Acid Bath was the one band no one thought would ever reunite. They were a flash in the pan at one point, considered a glitch in heavy metal history—yet simultaneously, they were the band everyone wanted to be and emulate, the band that inspired subgenres from the edges of extremity to the depths of doom and across the entire spectrum of stoner rock and roll.
That’s why Acid Bath’s show at the Hollywood Palladium on August 22nd was charged with much more power and gravitas than a typical reunion. It was a moment written in stone, acknowledging that the kings of the New Orleans heavy music scene would one day return to their rightful thrones. The anticipation had been building for years among fans who never truly believed this day would come.
The venue itself seemed to understand the weight of the occasion. The Hollywood Palladium, with its storied history of hosting legendary performances, provided the perfect backdrop for what would become a defining moment in heavy music. As fans filed into the historic theater, there was an electric tension in the air—a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and the kind of reverence typically reserved for religious experiences.
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Seeing them live and watching heavy metal history unfold before my eyes, I was astounded by the band’s musicality and sensitivity. This wasn’t a death metal band; it wasn’t exactly even a sludge metal band in my eyes. To me, this was the heavy blues—a primal scream channeled through amplified catharsis that spoke to something deeper than mere aggression or technique.
As much as I and the rest of Los Angeles had anticipated this show—perhaps some of them hoping for a heavier, more aggressive set—Acid Bath had recruited two bands with just as much stoner mojo to properly open up the evening and set the appropriate tone for what was to come. First, doomsayers Windhand were present to deliver their especially mythic and poetic form of doom. This isn’t just the typical desert rock, van-living, leather-crazed sort of stoner doom that has become so prevalent in the underground scene. Windhand’s feminine quality gives the music a seductive and enchanted element that other bands don’t know how to touch. Their atmospheric approach created layers of sound that seemed to emanate from some otherworldly source, preparing the audience for the emotional journey that lay ahead.
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The band’s performance was mesmerizing in its deliberate pacing. Each note seemed to hang in the air long enough to be savored, creating a wall of sound that was both crushing and beautiful. Windhand understood their role as the evening’s opening act—not merely to warm up the crowd, but to establish the contemplative, almost spiritual atmosphere that would carry through the entire show.
Then, Matt Pike’s High on Fire went on second, paying tribute to the late, great Brent Hinds of Mastodon, whom he called his brother. Hinds’ death had hit the heavy metal world hard—he seemed universally beloved by fans and musicians alike. This loss came only weeks after we mourned the passing of Ozzy Osbourne, the godfather of heavy metal himself. With our scene’s wounds still freshly opened from both tragedies, our hearts were open and vulnerable, ready to take in some much-needed healing.
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Pike’s dedication was heartfelt and raw, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke about his fallen friend. The crowd responded with a reverent silence that spoke volumes about the impact these losses had on the community. It was clear that we, as a collective audience, wanted and needed something larger than what any band should reasonably be expected to deliver. Acid Bath’s fans had been scarred by life, by loss, by the passage of time—and by their music, these same fans hoped to be restored to a somewhat emotionally stable state.
To commemorate the creator of heavy metal, especially the style which Acid Bath had revolutionized decades earlier, the band played “Black Sabbath” to introduce the night’s festivities. With sounds of macabre ’70s horror haunting the Hollywood Palladium’s rafters, we were now ready and anointed to hear the drudging sludge of New Orleans’ heaviest occult experience. The choice was both respectful and strategic—a nod to the forefathers while establishing their own credibility as inheritors of that dark legacy.
They opened their main set with “Tranquilized,” a gripping romp of heavy rock that only a band of powerhouse shredders could possibly compose with such effortless precision. I could feel it in the air—the VIP section had to be full of musicians, the sort of stoner rockers who are at the top of any doom playlist today but were all once teenagers listening to Acid Bath obsessively only a few decades prior. There was a sense of pilgrimage in the room, as if everyone present understood they were witnessing something that might never happen again.
The song choice was perfect for an opener—familiar enough to immediately connect with long-time fans, yet powerful enough to demonstrate that the band had lost none of their edge during their extended hiatus. Dax Riggs’ vocals soared over the crushing instrumentation, his voice carrying both the weight of experience and the raw power that had made him a legend in underground circles.
When the second song of Acid Bath’s set, “Bleed Me an Ocean,” was performed and the title’s command was sung over and over like a mantra, I got a feel for just how deep the band’s lyrics and spirit were. They were all in touch with their emotions; they just chose to express them in a very electric, heavy, raw form of art that cut straight through pretense and artifice. The repetition wasn’t monotonous—it was hypnotic, drawing the audience into a collective trance that would define the evening.
