely marched around to the back of the building, and the band just so happened to be loading in. I walked up to Sammy and asked confidently, “You think I can grab that guitar stand for you?” And without hesitation, he said, “Sure,” passed it over to me, and went about his business.
And just like that, I was inside, attending my first-ever club show—and it was fucking Acid Bath!
During “Grave Flower” I was peaking—completely immersed in the performance and my trip—when some woman, apparently not vibing with my presence, decided she was going to beat the shit out of me. I wasn’t scared. Between all the drugs and the alcohol, I barely felt a thing. Honestly, it was kind of exciting.
Thankfully, Dax stopped mid-song and told the bouncers, “Get her out of here.” One second I was getting my ass kicked and feeling a little humiliated… the next, I felt pretty fucking cool.
The rest of the night blurred into a kaleidoscope of colorful trails, loud laughter, singing, and moshing.
The next morning, I came home hungover, with a couple of missing patches of hair and bruises all over my feet from getting slammed around barefoot in the pit. But I couldn’t stop smiling when my mom looked down, clocked the damage, and said:
“You went in the pit, didn’t you?”
Of course I fucking did!
Words:Jessica Moncrief