Like High on Fire before them, Acid Bath dedicated their third song, “Graveflowers,” to Brent Hinds, performing what felt like the perfect metal requiem for the guitarist. The song took on new dimensions in this context, becoming not just a performance but a ritual of remembrance. The audience swayed in unison, creating a sea of moving bodies that seemed to pulse with collective grief and catharsis.
Most of the set was on the slower side, inspiring the audience to sway and headbang contemplatively before slamming or moshing with abandon. Regardless of what the extremists in attendance might have preferred, this moment in music history was too somber and significant not to call for a soundtrack on the sadder, more introspective side. The band understood that true heaviness doesn’t always come from speed or volume—sometimes it comes from the weight of lived experience.
Then came “Venus Blue,” one of the band’s absolute staples, and Acid Bath’s story came full circle in the most emotionally devastating way possible. The song was dedicated to Audie Pitre, the band’s beloved bassist, who died along with his family after being hit by a drunk driver who ran a red light. Audie’s tragic death had triggered the end of Acid Bath’s first chapter, causing a decades-long hiatus that most people thought was a lost cause to even attempt reuniting.
Every surviving member had experienced some form of spiritual confusion and artistic wandering in response to this loss, whether it was Dax Riggs’ blues and hermetic troubadour journey through various solo projects, or Sammy Duet’s venture into American black metal with the critically acclaimed band Goatwhore. Both had gone in disparate directions, almost wanting to forget the stoner rock they were once so deeply attached to, as if distance from that sound might somehow lessen the pain of their loss.
Now, though, coming back to that style of music after years of playing blues and black metal, exploring different emotional territories and musical landscapes, we were witnessing the blackened blues version of Acid Bath performing “Venus Blue” while looking in the rearview mirror of their lives. The song had always been beautiful, but in this context, it became transcendent—a meditation on loss, memory, and the strange alchemy that transforms grief into art.
It was the only way we could collectively process and eventually move beyond our losses. This band, in this moment, gave us the resolve to move forward without forgetting what we’d left behind. The sadness had formed into scar tissue by the end of the show, toughened and strengthened, resilient enough to withstand another big hit whenever that would inevitably come.
Performing fan favorites like “Scream of the Butterfly” and “Paegan Love Song,” the band demonstrated their range and emotional depth, moving seamlessly between crushing heaviness and haunting beauty. Each song felt like a chapter in a larger story, building toward an inevitable climax that would satisfy both the heart and the need for cathartic release.
Finally, they closed the ten-song set with a deliberately heavy song designed to satiate those audience members who might have wished the music wasn’t quite so slow and emotional throughout the evening. “Dr. Seuss Is Dead” closed the show with ripping guitars and duet vocals from Dax and Sammy that coalesced into such a heavy sonic experience that it almost felt like a saw cutting through a rib cage—brutal, precise, and oddly beautiful in its violence.
It was almost obnoxiously heavy and extreme, crossing into crust punk territory with such serrated vocals piling on top of the already crushing sound. The contrast with the evening’s more contemplative moments made this final assault even more effective, proving that Acid Bath could still bring the thunder when the moment called for it.
Before coming to this show, everyone in attendance had gotten the sense that it would be one of the greatest concerts of the year. And it most certainly was, with a live character to the music that was more fulfilling to dreams and expectations than most concerts can possibly produce. The band had managed to exceed the impossible expectations that come with a reunion show of this magnitude.
Acid Bath live was everything a band reunion should aspire to be—a tribute to the band’s storied past but also an acknowledgment of an older, wiser version of Acid Bath. One blackened and hardened by Sammy’s years with Goatwhore, made bluesier and more introspective by Dax Riggs’ solo journeys into folk and acoustic territories, and ultimately strengthened by the shared experience of loss, growth, and the strange miracle of finding each other again.
I didn’t feel like I had been through a typical heavy metal concert so much as witnessing the best rock band anyone can see today operating at the absolute peak of their powers. In 2025, there is simply no band you can see that captures the raw power, emotional depth, and unflinching honesty quite like Acid Bath. They have returned not as nostalgic relics, but as fully realized artists who have learned to transform pain into something beautiful and lasting.
The Hollywood Palladium had witnessed many legendary performances over the decades, but this felt different—more like a religious experience than mere entertainment. As the crowd slowly filed out into the Los Angeles night, there was a sense of having been part of something truly special, something that would be talked about and remembered for years to come. Acid Bath had proven that some reunions are worth the wait, and some wounds, when properly tended, can become sources of unexpected strength.
Words by Rob Shepyer
Photos by Jessica Moncrief
